Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Chapter 164

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Chapter 0164

“You know,” I chuckle, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, “when I first went to

culinary school, I thought I would be facing all of these obstacles. Older men not taking me seriously,

financial issues, critics.”

“And you have faced all of that and then some,” John teases.

I nod. “Yes. But now, it’s…”

“Truffles.”

Another chuckle escapes my lips. “Yep. Truffles.”

…

The sizzle of the grill, the clinking of glasses from the bar, and the incessant ring of the phone in the

background merge into one big cacophony, making my head spin.

I’m metaphorically knee-deep in murky water, me ntally ticking off a never-ending list of things that

need

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to get done, and Karl is nowhere to be found.

“Abby, the Rosé keg just tapped out,” shouts Ethan from the front, his soft voice barely audible over the

din.

“Dam mit,” I mutter, throwing down my order pad and darting behind the bar to switch the kegs. Chloe

would’ve handled this if she hadn’t walked out on me. So much for that.

As I’m securing the new keg, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s a text from the front-of-house staff:

“Table 5 is demanding to see the manager. Again.”

“Great. Just great,” I grumble as I wash my hands and hustle over to Table 5. I paste on my most

customer-service-friendly smile. “Is everything all right here?”

“Not really,” says a middle-aged woman, glaring at her pasta as if it had personally insulted her. “This is

the worst linguine I’ve ever had. It’s dry and there’s too much cilantro.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry you’re not enjoying your meal. Can I offer you something else?”

The woman huffs. “I want this taken off the bill.”

“Of course,” I reply through clenched teeth. “Again, I apologize for the inconvenience.”

I rush back to the kitchen, my patience wearing thin. “John, we need to remake a linguine. Customer

complaint.”

John rolls his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Where the hell is Karl, anyway? I need help.”

I glance at the clock. It’s nearing the end of the dinner rush, and I still haven’t heard from Karl. I pull out

my phone and dial his number for the umpteenth time today.

Straight to voicemail. Again.

He was supposed to show up today, but he bailed. No call, no show. Just an empty spot where he

belongs, and the rest of us are scrambling to make it work, on a Friday night no less.

“Here, John,” I say, throwing my apron on and washing my hands. “I’ll help.”

Each hour that John and I work together on the line seems to stretch on for an eternity. All the while,

my own managerial duties pull at me from every angle, like one of those Medieval torture devices that

stretches your limbs. I feel caught in the middle, like an unsuspecting peasant who got caught stealing

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a loaf of bread.

When the last patron finally leaves and the door locks behind them, a heavy sigh escapes my lips and

my shoulders visibly slump.

John looks at me sympathetically. “Thanks for the help, Abby. I appreciate it.”

“It was nothing,” I reply, trying to muster a smile. “Go home, John. Good work today.”

After John leaves, I start the lonely task of cleaning the kitchen. My body screams for rest, my feet

aching in rebellion. The mop feels like it weighs a ton as I push it across the tile floor.

But all the while, I can’t help but think about Karl. How could he just not show up? How could he be so

selfish, so unreliable? Chloe was right. He’s never going to change. And once again, I’m the fool.

I’m rubbing my eyes, desperately trying to refocus, when suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open. I

jump, my heart leaping into my throat, and the mop clatters to the floor.

I whip around, ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind for scaring the life out of me. And there he

is—Karl, standing in the doorway, drenched in water from head to toe and panting for breath, as if he’s

been running for miles.

My mouth opens, but no words come out. For the first time all day, I’m truly speechless.

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