Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Chapter 163

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Chapter 0163

Abby

“Okay, John, pass me the truffle oil,” I call out, my focus entirely on the pan in front of me.

“Got it,” John replies, handing me the small, dark bottle.

The kitchen is close to closing time, and John and I have been spending every free moment today

trying to get this recipe right. We don’t have the truffles, but I’ve settled on some substitutions, figuring

that it’ll be better to at least get practice on the dish rather than nothing at all.

I drizzle a few drops over the mafaldine, my eyes narrowing as I try to capture the elusive essence of

the dish in my mind. “It has to be perfect. The competition won’t allow any room for error.”

John smiles, a flash of warmth in his eyes. “You’re doing great, Abby. We’ve got this.”

But as I stir the pasta, incorporating the oil into the sauce, I know something isn’t right. It’s good, but it’s

not perfect. The aroma of the truffles fills the air, but it’s missing that rich, deep scent, the kind that

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lingers on your tongue and in your nostrils.

Still, that doesn’t mean that it’s a total failure.

I toss in the sauteed mushrooms, watching as they combine with the mafaldine. “Okay, let’s plate this

and give it a taste.”

John hands me two white plates, and I spoon generous portions onto each, taking care to get the

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presentation just right in preparation for the cook-off. We sit down at the makeshift tasting table, and I

watch as John takes his first bite.

His eyes light up, but not with the brilliance I had hoped for.

“It’s… good,” he says cautiously. “Really good.”

I pick up my fork and take a mouthful, letting the flavors play across my taste buds. “But it’s not

perfect,” I say, setting down my fork with a sigh.

John meets my eyes, concern etched into his features. “What’s missing? What do we need to make it

perfect?”

I shake my head, frustration building. “It’s the truffles, John. These truffles just don’t have the intensity,

the depth that black truffles have. Without the right truffles, we can’t get the flavor of the truffle butter

just right.”

“Could we try a different brand? Maybe it’s the supplier?” John suggests.

I shake my head, exasperated. “I’ve tried three different suppliers already. Unless a miracle happens, I

don’t see how we can get our hands on European black truffles in time.”

John’s eyes meet mine, unwavering. “Then we’ll have to just keep practicing with what we have. We’ll

make it as perfect as it can be. And when the time comes, you’ll be ready for the cook-off.”

His words are meant to comfort me, but all they do is make me even more frustrated. How can I be

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ready when the missing element to this dish is what is supposed to make it so unique?

I stand abruptly, my towel clenched in my hand. “I think I need to take a break,” I mutter, tossing the

towel onto the counter.

John watches me, concern evident on his face, but he doesn’t push. “Take all the time you need. We’ve

made good progress today, even if it’s not perfect.”

I can’t help but glance at the clock. “The competition is in two weeks, John. Two weeks. What kind of

progress can I make in that time?”

“Abby, two weeks is practically a lifetime in the kitchen,” John says, rising to his feet and walking over

to me. “And this competition is about more than just one dish. Hell, you don’t even know if they’ll pick

this dish.”

“But that’s the thing,” I retort, feeling my frustration mounting even further. “I don’t know if they’ll pick

this dish, but I want to make sure that I can be prepared if they do.”

John looks at me for a moment, his features softened slightly. I think both of us can tell that it’s not just

about being prepared; it’s about proving something, not just to myself, but to the world. That I, Abby,

the ex-Luna, can get things right, despite the obstacles in my way. That I, as a female chef and

restaurant owner, won’t let anything get in my way.

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