Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 236

Abby

The buzzer goes off, and the contestants place down their dishes, stepping back from their stations. The room is alive with murmurs, excitement from the crowd as their eyes scan the three dishes on the stage. The judges step down from their booth, their gazes inscrutable.

My hands tremble, still hovering over the tiramisu’s uneven surface— it’s a mocking reminder of the chaos just moments before, but I could fix it, at least a little. Maybe no one would even notice.

My dish is not even close to perfect, far from the image I had in my head, and every fiber of my being screams to adjust the messy dusting of pistachios just a little bit, just so I can make it look a tiny bit more presentable.

But before my fingers can act, I catch Logan’s cold glare, halting me, his disapproval crystal clear. I quickly pull my hands away, feeling my face turn what I can only imagine is the deepest shade of red ever.

We all stand back, the stage now eerily quiet. The judges begin to make their rounds, and I can hear them before I see them.

“Delicious,” Logan says, slowly chewing a bite of none other than Daniel’s tiramisu. “Truly delicious. You’ve outdone yourself, Daniel.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Daniel says with a nod. His eyes flicker over to me, and I feel a twinge of something bubbling inside of me, a fury that makes me want to lash out. Did Daniel switch my spices? I wouldn’t put it past him.

The judges approach Bryan next. I can’t quite make out what they say this time, but their expressions tell me that they like his dish. Vanessa rolls her eyes back as she tastes the mascarpone, a subtle “Oh my god…” escaping her lips.

Shit. She loves it. And now, it’s just me left; me, with my ugly tiramisu. How can I even compare if they love the others’ dishes so much?

“And the best for last.” Vanessa’s voice is sweet, almost too sweet, as she addresses me, pulling me out of my pit of dread. “Hello, Abby.”

All I can do is offer a tense smile, nodding politely as Vanessa picks up a spoon and delicately lifts a bit of the lumpy tiramisu to her mouth.

She chews thoughtfully, her eyes closing for a brief moment. Then, her expression shifts ever so slightly.

I feel my blood run cold. It’s not a grimace, but it’s certainly not satisfaction either.

“Did you use any spices out of the ordinary, Abby?” she asks.

I feel the color drain from my face. “Just… Just nutmeg,” I reply, my voice quivering.

“Hm.” Vanessa’s hum is low and confused as she beckons Logan over with a tilt of her head.

Logan shoots me a look as he approaches. I brace myself, recalling the misplaced spices, the unsettling suspicion of sabotage, the way the mascarpone clumped up when I added the ‘nutmeg’ to the mixture.

I almost want to curse out loud; I should have checked it just to be safe, but I was running out of time.

Logan slowly takes a spoonful. His eyes, a stormy gray color, never leave mine as he tastes the dish.

“That’s cardamom,” he states flatly, putting the spoon down with a clatter, his face twisting into a scowl. “Not nutmeg.”

My stomach churns, a sour taste suddenly taking over my mouth. “I—I must have grabbed the wrong spice,” I stammer, though the explanation sounds feeble even to my own ears.

Logan’s expression is full of disdain. “Excuses,” he cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “In this kitchen, we take responsibility for our dishes.”

I want to argue, to fight, to scream that I am not at fault. But the steel in his gaze silences me. My shoulders slump, and I mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

The judges turn away, and I am left shaking, my hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight that my knuckles are as white as a sheet. Karl moves to touch my hand, but seems to change his mind at the last moment, his own hand hovering above mine before he pulls away.

“And that,” the announcer says, his voice a little hoarse from the tense moment, “is the end of round two. After another intermission, we will be announcing the winners…”

As he speaks, though, his voice sounds far away. I feel like I’m trapped in a senseless void; no sound, no feeling, nothing but me and the failed tiramisu standing in front of me. I want to pick it up and hurl it across the stage at Daniel, but I know I can’t.

Suddenly, Karl’s hand on my shoulder pulls me out of my reverie. His voice is soft, and his face comes into view, his eyes full of concern.

“C’mon, Abby,” he murmurs, and I blink, staring up at him incredulously. “Fifteen minute intermission. Let’s take a break.”

I glance up to see that the crowd has begun moving again, the producers jogging back and forth across the stage, the contestants making their way to the back. And among them, I see him.

Daniel, his eyes narrowed, his face a smirk. He smiles at me for a beat too long before he turns on his heel and disappears behind the curtain.

And I’m left here, frozen to my spot, feeling like the world’s biggest failure.