Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 136

Abby

Karl’s eyes go wide as I drop my bomb on him.

“So, please, will you be my sous chef today?” I ask, the question hanging in the air.

There’s a long moment of silence, filled only by the sound of my heart pounding out of my chest, before Karl finally speaks.

“No. Absolutely not. I’m sorry, Abby.”

My jaw drops. All at once, I feel like I’m about to scream and cry and throw up. Karl was my last viable option. I can’t show up to the competition without a sous chef, and I can’t pull out of the competition, either.

“But… Why?” I ask, my voice trembling.

Karl sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Look, Abby, I really would love to, but… I just can’t. I’m not suitable in the kitchen, not like that. I’d just ruin your chances of winning.”

I’m completely taken aback. “Karl, are you being serious right now?” The words erupt from me, unable to be contained any longer. I’m desperate. “How can you say you’re not good enough in the kitchen? You’re good at practically everything!”

He grimaces, crossing his arms. “It’s not about being good at things, Abby. It’s about being good at the right things. I don't think I’d be any help to you in the kitchen, especially not to that capacity.”

“But, Karl, I’m desperate here. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. You know how much this competition means to me.” My eyes plead with him, taking in the stubble on his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes.

He sighs. “I know, Abby, but being an Alpha comes with its own set of complications. The cooking world is your domain, not mine.” He stops pacing and looks at me, his eyes locked onto mine. “And if someone recognizes me? If word gets out that I was there, can you even imagine the kind of trouble that could cause? No one here knows that I’m an Alpha!”

I flinch at his words, but then come up with an idea. “Okay, so put on a disguise! Wear a hat, sunglasses, whatever it takes! Wear that blue surgical mask again, just like you did yesterday!”

He snorts. “A disguise? Really, Abby? You want me to wear a disguise on live television?”

“You’re missing the point,” I snap, my hands clenched in frustration. “Trust me, we could make it work. I need you.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “Please, Karl. I need you,” I say, my voice more pleading than I’d ever like to admit. “I don’t have anyone else right now. And besides, no one would be thinking about you. You’d just be the sous chef, the assistant.”

“Look, I know how you feel,” he says, growing exasperated himself. “But with the way my approval ratings are dropping right now in my pack, if word got out that I was working as ‘just a sous chef’ for my ex-wife, people would go feral. It would be a nightmare. For both of us.”

“You’re overthinking it,” I retort. “Trust me, Karl. We’ll keep your identity hidden. I promise.”

He sighs deeply, a troubled look crossing his face. “Look, why don’t you just call Adam? He could help you. And honestly, he kind of owes you.”

The name hits me like a bucket of cold water, instantly raising my hackles. “Adam? Really, Karl? Is that your solution?”

He looks confused, taken aback by my sudden vehemence. “Why not? He’s in the same field; he has the skills. You two know each other well.”

I shake my head, my eyes narrowed. “Adam and I could never work together in the kitchen. We’re like oil and water. Plus, he has his own restaurant; how would it look if he[s my sous chef?”

“What do you mean?” Karl asks, genuinely perplexed.

“Imagine the gossip that would start if Adam helps me win this competition. People will think we’re colluding, or worse, that he’s got ulterior motives. That maybe he would be trying to secretly cater the Alpha party on his own. My sous chef can’t have any strings attached, Karl,” I say, staring at him, willing him to understand.

Karl seems lost, his eyes searching mine.

“I…” he begins, but then stops, looking flabbergasted.

I sigh, passing my hand over my face. The clock is ticking: 7:45 a.m. I’m running out of time. I need to be at the studio by 9 at the latest, and it’s all the way on the other side of the city. It’ll take me a solid 45 minutes to get there on foot, even with the help of the subway.

Then, suddenly, I have an idea.

“Karl,” I say, taking a step closer to him, “do you remember that time four years ago, when we were still married? We had to prep for Leah’s surprise birthday party. You jumped in to help me last-minute, and we were like... a well-oiled machine,” I say, pleading with him with my eyes.

He looks up at me, his eyes searching mine, and for a second, I can see what looks like recognition flash through his gaze.

“Yeah, I remember,” he says softly, dropping his eyes, “but Abby, we’ve been broken up for three years. A lot can change in three years. You’re different. I’m different.”

“Chemistry doesn’t change, Karl. Skills may get rusty, but the way we worked together? That was magic, and magic doesn't have an expiration date. Hell, think back to all of the times we’ve worked together recently. The kitchen fire, the truffles, all of the dinner rushes…”

He stares at me, and I can see the gears turning in his head. “Do you really think we still have that sort of... chemistry?” he asks.

“Of course,” I say, nodding. “Of course I do. In fact, I almost asked you to be my sous chef before I asked John. But I chickened out, and now I wish I had asked you weeks ago, so we wouldn’t even be here right now.”

His eyes lock onto mine, a world of unspoken words reflected in their depths. “Really? You were going to ask me?”

I nod, my mind flashing back to those days. There was a lot of uncertainty then, and I didn’t know if I could trust Karl. But I’ve grown to trust him more than I ever thought I would again.

“Yes, I was,” I say. “I second-guessed because... well, because we’re not together anymore, and I didn’t know how you’d feel about it. But now, with everything going on—” I gesture toward my phone, which is still open to the group chat, “—I wish I had asked before.”

He sighs, a mix of exhaustion and resignation, then finally nods. “Okay, Abby, I’ll do it. I’ll be your sous chef.”

“Really?” My voice breaks, relief washing over me like a warm tide.

“Yes, really,” he says. “But I’m wearing a mask and I’m going by a pseudonym. If anyone asks, you hired a new, promising young chef on the scene. I don’t care what you call me, but my name isn’t Karl.”

I look at him, my eyes watering from a mixture of relief and joy. “O-Of course,” I find myself saying, nodding profusely. “Whatever works for you. I promise, Karl, no one will know.”

“Now,” he says, turning towards his bedroom, “give me five minutes to get ready. Let’s get you to that cook-off.”