Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 207

Abby

We’re nearing the end of the night, and although my feet are more sore than they’ve ever been and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on my skin, it’s a good sort of exhaustion that I’m feeling.

I’m taking a moment to stand beside the line, sipping on some ice cold water to calm my nerves. It’s been a whirlwind of a night, but we’ve finally beat the second wave of orders, and now we’re just tying up loose ends before the kitchen is officially closed.

As I glance around, making sure everything is in order, I hear the kitchen door swing open. I look up, expecting to see Daisy or another server bustle in, but there’s no one; just the door swinging on its hinges.

“Hello?” I call out, a bit confused. There’s no answerI can’t see very well over the line, and John and Anton have their backs turned.

Figuring that it was just a random gust of wind or someone opening the wrong door in search of the bathroom, I decide to walk around the line to take a look—just in case.

But as I approach, I gasp in surprise.

There, standing in the doorway, are the two little children from earlier in the evening. They’re still dressed in their fancy clothes, but their faces are now smeared with chocolate more than before, and they look like they’ve been having quite the adventure.

“Chef Abby!” the little girl exclaims, pointing her chocolate-covered finger at me.

I quickly wipe my hands on my apron, my concern mounting. “Hey, you two,” I say gently, crouching down to their eye level. “What are you doing in here? It’s not safe for little kids in the kitchen.”

The two children exchange glances, their faces breaking into mischievous smiles. The boy, with chocolate all over his cheeks, points to a nearby pot on the stove. “We wanted to come and help cook,” he explains with a grin.

I can’t help but laugh at their innocence. “Well, I appreciate the offer,” I say with a chuckle, “but little children aren’t allowed in the kitchen. It can be a dangerous place.”

Standing, I reach out and take their tiny hands. “Come on,” I say, leading them back toward the kitchen door. “Let’s find your mom.”

We step back into the party area, and I can see the relief on the faces of the partygoers, especially their mother, who has clearly been frantically searching for her children. She rushes over to us, her eyes filled with worry.

“Oh, thank goodness you found them!” she exclaims, gathering her children into her arms. “I was so worried.”

I give her an understanding smile. “They just wanted to explore a bit,” I explain, “but I couldn’t let them stay in the kitchen. It’s not safe.”

She nods, scolding her children gently. “You two should never sneak into the kitchen like that. It’s dangerous, and you could get hurt.”

The children hang their heads, looking contrite. “Sorry, mom,” they mumble in unison.

She hugs them tightly, her relief palpable. “Thank you,” she says to me. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

I wave it off with a smile. “It’s not a big deal; I caught it before anything happened.”

Crouching down to the children's level once more, I give them an encouraging smile. “Someday, when you’re older, you can work in a kitchen if you want. But for now, it’s best to stay out, okay?”

The children's eyes light up with curiosity and excitement at the thought. “Really?” the boy asks.

I nod, ruffling his blond hair. “Absolutely. You can become great chefs someday if you work hard and learn.”

The children exchange another excited glance before turning back to me with wide smiles. “Thanks, Chef Abby!” they say in unison.

Their mother chuckles. “Thank you again,” she says to me.

With a nod and a final smile, I leave them to enjoy the rest of the party and head back to the kitchen. But as I walk away, I can’t deny the tears that have gathered in my eyes.

I almost forgot how much I love children, and it fills me with a sense of melancholy…

Because I know that I may never be able to have children of my own.

…

The night has wound down, and the kitchen is finally closed. It’s been a whirlwind of a night, filled with so many different moments, both bittersweet and exciting.

My staff and I have convened in the kitchen for one last drink to power us through the end-of-night cleaning. I’m sitting on the counter, a welcome reprieve from standing all night.

After pouring the champagne, John holds up his glass with a smile on his tired face.

“To Abby,” he says.

I blush, raising my own glass. “No. To all of us.”

The others cheer in agreement, and I feel a warmth spread through me. It’s moments like these that remind me of the wonderful people I have in my life.

“Really, I couldn’t have done any of this without all of you,” I say, looking at all of my staff’s faces. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

We all clink our glasses together and drink. As we take some time to chat about the night and rest our feet, however, I keep looking at the door. It’s as if my heart is secretly hoping that Karl might just walk through.

But he doesn’t.

I start to wonder if he’s already left without saying goodbye, and in that moment, as though acting on impulse, I find myself standing.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, setting my glass down and walking out the door.

In the dining area, Mr. Thompson’s staff is already breaking down the party decorations. The streamers and balloons have been taken down, the lights are being packed away, and the floor is being swept clean of confetti and glitter. It’s actually kind of starting to look like my restaurant again.

Mr. Thompson looks up from the notes he’s taking on a clipboard as I approach. “Ah, Abby,” he says, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “Everything okay?”

I nod, my eyes scanning the room. All of the guests are gone—including Karl. “I’m fi—”

“You’re looking for Karl,” he says, dropping his voice to an almost-whisper.

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. “I—”

He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “Look, Abby, I saw the chemistry between you two earlier. He just left a few minutes ago. Perhaps you could still catch him.”

My heart sinks at the realization that I missed him, but at the same time, Mr. Thompson’s words fill me with a sense of determination.

“Go,” he says, giving me a little push. “If you run, I think you could catch him.”

Embarrassment washes over me once more, but I don’t care. I mumble a quick thank you and rush out the door without another word.

The cool night air hits me as I step onto the street. I stand there for a moment, my eyes scanning the parked cars, before I begin to run.

The wind hits my face, cooling my hot skin. My hair falls free of its bun, and I’m running, running as fast as I can as I search for him.

And then, up ahead, I see a lone figure walking down the sidewalk, illuminated in amber by the streetlights. His hands are in his pockets, his stride slow and easy. I recognize him immediately, and stop in my tracks.

“Karl!”

He slowly turns, and as our eyes meet across the distance, time seems to stop.