Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 77

Abby

The day starts just as any normal day should: with the aroma of simmering tomato sauce and sizzling bacon filling the restaurant, and the sound of happy breakfast customers wafting through the air.

But as I settle into the rhythm of another busy workday, something feels off. I can’t quite explain it, but it almost feels as though something is electric in the air.

That’s when it happens.

I haven’t even taken my first sip of coffee of the day when Ethan is suddenly rushing into my office faster than I thought he could even move with his leg, and there’s a look of dread on his face. Before I can even open my mouth to speak, his words are tumbling out in a torrent of emotion.

“Abby, we’ve got a problem. Amelia West from ‘Gourmet Gazette’ is here, and she doesn’t look happy.”

My heart sinks at the mention of the infamous food critic.

“Why?” I ask, bolting up from my chair. “What happened?”

Ethan shrugs, throwing his hands up in the air. “Hell if I know. All I know is that she got her food a few minutes ago, made a face, sent it back, and started writing in her notebook. God, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t even recognize her at first…”

With a deep breath, I place a hand on Ethan’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’s alright, just keep calm. Let’s make sure everything is perfect. Double-check the specials and inform the servers. I’ll go talk to her and see why she sent the food back.”

After taking a moment to compose myself, I head over to Amelia’s table. “Good morning, Ms. West. It’s an honor to have you here. Is everything to your satisfaction?”

She looks up from her notebook, snapping it shut with a sour look on her face. “Where do I even start?” she hisses. “My food was lukewarm, and I couldn’t even taste the garlic underneath the mountain of sauce on the plate. I’ve been waiting for my coffee for fifteen minutes, and your waitress had an attitude when I sent the food back.”

The food critic’s words send a shiver through my spine. Amelia West isn’t exactly known for being the most lenient of food critics. If I had known that she was here, I would have served her myself.

“I’m very sorry, Ms. West,” I reply, maintaining my composure. “Your feedback is invaluable to us. I’ll be sure to brew you a fresh pot of coffee right away, and the waitress will be disciplined accordingly. Can I get you another dish on the house?”

She sighs, pushing her chair back. “No, don’t bother. I’m finished here.”

Before I can answer, Amelia gets up and storms out. All I can do is walk away, my fists clenched. This is bad. This is really bad. I make a beeline for the kitchen, where Ethan is wringing his hands as John scrambles to make another plate of eggs Benedict for the critic.

“Don’t bother,” I hiss as the door swings shut behind me. “She left.”

Ethan’s eyes widen. “You’ve gotta be kidding!” he says. “What do we do?”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “There’s nothing we can do now,” I mutter. “Let’s just make sure nothing else goes wrong today. And Ethan, talk to whichever waitress had Amelia’s table. Apparently she had an ‘attitude’. But there’s no need to get too upset; Amelia West is just a bitch.”

Ethan nods, preparing himself to speak with the waitress. The kitchen, which has fallen into a hush since my entrance, returns to its normal pace; but Karl is standing off to the side, his knowing eyes searching mine. All I can do is throw him a shrug and walk away, hoping that this is the worst that will happen today.

I retreat to my office to collect myself. Thankfully, I’m able to lose myself in some paperwork for a couple of hours; but it feels as though it’s only been five minutes that I’ve been alone before there’s suddenly a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opens, and it’s Sarah, one of the servers. Her face is red and her eyes are puffy, not from crying, but from what looks like a nasty cold. She’s got a tissue in her hand and her hair is disheveled.

“Abby, I’m really sorry. I thought I could manage today, but—”

“Go home,” I interrupt, trying to hide the mild annoyance in my voice—not directed at her, but rather at yet another hitch in the day. “Feel better, Sarah.”

“Thanks, Abby.”