Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 65

The aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce fills the air as I sit at my desk, reviewing the inventory for the week.

It’s still early in the day, but the restaurant has already started to come alive. My eyes flit over numbers and figures, but my thoughts keep drifting to the chaos of last night—Karl, John, Ethan, and that cook-off looming in the future like a beacon of both opportunity and uncertainty.

As I’m about to turn my attention to the newly arrived email from Calvin, there’s a soft knock on my door. “Come in,” I call out, hoping it’s not another crisis that needs immediate attention.

The door opens, and it’s John, looking a little sheepish. “Hey, Abby, you got a minute?”

I nod, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Look, about last night—I lost my cool, and I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was...riled up, and I didn’t mean it. It was a long evening.”

I eye him skeptically, remembering his cutting remarks and confrontational demeanor. “You think?”

He winces. “I do. And I’m sorry. If you’re willing to forgive an old dog for his foolishness, I promise I’ll train Karl properly and be more respectful. To everyone.”

The sincerity in his voice tips the balance for me. We’ve been through a lot, John and I, and though he’s far from perfect, he’s an important part of this restaurant’s soul.

“Alright,” I say, extending my hand across the desk. “Apology accepted. Let’s move on and make this a great place for everyone. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, shaking my hand firmly.

“Great. Let’s get back out there; dinner service won’t prep itself,” I say, and we both stand to head back to the kitchen.

As the door swings shut behind him, I can’t help but feel a small sense of relief. One hurdle cleared, but still so many more to go.

…

The evening begins like any other, the staff bustling around the kitchen as orders start pouring in.

But there’s a palpable change in the atmosphere. John’s tone is softer, more instructive, less caustic. I see him explaining the finer points of sauce reduction to Karl, who listens intently. My eyes meet John’s for a moment, and he gives me a nod.

The dinner rush kicks in, and everyone springs into high gear. Plates are flying, stoves are blazing, and the air is thick with the tantalizing smells of grilled meat, sautéed vegetables, and melting cheese.

But despite the chaos, there’s an underlying current of teamwork that wasn’t there before.

“Table six is ready to go, Abby,” Ethan calls out, sliding the plates onto the counter. I do a quick check for presentation; everything looks good.

“Alright, let’s move, people!” I yell, and servers swoop in to whisk the dishes away.

Just then, I hear John’s voice, commanding but not overbearing, instructing Karl on the proper way to plate the linguini. “Remember, Karl, it’s all about balance. You want enough sauce so it’s flavorful but not so much that it’s drowning.”

I pause to listen, holding my breath.

“Got it, John,” Karl replies, his tone earnest. He adjusts the angle of his tongs and the pasta lands gracefully on the plate, a garnish of parsley providing the finishing touch.

“Nice,” John comments, and Karl beams, clearly pleased by the rare compliment.

It’s a small interaction, but it feels like a giant leap forward for both of them—and for me. As the night wears on, I watch Karl and John weave around each other in a sort of uneasy but effective partnership. They’re communicating, working together to get the meals out, and not a single steak comes back overcooked.

Finally, as the clock ticks past nine and the last few diners are savoring their desserts, I take a moment to step back and take it all in.

For the first time in a long while, the kitchen is humming with the sort of collaborative energy that makes a restaurant more than just a place to eat. It’s not perfect, far from it, but it’s a step in the right direction, a sign of what could be rather than what has been.

John catches my eye from across the kitchen, and this time it’s me who gives the nod of approval. He nods back, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he allows himself a small smile.

…

I step out from the frenetic energy of the kitchen into the main dining area, the clinking of glasses and murmurs of conversation filling the air. I’m about to congratulate myself on a night going surprisingly smooth when I spot Daisy seated awkwardly behind the bar, clutching her ankle and rocking back and forth.

“What happened?” I rush over, my eyes narrowing with concern.

“I, erm… I rolled my ankle while serving table nine. Just give me five minutes and I’ll get back out there,” she says, grimacing with each word.

I take one look at her flushed face, her ankle swelling before my eyes, and shake my head. “No, you’re going home. Put that leg up. I’ll take over your tables tonight.”

Daisy starts to protest, her eyes filled with worry. “But the tips—”

“Don’t worry about that. Whatever tips you miss out on tonight, I’ll cover. Just go home and take care of yourself.”

She hesitates for a moment before finally nodding, gratitude flooding her features. “Thank you, Abby.”

“Get better, okay?” I say as she limps out of the restaurant, supported by Ethan.

I tie on an apron and grab a notepad, turning my attention to Daisy’s tables. And then I see her—Emily, the Luna who used to be an acquaintance of mine, sitting there with her friends, smirking as if she owns the place.