Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 103

Abby

The shock of seeing Karl drenched and out of breath still hangs in the air as my mind races, trying to piece together why he’s in this state, why he’s been missing all day.

“Karl, what happened? Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? We needed you today!”

The words tumble out in a rush, fueled by anger, annoyance, and although I won’t admit it, maybe a hint of relief at seeing that he’s here and that he seems okay.

Karl looks at me, his eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry, Abby. I know I messed up, not showing up and not answering your calls, but it’s because I was trying to do something for you.”

My brows knit together in confusion. “For me?”

Karl exhales, as if weighing his words carefully. “I went to find those black truffles you needed for the competition.”

My eyes widen. “You what?”

With a deep sigh, Karl begins telling me his story: about the sketchy dealer that turned out to be a scam artist, about Adam, and finally…

“So I went to the place that Adam told me about,” he says, still drying his soaked hair with a dish towel. “Turns out, Adam wasn’t kidding about those guys. The whole place is crawling with security guards armed to the teeth. It’s close to where we were mushroom hunting the other day. In fact, those were the gunshots we heard. Maybe they caught a trespasser, or maybe they were warning shots… for us.”

A chill runs down my spine after hearing this. Suddenly, I don’t care so much about the truffles anymore, but rather about his safety. “Karl, are you insane? That’s dangerous! What were you thinking?”

“I almost got caught, Abby. Had to jump into a creek to escape.”

My stomach twists into knots, both from relief and the sudden realization of how close I came to losing something—or someone—important. “You could have been hurt, Karl. God, you could have been killed.”

Karl shrugs, his eyes downcast. “Yeah, but I wasn’t. I’m here. And I’m sorry I couldn’t get those truffles for you. I really wanted to bring them to you, but I failed.”

It takes a second for his words to register, for me to process the depth of what he’s saying, the lengths he went to. But when they do, I feel my heart leap, even for just a moment. “You… You went to all those lengths for me?”

Karl nods. “Yeah, I did. But like I said, I failed. I couldn’t find any truffles.”

The disappointment on his face is palpable, and it breaks my heart to see him like this. Suddenly, all of my frustration, all of my anger toward him throughout the day dissipates, and I’m left with nothing but pure, unadulterated admiration.

As much as I’ve been frustrated about those elusive truffles, seeing Karl standing here, wet and

Without thinking, I find myself crossing the distance between us and hugging him tightly, my head resting against his damp chest. I can hear his heartbeat, warm and steady against my ear.

For a moment, I’m thrust back into the days when we were married, when we were always beside one another for times like this. And for a moment, I almost miss those days.

“Karl, you didn’t fail. You came back, and that’s what matters. The truffles... they’re not worth risking your life over.”

He hugs me back, his arms wrapping around me as if to assure both of us that he’s really here, that he’s safe. In this moment, I can feel my wolf, can feel her approval. “I just wanted to help, Abby,” he murmurs.”

“And you did,” I whisper, pulling back to look him in the eye. “You tried, and that means the world to me. But don’t ever do something like that again, at least not without me. Please.”

Karl nods, his eyes meeting mine in a silent promise.

“So, what now?” he asks softly. “About the competition, I mean.”

I sigh, my mind racing back to the hours John and I spent in the kitchen, the relentless pursuit of a perfection that now seems so utterly… pointless.

“I think I just have to accept that I can’t practice this recipe the right way,” I finally murmur, taking a step back as I try to ignore the racing of my heart. “I guess not everything can be perfect.”

…

I fumble with my keys at my apartment door, finally managing to unlock it and step inside for the first time since this morning.

The weight of the day presses down on me like a ton of bricks. ‘Exhausted’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. And the frustration over the truffles—or the lack thereof—is the cherry on top.

“God, what a day,” I mumble to myself, tossing my bag onto the coffee table as I collapse onto my couch. I kick off my heels, letting them thud unceremoniously onto the floor. For a moment, I entertain the thought of just falling asleep right here, still in my work clothes.

As if agreeing with me, my eyelids grow heavy and I start to drift, the stress of the day fading away into the welcoming arms of sleep.

But just as I’m about to finally nod off into the sweet embrace of sleep, a sharp ding pierces the air. I jolt awake, my eyes snapping open.

My phone’s screen is lit up on the coffee table, a notification glowing. Rubbing my temples, I sit up and reach for it, my eyes narrowing as I see it’s an email. At this hour?

The sender and subject catch my attention immediately.

It’s from the cook-off judges. My heartbeat quickens as I open the email, thinking they must have reached out to discuss some detail about the competition. But as I skim the content, my eyes widen in disbelief.

“Hey, Emi,” the first email in the thread reads. “I’m thinking that we should do the truffle dish after all, don’t you think?”

“100% agree,” the judge named Emi replies. “The mafaldine will pair well with the dessert we’ve chosen, and I think it’ll be a good test of the contestant’s abilities to work with rare ingredients.”

Finally, there is one more email in the thread… The one that made my phone light up a moment ago, and which definitely should not have had me included. It’s from Mr. Thompson.

“Very well. The mafaldine truffle dish will be the entree. Let me know if any of you have any changes to make as we continue!”

My hand instinctively claps over my mouth. They’re going to pick the truffle dish after all? The one dish I can’t practice because of those elusive, expensive truffles?

My mind starts racing, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. I quickly check the recipients of the email. A bunch of internal addresses and... me. My name is there, clearly added by mistake. Someone’s going to have a fun time explaining this slip-up, but right now, that’s the least of my concerns.

My eyes dart back to the email text. I read it again, making sure I didn’t misunderstand. No, it’s clear as day: they’re planning on selecting the truffle dish for the competition.

So, what does this mean for me? It means that I can’t just wing it. It means that somehow, some way, I have to get my hands on those truffles and perfect that dish. The margin for error just got a whole lot smaller, and the stakes are now higher than ever.

I set my phone down, still in a bit of a daze. I wasn’t supposed to see this email, but I did. And as much as it's a breach of internal confidentiality or whatever, right now, it’s also a lifeline.

A lifeline that I sorely needed.