Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 347

Abby

“So? Tell me all about it.”

Chloe sidles up next to me at the prepping station, knife in hand. I shoot her a furtive look over the carrots that I’m getting ready to pickle for the gala.

“Tell you about what?” I ask.

Chloe smirks and glances over her shoulder at the others, then leans in a little closer. “You and Damon.”

I let out a scoff. “You mean the table arrangements he needed help with? Yeah, it was real titillating.”

“Oh, come on.” Chloe nudges me as she chops a large onion. The scent doesn’t make my eyes water anymore; although right now, I can’t quite tell if it’s from years of cooking or if it’s because I’ve spent the last three days crying whenever I have a moment alone.

“He’s a prince,” she continues. “I’m sure he’s got all kinds of managers who can handle that kind of stuff. You think he was really out there setting up tables just for the hell of it?”

I shrug, although this isn’t the first time it’s occurred to me. “I don’t know. He seems like a pretty hands-on type of guy. And besides, neither of us have ever met a prince, so who knows?”

Chloe lets out a wry chuckle. “Oh, sure,” she says. “And I’m sure that your very businesslike interaction with him is the reason behind why you’ve been touching your cheek in the same spot every few minutes. Like right now.”

An instant blush creeps over my face, and I realize that Chloe is right; I am touching my cheek right now, in the exact spot where Damon wiped the flour off of me. I quickly lower my hand and look away.

“Did he kiss you or something?” Chloe teases.

“No.” I scowl at her. “He wiped some flour off of my face.”

“Ooh.” Chloe leans in a little closer. “‘Oh, Prince Damon, I’m such a mess,’” she coos in a sing-song whisper. “‘I know I look like a lowly scullery maid, but I swear I’m so much more than that!’”

Turning, I swat at Chloe with my dish towel. But we both laugh, and I can’t help but realize that it’s the first time in the past few days where I’ve really laughed. It feels nice.

“Have you thought about his proposal at all?” she asks.

I shrug, glancing over my shoulder at the others, who are oblivious to our conversation. “I have,” I admit. “I won’t lie. It’s tempting. But…”

“But, it’s far away from us, and you’d have to give up the restaurant,” Chloe finishes. “I know. And yet, you’re intrigued, aren’t you? To work for a prince? To have a fresh start? Maybe a little… extra?”

Her words make me blush again. Chloe nudges me. “I can tell you like him, or at least, you like the attention,” she says. “I’m not saying you need to act on it or anything; in fact, I’d advise against it for a while. But you do realize it’s okay to recognize that he’s a good catch, right?”

I let out a soft sigh. “I do realize that. He’s handsome, and he seems very nice, and… I mean, he is a prince. But he also seems a little overbearing. And besides…”

My voice trails off, but Chloe understands. She stops chopping, and her hand comes over to rest on top of mine. This is the first time I notice that I haven’t been pickling the carrots for quite a while now.

“I know,” she says softly. “It’s a lot.”

Tears begin to mist up in my eyes. I quickly wipe my face with my sleeve and turn to her, managing a smile. “Thank you for understanding, Chloe.”

“I promised I would try harder, wouldn’t I?” she says softly. “I won’t deny that you and Karl had something special, despite everything. But just keep in mind, that maybe… Just maybe, a fresh start would be really good for you.”

Her words hit home, because she’s right. I know that a fresh start might be a good thing for me after everything. And as Damon suggested, I could still run my restaurant from afar. It wouldn’t have to be permanent, either.

But…

“I have to grab something from the walk-in freezer,” I say. “I’ll be back.”

Before Chloe can respond, I whirl around and stalk off to the freezer. The truth is, I don’t need anything. But it’s cool and quiet in there, and I feel like I might cry at the very mention of Karl’s name.

Slipping inside the freezer, I let out a shuddering breath that turns into a pale white cloud in the air in front of me. I lean against a nearby storage rack, feeling the frigid cold metal press against my skin through my chef’s whites.

Fuck it. I need to talk to Karl.

As if on instinct, I slip my phone out of my pocket and navigate to his contact page. His handsome face stares up at me again from the little picture, and instantly, I feel my heart begin to pound just upon looking at him.

“Don’t think. Just do it.”

I mutter those words like a mantra, and then, with a shaking hand, I hit the call button.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. With each passing moment, it feels as though my heart might explode. Even if I could just hear his voice for one moment…

No.

Suddenly, before Karl can answer, I end the call. His name blinks up at me from the screen as the line goes dead. God, what was I thinking?

Karl and I are over, for good this time. I can’t call him.

It would only make things worse.

…

“Tonight’s dinner begins with a fresh and colorful cucumber salad,” I say as the trays are carried into the room. “Followed by a juicy, decadent lemon chicken over fettuccine. For dessert, Chef Anton has prepared a pistachio mousse. I believe you will find that the salty yet sweet dessert will be an excellent change in palate after the rich entree.”

As the trays are carried out to Damon’s table, he beams up at me, clapping his hands together.

“How delectable,” he says warmly. “I can’t wait to sample everything.”

“We would also recommend pairing your appetizer and entree with a fresh white wine,” Chloe says, her bartending skills coming in handy. “For dessert, if you would like, I will prepare you a delicate cocktail that will complement the mousse.”

“Perfect.” Damon takes his glass of white wine from Chloe and nods toward me before taking a sip. I watch as he swirls the liquid around in his glass. “Please, all of you, sit. Let’s enjoy this meal together, shall we?”

As instructed, my staff and I take our seats around the long mahogany table. This is always my second favorite part; enjoying the fruits of my labor, my feet sore from a long day of being in the kitchen.

“Everything always tastes better when you’re exhausted,” my old culinary school professor used to say.

My first favorite part is cooking the food, of course.

As we all settle into our chairs, Damon begins with a toast. “To Abby,” he says. His gray eyes meet mine, intense in the flickering light of the fireplace. “And to her wonderful staff.”

“Salut.”

We begin to eat. I can’t help but glance over with anticipation as Damon cuts into his lemon chicken. He seems to savor the texture on his tongue, and his eyes roll back a bit before he closes them.

Maybe my third favorite part is getting to see other people enjoy my food.

“My,” he says once he’s swallowed. “Who made the chicken? This is delightful.”

“Chef John handled the meat,” I say. “I handled the marinating, and the sauce afterwards.”

“You have a knack for flavors, Abby.”

“Thank you, Damon.”

“You should have seen her before the cook-off,” John chimes in. “Hours—and I mean hours—spent in the kitchen perfecting the flavor of that truffle dish. If even one hint of a flavor was off, she had to try all over again.”

Damon quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he asks. “I must say, when I saw you cooking on the television, I thought it seemed rather as though you were a natural of your own right. But to hear about all of the hard work you put in… well, it’s rather inspiring.”

My cheeks heat up a bit. Beneath the table, Chloe nudges me with her foot.

“Thank you, Damon,” I repeat. “That’s very kind of you to say. I’m always trying to learn.”

Damon nods and raises his glass again. “I’ll drink to that,” he says with a chuckle. “Perhaps more people should take a page out of your book.”

He sips his wine, and meets my gaze over the rim of the glass. His gray eyes seem to flash in a way that makes my stomach twist.

Or maybe it’s not his gaze, but rather the sudden wave of intense nausea that’s taking over me.