Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 97

Abby

The room is dead silent when Karl finishes telling his story. I’m in utter shock, and I think he is, too. In a way, now that I think of it, it all makes sense. And yet, all these years, neither of us ever saw it coming.

“So your butler…” I pause, swallowing. “Conspired with your secretary to sow discord between us?”

Karl nods quietly. “It appears so,” he murmurs.

In a way, I feel a sense of understanding wash over me. And yet, it doesn’t completely absolve Karl of his sins. No matter how much Gianna sunk her claws in over the years, he still did what he did by giving those rare ingredients to Adam. And for that, I still don’t know if I can ever forgive him.

As though reading my mind, Karl’s eyes lock onto mine, and there’s an intensity in them that I haven’t seen in years. His gaze is heavy, but it’s also completely genuine.

“I know that I never should have gone against you, Abby. I’ve messed up, and I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll allow me.”

My chest feels like it's been hollowed out, replaced with a cavern of disbelief and mistrust. Could this really be the man who turned my life upside down?

“Sorry?” I find myself hissing. “You really think a simple apology can make this right? Regardless of what Gianna and Gerald did, you still gave my ex rare ingredients behind my back to make him leave me, Karl. That can’t be forgiven.”

His jaw tightens. “No,” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I know that there’s no way I can undo the past, but I can try to make the future better. For you, and for your career.”

A part of me, a part I don’t want to acknowledge, wants to believe him. But the other part, the part that remembers every night I spent alone, every tear shed in solitude, screams at me to keep my guard up.

“You’ve made a mess, Karl,” I say, controlling the tremor in my voice. “A mess that you expect me to clean up. What about Adam? What about your scheming secretary and butler? You think just because you’ve fired them, everything’s just going to be okay?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to clean up my mess. But I’d like the chance to help. To be part of the solution, not the problem.”

I scrutinize him, looking for the lie, the deceit, but all I see is a man broken by his own decisions, a man yearning for redemption. I sigh. What’s the harm in letting him help at the restaurant, especially with the cook-off coming up? As long as I keep my distance, right?

“Fine,” I relent, each word heavy with the gravity of my decision. “You can return to the restaurant. But only until the cook-off is over, because I need the extra help around here. And I’ll be keeping my distance.”

His face softens, as if I’ve just thrown him a lifeline. “And the Alpha party?”

I scoff. “You really think I’d still go with you if I even had the chance?”

Karl pauses, and I can see a host of emotions flash through his eyes. Hope, dismay, hurt. Finally, he seems to settle on acceptance. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” I say, turning away to hide the complicated swirl of emotions threatening to spill over. “And Karl?”

“Yes?” he asks, a glimmer of hope lighting up his eyes.

“Don't make me regret this.”

Karl nods, his eyes searching mine as if he could find the solution to all his mistakes there. “Thank you, Abby,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you down. Not this time. Not ever.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. With a last lingering glance, he walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

…

It’s been two days since I told Karl he could return to the restaurant. I’m still digesting the weight of my decision to let Karl back into my life yet again—albeit at a distance.

This might just be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and honestly, I’m mostly concerned about how I’ll break the news to Chloe when I see her next. No doubt she’ll be furious with me, and there could even be a physical altercation between her and Karl. I can still barely convince myself that I’m making the right decision here, so how can I convince her?

Suddenly, the restaurant door chimes, signaling the arrival of a guest. The sound snaps me out of my train of thought. A glance up from the host stand reveals Mr. Thompson, the manager of the cook-off, shuffling his way in.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Thompson,” I greet, trying to mask the turmoil of emotions bubbling beneath my calm exterior. “What brings you here?”

He smiles, his eyes filled with an uncomfortable blend of apology and professionalism. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything, Abby. May I speak with you?”

I nod, gesturing for him to follow me. Once we’re in my office, I let him take the chair opposite mine. Mr. Thompson sits down, exhaling as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Unfortunately, there’s been a last-minute change to the cook-off,” he starts, his words measured, but edged with regret.

I feel my heart sink as all of the worst possibilities flash through my mind. “Mr. Thompson, am I…”

He chuckles. “No, no, you’re still in the competition,” he says, shaking his head. “Sorry; I should have led with that, shouldn’t I?”

Relief washes over me. “Thank goodness,” I laugh, leaning back in my chair. “What is it, then?”

Mr. Thompson pauses for a moment before speaking. “An additional dish has been added to the list. And it involves the use of extremely rare, exceedingly expensive truffles. One of the most expensive truffles in the world, believe it or not.”

As he speaks, he pulls a card out of his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a photo of a dish that I’ve never seen before, with a name at the bottom: farro mafaldine with black truffle butter and mushrooms.

A tight knot forms in my stomach. Black truffles are indeed some of the most expensive, and rarest, in the world. My restaurant is successful, but it’s not a cash fountain, and these mushrooms have a short season for harvesting. How am I supposed to practice with ingredients that would not only be too expensive to purchase at this time of year, but are also exceedingly rare?

He must sense my concern because he hurriedly adds, “And the competition will not be providing these truffles for practice, I’m afraid. I understand that this is far from ideal, but it’s a situation that’s out of my hands.”

I force a smile, the implications of what he’s saying spinning my mind into overdrive. “Well, thank you for letting me know, Mr. Thompson. I appreciate your honesty.”

He nods, rising from his chair. “I wish I had better news, Abby. Truly, I do.”

As he walks out, I sink back into my chair, staring at the vacant space that he’s left behind. My mind races through options, calculations, and desperate ideas.

How can I prepare a dish I’ve never made before with ingredients I can’t afford?