Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 130

Abby

Vanessa walks up to me, her heels clicking softly on the tile floor. The room slowly begins to pick up its volume again, but I feel lost in a giant void.

“Are you okay, Abby?” Vanessa asks, her voice pulling me back to the present.

“I-I’m fine,” I murmur, although the words feel like a complete and utter lie. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.” I glance at Karl, who's standing a few feet away, watching intently.

Vanessa smiles, a soft, empathetic curve of her lips that immediately puts me at ease. “Don’t be sorry. The culinary world isn’t exactly a bed of roses for women, you know? We’re already at a disadvantage just by being female chefs.”

“That shouldn’t be the case,” I find myself saying, a hint of bitterness in my voice. “Skill and talent should be what matters, not gender.”

Vanessa nods, her eyes meeting mine with a look that speaks volumes. “You’re absolutely right. But sometimes the world doesn’t operate the way it should.” She hesitates for a moment, as though contemplating whether to continue, then seems to make a decision. “Let me tell you a story.”

She leans against a nearby table, crossing her arms as she gathers her thoughts. “Years ago, when I was climbing my way up the ladder, there was a male chef—I’ll call him Mark—who couldn’t stand me. Not because I was better or worse than him in the kitchen, mind you, but simply because I was a woman. And a black woman at that.”

“That’s horrible,” I say, my heart sinking at the thought of facing such blatant discrimination.

“Oh, but that’s not even the beginning of it,” Vanessa says, her voice taking on a grim tone.

“One night, during a critical review from a food critic, Mark sabotaged my dish. He swapped the fresh herbs I’d prepped with ones that had turned, ruining the entire dish. The critic got sick. It was a whole thing.”

“Oh, no,” I gasp. “Did he get away with it?”

Vanessa nods. “He did. At the time, nobody believed that he could do something so petty, and I didn’t have the evidence to prove it. No one wanted to listen to me, the black female chef. I was a nobody, a woman in a male-dominated field. But you know what? In the end, it didn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “He sabotaged your career!”

“No, Abby,” she says, shaking her head. “He tried to sabotage my career. There’s a difference. What he did was a setback, no doubt about it, but it wasn’t the end of the world. I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and got back to work. And today, I’m far more successful now than he ever became.”

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy but also strangely uplifting. For a moment, I’m speechless, too caught up in the raw emotion of her story to formulate a response.

“And you know why?” she continues, her voice softer now but no less intense. “Because I didn’t let his petty actions define me. I defined myself, through hard work, resilience, and a refusal to be put in a box just because of my gender and my race.”

Her eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I feel as though she’s more than just an idol for me. She’s a fellow woman, an ally, a mentor. “And you can do the same, Abby. You’re talented, passionate, and more than capable of standing on your own two feet. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

I’m on the verge of tears, but I’m able to fight them back thanks to the strength I see in Vanessa’s eyes and the conviction I hear in her voice.

“Thank you,” I finally manage to say, my voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “I… I think I needed to hear that.”

“We all do, from time to time,” she says, her eyes softening as she reaches out to squeeze my arm. “So, whenever you find yourself doubting your worth or questioning your place in this world, remember this: You belong here, just as much as anyone else. And no amount of criticism, sabotage, or petty rivalry can take that away from you.”

I nod. “I’ll try to remember.”

Vanessa’s eyes then flit between me and Karl. “And, I must say, it’s a wonderful thing to have a boyfriend who stands up for you like that,” she says.

Both Karl and I sputter almost in unison. “Oh, we’re not—”

“—together. We’re not together,” Karl finishes, his eyes darting nervously over to me. I’m aware of how red my cheeks are, and I quickly look away.

Vanessa’s mouth twitches into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with a kind of playful mischief. “My apologies, then. It’s not my place to make assumptions.”

“Still, it’s pretty awesome to have such a good friend,” she continues, looking squarely at Karl. “Someone like that is hard to come by. Hold onto him.” She winks at me, her eyes twinkling.

As Vanessa starts to drift away, I find myself looking up at Karl. He’s staring back, and there’s a softness in his eyes that makes my heart melt even though I was on the verge of scolding him for causing a scene like that.

“I’m sorry, Karl,” I find myself saying for reasons unknown to me.

He tilts his head, his eyes searching mine. “Why are you apologizing? You did an amazing job today, Abby. You were professional, articulate, and honest. Everyone at the restaurant was watching, and they’re just dying to see you.”

His words help to soothe away my unease. But still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve inconvenienced him—and everyone in this studio, for that matter.

“You didn’t have to confront Daniel. I didn’t want to drag you into my petty drama.”

“It’s not ‘petty drama,’” he says. “And besides, I wanted to. You think I’d just stand around and let some dollar-store chef bad mouth you?”

“Thanks,” I say with a soft chuckle. “But you really don’t need to do stuff like that. I’ll try to handle my own emotions in the future.”

Karl rolls his eyes, a playful gesture that sends an unexpected ripple of warmth through me. “Well, too bad. I’ll do it anyway. Until the day I die.”

His words send a pleasant shiver down my spin, and I find myself looking away again to hide the blush in my cheeks. From across the room, Vanessa’s eyes meet mine, and I almost think I see her wink.

“C’mon,” Karl says, gesturing for me to follow. “Let’s head back to the restaurant. There’s a surprise waiting for you.”

I nod, and begin to follow him toward the door. But then, I freeze, remembering something.

“Wait here,” I murmur, turning on my heel. Suddenly I’m running, running down the hall, back toward the greenroom. I burst in through the door, and there they are.

The flowers, still on the floor, right where we left them.

A smile comes over my face as I pick them up. An array of vibrant sunflowers, daisies, and baby’s breath seems to warm up the room, and although a few petals have come loose, it doesn’t mean that the whole bouquet is ruined.

And as I walk back to meet Karl, the bouquet serves as a reminder:

Even when life feels like it’s missing a few petals, there’s always something—or rather, someone—there to brighten up your day.