Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 268

Abby

The phone rings for a beat too long. My heart is practically in my throat as I wait, each drone of the ringtone sounding like a warning siren in my ears.

What will I even say to him? “Hey, sorry I kissed you and then told you it was a mistake for the millionth time. Anyway, will you come back to help me again?”

I shake my head as if to dispel the thought. No. I just want to tell him that I might be catering the Alpha party after all—and that his innocence was proven when it came to the fight with Daniel’s sous chef. But what if he already knows? Or what if he doesn’t care?

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Because he doesn’t answer.

The pang in my chest is sharp as I hear the sound of his voicemail message come through the phone. “You’ve reached Karl. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

I hang up before the tone plays, a curse lingering on my lips as I toss my phone down on the counter. Of course he wouldn’t answer. Why would he want to talk to me? I’m just Abby, his ex-wife, the woman who took advantage of him when he was just trying to win me back.

Right?

I push away from the counter and start to pull out pots and pans, the clanging noise a welcome distraction. The judges won’t care about my personal life; they’ll care about what I put on the plate.

It has to be perfect. I can’t let this second chance go to shit.

“Okay, Abby,” I mutter to myself, scanning my scrawled notes. “Appetizer, entree, dessert. Simple.”

Simple, I say, but it’s anything but that. Each dish needs to be perfect. Every flavor needs to complement the others. Every texture has to be out of this world. And I can’t show even a moment’s hesitation while I’m cooking in front of them. I need to be the perfect picture of the perfect chef.

My mind buzzes with ideas, but my brain is still foggy after spending two weeks in a rut. “Soup… French onion?” I mutter to myself, then shake my head. “No, too overpowering. Minestrone… No, too bland…”

I sigh, passing my hand over my face. “Okay… I’ll try the main course first,” I say out loud, even though I’m alone in my own kitchen at home. “That’ll make it easier to pick the appetizer and dessert.”

Onto the main course. My hands move on their own, prepping for a dish I’ve that I know better than the back of my own hand. Trout meuniere. It should be simple, the perfect dish when you’re looking for a light and flavorful meal. Plus, I’ve made it countless times. It’s exactly what I need right now.

But as I begin the process of cooking the trout, it’s like my mind freezes. The spices all seem to jumble together, the lemon juice feels too sticky on my fingers, the trout smells… off. My fingers feel clumsy and stupid as I try to whisk the sauce together, and my mind keeps drifting.

Drifting to him.

“God, Abby,” I say out loud, throwing my whisk down into the sink with a clatter. “Focus. Stop thinking about Karl.”

Easier said than done, though. His face keeps floating through my mind, the way his eyes were so full of pain when I pushed him away. It was three weeks ago now, but it feels like it was just yesterday.

My fingers itch to call him again. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe he didn’t see my call.

But I can’t, because I think I know the truth: he doesn’t want to talk.