Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

Chapter 101

The aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce fills the air as I sit at my desk,

reviewing the inventory for the week.

It’s still early in the day, but the restaurant has already started to come alive. My eyes flit over numbers

and figures, but my thoughts keep drifting to the chaos of last night—Karl, John, Ethan, and that cook-

off looming in the future like a beacon of both opportunity and uncertainty.

As I’m about to turn my attention to the newly arrived email from Calvin, there’s a soft knock on my

door. “Come in,” I call out, hoping it’s not another crisis that needs immediate attention.

The door opens, and it’s John, looking a little sheepish. “Hey, Abby, you got a minute?”

I nod, gesturing for him to take a seat. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Look, about last night—I lost my cool, and I shouldn’t have

said what I did. I was...riled up, and I didn’t mean it. It was a long evening.”

I eye him skeptically, remembering his cutting remarks and confrontational demeanor. “You think?”

He winces. “I do. And I’m sorry. If you’re willing to forgive an old dog for his foolishness, I promise I’ll

train Karl properly and be more respectful. To everyone.”

The sincerity in his voice tips the balance for me. We’ve been through a lot, John and I, and though

he’s far from perfect, he’s an important part of this restaurant’s soul.

“Alright,” I say, extending my hand across the desk. “Apology accepted. Let’s move on and make this a

great place for everyone. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, shaking my hand firmly.

“Great. Let’s get back out there; dinner service won’t prep itself,” I say, and we both stand to head back

to the kitchen.

As the door swings shut behind him, I can’t help but feel a small sense of relief. One hurdle cleared, but

still so many more to go.

…

The evening begins like any other, the staff bustling around the kitchen as orders start pouring in.

But there’s a palpable change in the atmosphere. John’s tone is softer, more instructive, less caustic. I

see him explaining the finer points of sauce reduction to Karl, who listens intently. My eyes meet John’s Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

for a moment, and he gives me a nod.

The dinner rush kicks in, and everyone springs into high gear. Plates are flying, stoves are blazing, and

the air is thick with the tantalizing smells of grilled meat, sautéed vegetables, and melting cheese.

But despite the chaos, there’s an underlying current of teamwork that wasn’t there before.

“Table six is ready to go, Abby,” Ethan calls out, sliding the plates onto the counter. I do a quick check

for presentation; everything looks good.

“Alright, let’s move, people!” I yell, and servers swoop in to whisk the dishes away.

Just then, I hear John’s voice, commanding but not overbearing, instructing Karl on the proper way to

plate the linguini. “Remember, Karl, it’s all about balance. You want enough sauce so it’s flavorful but

not so much that it’s drowning.”

I pause to listen, holding my breath.

“Got it, John,” Karl replies, his tone earnest. He adjusts the angle of his tongs and the pasta lands

gracefully on the plate, a garnish of parsley providing the finishing touch.

“Nice,” John comments, and Karl beams, clearly pleased by the rare compliment.

It’s a small interaction, but it feels like a giant leap forward for both of them—and for me. As the night

wears on, I watch Karl and John weave around each other in a sort of uneasy but effective partnership.

They’re communicating, working together to get the meals out, and not a single steak comes back

overcooked.

Finally, as the clock ticks past nine and the last few diners are savoring their desserts, I take a moment

to step back and take it all in.

For the first time in a long while, the kitchen is humming with the sort of collaborative energy that

makes a restaurant more than just a place to eat. It’s not perfect, far from it, but it’s a step in the right

direction, a sign of what could be rather than what has been.

John catches my eye from across the kitchen, and this time it’s me who gives the nod of approval. He

nods back, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he allows himself a small smile.

…

I step out from the frenetic energy of the kitchen into the main dining area, the clinking of glasses and

murmurs of conversation filling the air. I’m about to congratulate myself on a night going surprisingly

smooth when I spot Daisy seated awkwardly behind the bar, clutching her ankle and rocking back and

forth.