Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 131

Abby

“What’s going on?” I ask Karl as we approach the restaurant, checking my watch. The lights are off and it’s an hour before closing. “Why is it so dark?”

“Um, actually, I wanted to tell you earlier but I figured you’d rather see it firsthand,” Karl says, looking a little embarrassed. “So, the power went out…”

My eyes widen. “You’re joking. Seriously?”

Karl nods. “Yeah. We closed the restaurant early. The electric company said it’s a power grid issue.”

I sigh and pass my hand over my face. “Geez. Alright… It’s fine, I guess. Where is everyone? I thought you said there was a surprise.”

Nodding again, Karl gestures for me to follow. We open the front door and walk in. “They’re in the back,” he says, clearing his throat. “Just lit some candles and ordered some pizza…”

Suddenly, the lights flick on. My eyes haven’t even adjusted to the sudden brightness when the room erupts into cheer, and I quickly realize that this entire spiel about the electric company was completely made up.

“Surprise!” My friends shout in chorus, their faces lit up in glee. A banner hangs above the bar, reading ‘Good Luck, Abby!’

I’m speechless, my eyes scanning over each one of their excited faces. The grins that they shoot back at me erase any annoyance over the fake electric outage or the fact that they clearly closed the restaurant early for this.

“You guys did this for me?”

“Of course!” Anton exclaims, emerging from the kitchen, a chef’s towel slung over his shoulder and a tray of delectable hors d'oeuvres balancing on his hand. “It’s your big day tomorrow! How could we not celebrate you?”

I feel tears prickling my eyes, but I blink them back. “Thank you, all of you. This means the world to me.”

Soon enough, drinks are handed out and music begins to play. Hor d’oeuvres are served, candles are lit, and the air becomes filled with the scent of good food and the sound of laughter. I’m sitting at one of the tables, a wine glass in front of me, laughing at Ethan and Daisy as they argue over who gets the last Bavarian pretzel bite.

Just then, Anton sets a dish in front of me. My eyes widen as I recognize the aroma—truffles. “Anton, is this…?”

He grins. “Indeed. Farro mafaldine…”

“With black truffle butter,” I say with a giddy smile. I take a bite, the explosion of flavors hitting my tongue and practically sending me to heaven. “This is divine,” I murmur. “You’ve outdone yourself as always, Anton.”

The night carries on for a while longer. All at once, it’s going too slow and too fast. It’s hard to believe the cook-off is tomorrow; right now, this moment feels like that’s all that exists. Just us, this restaurant, good food, and good company.

Eventually, I find myself leaning over the bar while Chloe meticulously crafts three cocktails. The others are playing an animated game of cards at one of the tables behind us. Leah is perched on a barstool beside me, and we’ve stolen Chloe’s phone to scroll through her Tinder matches.

“Ooh, he’s cute,” Leah says, holding the phone out to show a picture of a muscular guy with a football jersey on.

I make a face. “Ew. Football guys.

“Yeah,” Chloe adds, putting the finishing touches on the cocktails. “He was weird, too. Wouldn’t stop talking about how he likes when girls wear a jersey and nothing else. I was like, ‘and hide my figure? Um, I don’t think so, pal.’”

Leah and I both laugh. When the cocktails are finished, Chloe distributes them.

“How about a toast?” Chloe suggests, holding her glass up.

“Absolutely,” Leah chimes in, her face already glowing from a few drinks.

“To friendship,” I propose, lifting my glass, “and to sticking together, no matter what challenges come our way. Salut!”

“Salut,” they both echo, clinking their glasses against mine.

The liquid is as smooth as it pours down my throat, and burns in all the right ways. I’m trying not to drink too much tonight, but I definitely needed a little something after all of the tense moments earlier today.

“Did you mean it?” Chloe asks, her voice quieter than before. “What you said on TV today? About everyone here?”

I reach out and take both of their hands in mine, aware of how clammy my palms are but not caring in the slightest.

“Every single word,” I assure her, my eyes flicking between Chloe and Leah. “You both have been with me through thick and thin. I couldn’t have asked for better friends.”

Leah’s eyes glisten, a testament to the emotional weight of our journey together. “And we couldn’t have asked for a better friend than you, Abby. You make this place feel like home.”

“I second that,” Chloe says, squeezing my hand.

“No matter where life takes us,” I continue, “know that nothing—no cook-off, no restaurant reviews, and definitely no drama—will ever come between us again.”

‘We’ll hold you to that,” Leah says with a playful wink.

“We don’t have to,” Chloe counters. “Because I know she means it.”

There’s a pause as the three of us blink our tears away and take another sip. Then, with a grin, Leah leans on my shoulder.

“Man,” she says, letting out a sigh. “Maybe I should work here. I feel left out.”

Chloe chuckles. “Yeah, like you wouldn’t cry if a customer is mean to you.”

Leah giggles. “You’re right. I think I’m better suited in an office, tucked away from the general public.”

I’m just about to open my mouth to say something else when the music suddenly becomes almost deafeningly loud. The three of us turn to see Anton standing by the stereo, swaying back and forth to the music.

“Abby! Come show us how you move!” Anton shouts over the music, beckoning me toward the makeshift dance floor between tables.

I laugh, setting down my glass. “All right, you asked for it!”

Anton grins, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. “In France, we have a saying: ‘Life is a grand dance, and we’re all just trying to keep up.’ So let’s dance!”

“I’ll do my best!” I promise, stepping into the open space.

We both get into it, the spirit of the night giving permission for unfiltered joy. Anton kicks up a leg and then twirls dramatically, his chef’s apron swinging around him like a matador’s cape. I mimic him, throwing in a few silly moves of my own—a mix of the robot and some awkward moonwalking.

“Oh my god, what is that?” Leah asks, doubled over with laughter as she captures the whole thing on her phone.

“It’s the ‘Abby Shuffle,’ patent pending!” I shout over the music. Chloe is laughing so hard she nearly spills her drink.

Anton and I finish off with a mock bow and curtsy, soaking in the applause and laughter from our friends. It’s silly, it’s fun, and it’s the kind of thing that makes life worth savoring.

But as the night wears on, my eyes keep drifting to Karl. He’s across the room, talking with John, his expressions animated and passionate. There’s something about the way he carries himself, the seriousness that balances my spontaneity, which has always drawn me to him.

And then, as if on cue, I see him slip away, heading towards the back alley. He doesn’t look back, but something in the way he exits the room gives me pause. It’s a kind of quiet retreat, a brief withdrawal from the whirlwind of socializing.

The urge to follow him is too strong to resist.

I grab a bottle of wine from the bar, glancing briefly at my friends, who are too absorbed in their game of charades to notice me slip away behind Karl. I find him a moment later outside, surrounding by the streetlights and the sounds of the city.

He’s leaning against the brick wall, his head tilted back. His eyes are wandering the night sky, although the city lights block out the stars.

He looks over as I approach. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes that I can’t quite read, followed by a softening of his gaze.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I return. I hold up the bottle and shake it slightly. “Need some company?”