Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 82: My Alpha Sous Chef

Abby

The warm afternoon sunlight casts dappled patterns on the ground as we walk through the park,

holding cardboard coffee cups in our hands. The warmth seeps through the cup, mingling with the crisp

air. It’s a nice moment, bordering on something that feels almost normal.

And then we stop in front of it—the old oak tree.

Its massive trunk and sprawling branches are as iconic as they come. It’s always been a sort of

landmark in this small town, here long before the town was ever built. But to me, it’s more than just a

tree. It’s a bitter reminder of another life, of another version of us.

We took our wedding photos under this tree.

“Do you remember?” Karl asks, his eyes meeting mine as if he’s searching for something—recognition,

perhaps.

“Of course I remember,” I snap, maybe a little too quickly. “How could I forget?”

He looks taken aback, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Then, as though sensing he’s

wandered into a minefield, he falls silent. Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

We stand there for another minute, neither of us able to speak. Then I can’t hold back any longer.

“Did you ever tell the staff the truth?” I ask, my voice edged with more tension than I’d intended. “That I

never actually cheated on you with the gardener? That it was a terrible mistake?"”

Karl goes silent, the creases on his forehead deepening. I wait for what feels like an eternity, my

patience waning with each passing second.

“Karl?”

He sighs. “No, Abby, I didn’t make an official announcement.”

Anger and hurt surge within me, mingling with a heavy dose of disbelief. And yet, somehow, I expected

this. It’s just like Karl, isn’t it? “That must be why Gerald was giving me dirty looks from the window

earlier.”

“Gerald did what?” Karl’s eyes flash, a ripple of anger surfacing before he reins it in.

I blanch, regretting that I let that slip. “It’s nothing, really. I just caught him giving me an odd look. And

he seemed... perturbed when I arrived.”

Karl’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, it looks like he might explode. Then he exhales deeply, as

though forcing himself to calm. “I’ll speak with him.”

“And what about setting the record straight?” I press, my voice filled with frustration. “About me?”

He falls silent again, and my annoyance flares up once more.

“Karl? Why didn’t you clear my name?”

“I… I thought it would make me look incompetent,” he finally admits, avoiding my eyes. “That I couldn’t

even handle my personal matters properly.”

“Incompetent?” I retort, incredulous. “So my reputation gets tarnished because you’re worried about

your image? That’s not fair, Karl. You need to man up and do something about it.”

He looks at me, his eyes meeting mine without evasion this time. “You’re right. I’ll handle it. I’m sorry,

Abby.”

Admittedly, I’m a bit shocked. Karl is so willingly offering to make things right. I was so angry with him,

and yet somehow, he’s exceeding my expectations.

But before I can say anything else, he changes the subject. “Where do you want to go for dinner

tonight?”

For a moment, I consider naming one of the countless restaurants we used to frequent, each carrying

its own set of memories. But then a different idea pops into my head.

“I’m tired, actually,” I say. “I’d rather just stay in.”

He nods, the tension still lingering between us, but easing somewhat. “Alright, I can order from

anywhere you want. Just say the word.”

I hesitate, but then the thought solidifies as a soft smile works its way across my lips. “You know what?

I want to cook. In my old kitchen.”

…

I slice through an onion, its layers falling apart under my knife. The pot simmers on the stove, filling the

air with the aroma of garlic and herbs.

It’s soothing, grounding, to be cooking in my old kitchen. The sleek stainless steel countertops are

juxtaposed against the warm amber glow from the overhead light, reminding me of old days. I add a

pinch of salt to the pot, watching the crystals dissolve into the bubbling sauce. Then, footsteps echo

from the hallway.

“Smells amazing in here,” Karl says as he walks in, his eyes meeting mine for a moment before landing

on the pot. “Whatcha cooking?”

“Spaghetti Bolognese,” I reply, stirring the pot once more. “I remember it was one of your favorites.”

“Still is,” he grins, moving closer. “Need any help?”

I look at him, momentarily caught off guard. It would be so easy to say yes, to let him slide back into

that role he once played so perfectly. But I hesitate, unsure. I’m still upset about earlier, about finding

out that he never cleared my name. But at the same time, I can’t bring myself to be too mad at him—

not when he so willingly agreed to set the record straight. And not when we’re in our old home together,

and the nostalgia is taking over me.

Finally, I nod. “Could you chop those mushrooms for me?”

He grabs a knife and starts slicing, his movements as fluid as they always were. For a brief moment,

the kitchen feels like it used to—full of life, laughter, and the smell of delicious food.

As we work side by side, I can’t help but marvel at how well we function together. The synergy is still

there, as if time hasn't changed anything. I find myself imagining what it would be like to have him by

my side at the competition.

He’d be the perfect sous chef—steady, reliable, intuitive…

My lips part, prepared to ask him if he would join me for the competition. But at the last moment, I close

them, shaking my head to myself.

What am I thinking? This is just dinner, nothing more.

“Abby?” Karl asks, snapping me back to reality. “You good? You looked like you were about to say

something.”

I shake my head, glancing away. “Nope. Nothing.”

Finally, the meal is ready. We sit down at the dining table, a space that once hosted countless meals,

countless memories. The spaghetti is tender, the sauce rich and savory.

“This is incredible, Abby,” Karl says after the first bite, looking up at me with sincerity in his eyes.

“Thank you,” I reply, my heart swelling at the compliment. There’s a lot unsaid between us, but for the

moment, the food says it all.

We drink red wine, each sip easing away the day’s worries. Conversation flows easily after the first few

sips, filling the room with an ambiance that’s oddly intoxicating.

“I miss this,” he says softly as he refills my glass. “I miss us.”

His words hit me like a tidal wave, drowning all the caution and restraint I’ve been holding onto. I look

at him, really look, and see the man who once was my everything. For a heartbeat, I want to let go, to

bridge the distance between us in a way words never could.

But I can’t.

“It’s getting late,” I murmur, pushing back my chair abruptly. “I should head to bed.”

He looks at me, eyes searching, but doesn’t push. “Alright. I’ll clean up. Goodnight, Abby.”

“Goodnight, Karl.”

With a terse smile, I stand and turn, heading for the door. But at the last moment, Karl’s voice reaches

me.

“Abby. Wait.”

There’s something in his tone. Something… hopeful? I pause, shooting him a glance over my shoulder.

“What is it, Karl?”

As I meet his gaze, I can see something soft there. It’s as if he wants to close the distance between us,

but he doesn’t. I watch as he glances away, reverting his attention to his glass of wine.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Nevermind. Goodnight, Abby.”

I pause, puzzled by his words. But, not wanting to create more tension, I nod quietly and slip out of the

room. And in fact, it’s not until I’m back in my old room that I finally let out a shaky breath and allow the

tear that I’ve been holding in to roll down my cheek.