Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 123

Karl

The sun is barely hovering above the horizon as I pull up in front of Abby’s apartment building on Friday morning.

I can’t help but smile as I think about the day ahead of us. My black car idles, the hum of its engine drowned out by the pop song playing on the radio—a song I can easily imagine Abby singing along to, although I don’t personally care for that kind of music myself.

With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and grab the to-go cup of her favorite coffee from the cup holder.

She opens the door almost as soon as I knock, as though she was standing there, waiting. There’s a look in her eyes that makes it seem as though she’s still on the fence about going. But the second her eyes meet mine, the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a bit.

“Good morning,” I greet, handing her the coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

She grins, taking a sip immediately. “You read my mind.”

There’s a slight silence for a few moments. My eyes scan the inside of her apartment, where a bag sits on the floor behind her; it’s packed haphazardly, no doubt. She’s never been the neatest traveler.

“Oh, one more thing,” she says before I can say anything. She slips her phone out of her pocket and begins tapping furiously on the screen while her coffee cup balances precariously in the crook of her elbow. “I have to tell Ethan—”

“Ethan will be fine without you,” I say, snatching both the phone and the coffee cup away. “And so will the restaurant. Just enjoy your time off, Abby.”

She glares at me for a moment, that signature stare of hers, but finally relaxes and lets out a deep sigh. “You’re right.”

We hit the road within a few minutes. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting her face in a warm amber glow. I plug in my phone and shuffle through a playlist I know she’ll love.

“So, long drive ahead. Music?”

“Surprise me,” she says, her fingers nervously tapping on the coffee cup.

I hit play, and the first chords of a nostalgic song—one that played at our wedding—fill the car. She laughs, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

“Come on, it’s a classic,” I defend, bobbing my head to the beat.

Abby’s lips twitch upwards into a smile, but it quickly fades. I watch from my peripherals as she averts her gaze to the window, occasionally sipping out of her coffee cup. She thinks I don’t notice, but she’s swaying back and forth to the song, ever so slightly. And that’s enough for me.