Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 70: Soufflés and Heartaches

Abby

“Let me help you.”

Karl’s words hit me like a ton of bricks. Karl, of all people, wants to help me prepare for the competition

that we were only just arguing about? I can’t believe it.

“You’re joking,” I murmur.

Karl shakes his head, his eyes darting down to the failure of a souffle sitting between us. “Nope. Not

joking. Do you want my help or not?”

Part of me wants to accept his offer, but another part of me, perhaps the more logical part, decides that

maybe it’s not the best idea. I’m angry right now over my argument with Karl and this da mned souffle,

and I know that I wouldn’t exactly be the best kitchen partner tonight.

“I’m fine, Karl. Just a little tired,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Besides, you’ve been working all day. You can

head home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” he says quietly, sliding the souffle back toward me from across the cold

metallic counter. “I’m not tired, and home is boring. Let me help.”

I pause. I know that I should push him away and keep working on my own, not only so I can focus fully

on my preparations for the competition but also so we can both cool off after our arguments. But

something stops me. Maybe it’s the sincere look in his soft brown eyes.

“Sure,” I finally mutter, nodding. “I guess I could use some help.”

Karl doesn’t need to be told twice. I watch for a moment as he slips off his jacket, revealing his sinewy

biceps peeking out from beneath his short sleeves. I have to look away before I get too attached to his

image, and refocus my attention on my fourth attempt at making a souffle while he washes his hands.

Before I know it, the eggs and other ingredients are laid out before me, my whisk deftly beating the

eggs into a golden mixture.

“You know, I used to make souffles as a kid,” Karl says out of nowhere.

“You made souffles?” I can’t even begin to keep the surprise out of my voice. Karl rarely ever cooked

when we were together, and he certainly never brought it up to me. “You never mentioned that when

we were together.”

“My mom used to make them all the time when I was little. It was my favorite dessert. She eventually

taught me how to make the best souffles ever,” he confesses, almost shyly. “Would you like me to whip

one up?”

My curiosity gets the better of me. “Sure. I’d love to see you try.”

Karl sets to work, skillfully separating the egg yolks from the whites, stirring the flour and butter, and

then folding everything in with care. I watch in amazement; the man has finesse, and it’s clear this isn’t

his first time at the souffle rodeo.

The oven dings, and Karl retrieves the dish, setting it on the counter. The souffle has risen perfectly, its

golden top a promise of the fluffy, airy delicacy beneath.

He dips a spoon into it and extends it toward me. “Taste.”

I accept the spoonful, the flavors bursting in my mouth—cheesy, eggy, and utterly perfect. The use of

Parmigiano Reggiano cheese gives the souffle a savory ta ng, but Karl incorporated just the right

amount of sugar so that the two opposite flavors meld together into a symphony of deliciousness.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, all the tension, the arguments, they vanish. There’s just the two of

us, and the culinary creation between us.

“Thank you, Karl. This is amazing,” I finally manage, breaking the spell and turning away.

“It was nothing. I was glad to help.”

As I walk back to my apartment later that night, a stray thought enters my mind.

Could Karl be the sous chef I need for the competition? He’s been getting better, and he knows how to

handle himself in a kitchen. And, even though we have our moments, we also know each other well; I

know for a fact that we could function together as a well-oiled machine under pressure.

But I quickly shake off the idea. No, he doesn’t have enough experience. It would be silly for me to

choose him as my sous chef.

Right?

…

The next morning, Chloe greets me with a steaming cup of coffee as I walk into the restaurant.

“Morning, boss lady. How are you today?”

“Good, actually,” I say with a grin, gratefully accepting the frothy coffee. “Had a successful night last

night.”

“Oh?” Chloe asks, leaning on the bar as I take a seat on one of the stools, her own coffee in hand.

“How so?”

I shrug and take a sip. “I was struggling with a souffle recipe. But you’re not gonna believe this; Karl

showed up and offered to help. It’s crazy. He’s actually a master at making souffles. Who would’ve

thought?”

Chloe’s face tightens. “Karl helped you?”

“Yes, why?”

“I told him to stay away from you, Abby. I thought I was doing you a favor. But apparently he just

doesn’t listen.”

I blink, surprised and a little annoyed. “You told him what?”

Chloe shrugs. “He was moping about how you decided to go through with the competition. I told him

that he should just pis s off, basically.”

Her words make my head reel. While I understand the sentiment behind them, something about it

makes me angry; maybe it’s because I only just told her that I needed to be trusted to make my own

decisions, not have decisions made for me.

“What?” she says, sensing my terse look. “Something wrong?”

I swallow. The words come out harsher than I mean them to. “Chloe, it’s not your place to tell him to

stay away from me.”

“I was trying to protect you, Abby. You and I both know that you don’t make the best decisions when it

comes to men. And especially not when it comes to Karl.”

Her words make me even angrier. Without meaning to, I stand abruptly, causing the barstool to scrape

loudly on the floor and echo throughout the empty restaurant. “What do you know about good

decisions?” I snap. “All you’ve ever done is h ook up with anything that moves.”

For a moment, Chloe is silent. Even as the words tumble out of my mouth, I realize how harsh they

were. “Chloe, I didn’t mean—”

She holds her hand up to stop me. “It’s whatever. You’re not entirely wrong. But I know you, and I know

Karl—”

“You don’t know Karl at all,” I bite out. “He’s changed, Chloe. Maybe it’s about time you realize that he’s

trying to be better. And for the record, he apologized last night.”

Chloe scoffs. “So you’re just going to let him waltz back into your life after everything he’s done? Are

you serious? Just because he ‘apologized’? As if it wasn’t just a tactic to get in your pants.”

“I’m not letting him waltz back in, and I’m not ‘letting him in my pants,’” I snarl. “But maybe, just maybe,

he’s becoming something of a friend.” Even as I say them, the words feel strange on my tongue. But I

mean it. Despite everything, Karl has helped me a lot recently. I can’t deny that.

“A friend? So what does that make me, then? Chopped liver?”

“No, Chloe, you’re not chopped liver. You’re my best friend, but that doesn’t give you the right to dictate

who I can and cannot talk to.”

“Well, if Karl’s your friend now, maybe you don’t need me anymore,” Chloe snaps, her eyes brimming

with anger and something that looks a lot like betrayal.

Before I can say anything, she turns on her heel and storms out, leaving me standing there. All I can do

is watch her fading form and curse under my breath.