Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 119

Abby

I’m standing in the middle of the restaurant, my phone clutched in my hand as I stare at the screen. The headline glares back at me: “Inside Abby’s Bizarre World: A Journey into the Mind of a Lunatic.”

“Guys, you have to see this,” I say, grinning as I turn the screen towards Daisy, Chloe, Karl, John, Ethan, and Anton.

Karl starts to chuckle. “Oh my god, look, she included my quote—'it’s like being a hamster on a disco ball: spinning but fabulous.”

Daisy snickers. “That was pure gold, Karl. I’m surprised you came up with that one.”

Chloe leans over my shoulder. “And she actually wrote about your ‘commute from Mars’? How gullible was this lady?”

Ethan laughs so hard he almost spits out his coffee. “This is hilarious. Do you think she realized we were messing with her?”

“I hope not,” Anton says, shaking his head. “It adds to the mystery, no?”

As we’re reveling in the absurdity of it all, my phone rings. The laughter dies down a bit as I glance at the caller ID. “It’s Mr. Thompson,” I announce before swiping to answer.

“Abby, good morning. I presume you’ve seen the article.” His voice is stern, making my heart race.

“I was… just discussing it with my team,” I reply, shooting a look at everyone to signal that it’s serious. “Quite the story, huh?”

Mr. Thompson pauses, and I can practically feel the tension emanating through the phone. “I don’t find it amusing, Abby. This is terrible press for someone who is competing in the cook-off. What were you thinking?”

I bite my lip, realizing the gravity of what’s happening. “Mr. Thompson, I can explain. The journalist was actually a fraud. We found out too late, and we thought responding this way would at least make the piece discreditable.”

“You should have been more cautious, Abby. Such naivety doesn’t bode well in the culinary industry.”

I can feel my stomach knotting, the weight of his words crushing my earlier triumph. “I understand that it was a risky move, but it was an unusual situation.”

“That may be, but you should know better than to retaliate like this. You’re now on thin ice, Abby. Not just with the competition, but with me.”

I look around at my friends; their faces are filled with concern. “I understand, Mr. Thompson. What should I do?”

He sighs. “Look, I like you, Abby. Since I believe you’re talented and I want to see you succeed, I’m going to give you another chance. I’ll send you the contact information of a journalist I trust. You’re going to give them an interview, and this time, it had better be straightforward. No antics.”

I feel a mix of relief and gratitude. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Consider this your last chance, Abby. Don’t mess it up.”

“I won’t, Mr. Thompson. I promise.”

…

I’m pacing the restaurant, feeling more nervous than I should. The journalist from Mr. Thompson’s recommendation, Vanessa, is supposed to arrive at any minute. I’ve already prepped the team, even went as far as to write down potential answers for likely questions.

No more disco-ball hamsters, we agreed. We need this one to be a hit.

“Abby, relax! You’re making me nervous just looking at you,” Chloe exclaims, perched on a barstool as she wipes down glasses.

“I just want this to go right, you know?” I reply, peeking at my phone. Still no messages. Vanessa should be here by now.

Daisy sidles up next to me, coffee mug in hand. “Hey, she’s a professional. She’ll be here, and she’ll write a fabulous piece, and everything will be just—”

The phone rings, interrupting her reassurances. I glance at the caller ID, expecting to see Vanessa’s number on the screen, but my face falls with disappointment. “It’s my landlord. Hang on.” I step aside, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hey, David, what’s up?”

“Abby, you need to come home. Now.” David’s voice is frantic, something I’ve never heard before from the usually-jovial older man. “There’s been a fire.”

My heart drops. “What? Is everyone okay? What about my apartment?”

David sighs. “I think everyone’s fine, but you need to get here. Police, fire department, everyone’s here. It looks like it was set deliberately.”

“Intentionally? Are you kidding me?” My voice is shaky as I process this.

“Just get here, Abby.”

“I’m on my way,” I say, hanging up. The room spins around me as I turn to face my team. “Guys, I have to go. There’s been a fire at my building. They think it was set on purpose.”

Karl stands up, visibly concerned. “Do you want us to come with you?”

“No, you guys stay. Handle the interview with Vanessa if she shows up. Explain the situation, please. I just... I need to see what's happened.” I’m already grabbing my coat and bag.

“We’ve got this, Abby. Go,” Anton says, nodding firmly.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, almost out the door now.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just go!” Chloe shouts after me.

As soon as I arrive at my building, I see the mess. Fire trucks, police cars, neighbors standing outside wrapped in blankets, the stench of burnt wood and plastic in the air. David spots me as I push through the crowd.

“Abby, over here.”

“What happened?” I ask, my eyes darting around, trying to assess the damage.

“It started on the first floor, in the storage room. The firefighters contained it before it could spread too much, but there’s still a lot of damage,” Mr. Davis explains, wringing his hands.

“A storage room? That’s...odd,” I say, confused and anxious.

A police officer approaches us, her face stern. “You’re the tenant from apartment 8?”

“Yes, I am. Abby. What’s going on?”

“We’re investigating. It seems like the fire was started intentionally. Do you have any enemies, anyone who might want to harm you?”

I almost laugh at the absurdity. “Enemies? No, I run a restaurant, not a mafia.”

The officer doesn’t smile. “We’re taking this very seriously. We have yet to identify the person responsible.”

“How bad is the damage?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around the situation.

“We’ll need to make some repairs, but your apartment is mostly okay,” Mr. Davis interjects. “Some water and smoke damage. You might want to stay somewhere else for a few days, though.”

I swallow. The weight of it all suddenly feels like too much. A fire, possibly caused by an arsonist, on the very day that I’m supposed to publish a news article?

“Sorry, but do you know where in the building the fire may have originated from?” I ask the officer just before she walks away.

The officer nods, then gestures for me to follow. David and I trail behind her into apartment, number eight along the row of townhouses. I can feel my heart leap into my throat as we make our way up the front steps and in through the door.

“Oh my god…”

My apartment walls are scorched. The sprinklers must have gone off, because there’s a thin layer of water on everything. The further we get into my apartment, the more I see it: my belongings, my books, papers, and photographs… Many of them have been damaged. Even my favorite armchair is singed.

The officer leads me over to the kitchen, where it appears as though the window was pried open.

“We believe the perpetrator forced this window open and threw a match in here,” she says, pointing to a spot on the floor where the scorch marks are extra dark and the smell of gasoline is strong.

My eyes widen and tears begin to brim up, obscuring my vision. “I… I…”

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” the officer says gently. “But trust me, miss, we’ll find whoever did this. Arson is a felony. They will go to prison.”

“T-Thank you,” I murmur, wiping the tears from my eyes.

David squeezes my shoulder gently and meets my gaze. “The good news is, Abby, this is all fixable. And don’t worry, your renter’s insurance will cover all of it. You are not a suspect in this matter.”

I nod and sniffle, quickly glancing away.

“Now then,” the officer says, “will you be willing to come down to the station with us to answer some questions?”

“Of course.” I nod. I’m already hell-bent on finding out whoever did this… and why. “Let’s go.”