Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 138

Abby

We exit hair and makeup, and I can’t help but feel like an impostor beneath this mask of perfectly-caked makeup. Just like yesterday, it feels like an uncomfortable facade, a porcelain mask covering the real Abby. I can’t help but wonder to myself: why is this amount of makeup necessary for a cooking show? Shouldn’t my abilities be judged, not my face?

I glance over at Karl as we walk out of the hair and makeup room. He’s still wearing his blue surgical mask, but the makeup that I can see on his face is much lighter than mine.

“Geez, Abby,” he says as he looks at me. “You like like a…”

“Don’t,” I hiss. I don’t want to think about it, not now. Instead, I focus my attention on my chef’s jacket. The fabric is stiff and a little itchy from the starching they put it through to look ‘camera-perfect’, much unlike my own uniform, which is comfortably worn down after years of use.

“Need help with that?” Karl offers, his own jacket already perfectly buttoned.

“No, I’ve got it,” I snap, my nerves fraying. But after another failed attempt, I relent. “Okay, maybe I don’t ‘got it’. Please help.”

Karl moves to button my jacket with a precision that borders on surgical. “There,” he says, stepping back to examine his handiwork. “Perfect.”

But I don’t feel perfect; I feel like I’m about to come apart at the seams.

“Three minutes!” a production assistant yells from down the hall, waving a clipboard frantically.

Three minutes. The weight of the entire morning—the mad dash, the almost-car crash, the last-minute change in sous chefs—crashes down on me.

My hands are shaking and my heart is pounding, this damn makeup is too thick and cakey, and this stupid uniform is too stiff and itchy. I feel like a prisoner in my own body right now.

“I can’t do this, Karl,” I say, my voice quivering. “I’m not ready. I didn’t even get to familiarize myself with my station yet like everyone else. How am I supposed to compete?”

“Abby, look at me,” Karl says, taking my trembling hands into his. His grip is firm, grounding.

I look up, and even with the mask, I can feel the intensity of his gaze, willing me to listen. “You’re one of the most—no, you’re the most—dedicated, passionate people I know. You’ve been through so much already just to get here, Abby. You can do this.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I shoot back, pulling my hands away. “You’re not the one whose career is on the line. If I fail today, it might destroy my restaurant’s reputation.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” he says gently. “But I know what it’s like to have everything riding on one moment. Trust me.”

“How? How can I trust everything will be fine when the whole morning has been a complete disaster?”

Karl sighs. “I wish I had an answer for you, Abby. I really do. But I don’t. You just need to trust that, no matter what, it’s just one day. One competition. Maybe things won’t go perfectly, but it’ll all be over soon.”

His words, in an odd way, make me feel at least a little bit at ease. He’s right; it is just one day. All I have to do is do my best, get through it, and whatever happens, happens.

Right?

“Two minutes!” The production assistant is practically hyperventilating now.

I inhale a shaky breath, then nod and exhale. “Okay. You’re right. One day… I can get through it.”

Karl nods, relief flashing through his eyes, with a hint of something else that I can’t quite read. “Before we go out there, I want you to know something, Abby. You’re not alone in this. I’ve got your back, every step of the way.:

A warmth floods over me, and for the first time all morning, I feel surprisingly comforted. I nod, suddenly eager to face this cook-off, mishaps and all. “And I’ve got yours… ‘Ken.’”

Karl chuckles. The production assistant is waving her clipboard frantically, checking her watch like we’re about to count down to an explosion. Karl takes my hand and we run down the hall, bursting through the doors to the stage. The assistant gestures to where our station is, all the way on the other end. Composing ourselves, we walk stiffly onto the stage.

As we walk into the blinding lights, I can see the other contestants—waiting, watching at their stations. Vanessa is watching from the judges’ stand, and for a moment I expect her to shake her head with disappointment. But instead, she shoots me a subtle wink and a thumbs-up. That alone is enough to make me feel more at ease.

But then, just as we’re passing by the other stations, I hear it: Daniel’s voice, a venomous whisper that cuts through the air, low enough so only Karl and I can hear.

“Just look at her,” Daniel mutters to his sous chef, not even attempting to be subtle about it. “She can’t even get her morning straight without her boyfriend stepping in. Honestly, she has no business being in a professional kitchen.”

My face burns hot, a bristle of indignation bubbling beneath the surface of my skin. I feel Karl tense beside me, his eyes narrowing as he registers Daniel’s words.

“I should say something,” he growls, ready to pounce, but I grab his arm and squeeze, signaling him to stand down.

I can’t let Karl step in, not now. Not when it would only prove Daniel’s point that I’m just a homemaker with no place in the kitchen, who needs a man to take care of business.

“No,” I say firmly. “Just ignore her.”

Karl shoots me a look as we approach our station. “And just let her trash-talk you? Again?”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles Karl.”

“I know you don’t, but—”

“—but nothing,” I cut him off. “Now is not the time.”

Karl’s eyes search mine for a moment before he finally nods, although I can still sense a stiffness in his posture. “Okay. Fine.”

We navigate through the hectic energy of the room, sidestepping frantic production assistants and dodging camera operators with their massive rigs. As we make it to our station, I see Daniel glance my way, his lips stretching into a mean-spirited smirk.

My heart sinks, but I don’t let it show. I straighten my posture, lift my chin, and flash a bright, defiant smile. I’ve worked too hard and come too far to let Daniel or anyone else shake my confidence.

Karl leans into me as we stand by our cooking station, his words just for me. “You okay?”

“Of course,” I say, the white lie sliding effortlessly off of my tongue. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

We spend the next few seconds arranging our knives, aligning our set up, and soaking in the final moments of calm before the storm. It’s a calming practice for me, and I allow myself a few moments to familiarize myself as much as I can.

The air in the studio is electric as the stage crew finishes last-minute preparations and the live audience gets settled. Camera lenses glint in the spotlight, almost blinding me.

I feel both electrified and terrified at the same time, but right now, I decide to force myself closer to the electrified end of the spectrum. I keep imagining the faces of my friends and staff, the people who matter the most to me, and that keeps me grounded.

But you know what else keeps me grounded, in a way that I never thought I would admit?

Karl’s presence beside me. And right now, more than ever, I’m glad to have him by my side.

“Places everyone!” the director yells, pointing us to our marks on the stage. The atmosphere is so thick with tension I feel like I could slice through it with a knife.

“And we’re live in 3, 2, 1…”