Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

Abby

I walk into my restaurant the next morning, the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread filling the air. The

morning sun casts long beams of light through the windows, but the atmosphere inside feels oddly

electric, tense yet filled with a strange and unexpected kind of exhilaration.

It’s the day after last night’s events, and I’m running on a blend of excitement and worry, my thoughts a

toss-up between optimism and that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Did I make a mistake with Anton? Was it all an elaborate con for free food and a hotel room, or perhaps

even a bizarre dream? Most importantly, what if he never actually shows?

As I head toward the kitchen, though, it quickly becomes apparent that something is off. My staff are

gathered around the kitchen door, oohing, aahing, and giggling at something going on inside.

Enter title…

“Ethan, what’s going on?” I ask as I see my restaurant manager limping his way towards me, his face a

mixture of concern and bewilderment.

“Abby, who is this strange French man you’ve brought into the kitchen? The staff are all worked up,” Ethan

mutters, leaning against the counter and rubbing his forehead as if trying to make sense of it all.

My eyes light up, my heart racing at the realization. “Yes, Ethan, that’s Anton. He’s our new temporary

hire. A trial run to see how he fits in. Maybe he’ll stay for good.”

Ethan gives me a wary look but doesn’t press further. He knows me too well to question my instincts

outright, at least not until we’re in hot water.

Brushing past Ethan, I make my way through the maze of excited staff. I reach the kitchen doors and push

them open, and that’s when the tantalizing aroma of something sweet and creamy fills my senses.

And then I hear it—laughter. Real, genuine laughter echoing through the air, and I can’t help but smile.

“Ah, John, I told you, if your batter has more lumps than a teenager’s face, your cheesecake will turn out

as uneven as a poorly laid tile floor.”

There it is. Anton’s thick French accent, which sounds even more delightful in the light of day.

John’s almost abrasive laughter booms across the room. “Anton, you have a way with words, man. But

watch me—this will be the best damn cheesecake you’ve ever seen!”

Sl*pping into the room, my eyes light up. There’s Anton, standing near the counter with John while all of

the servers watch in awe. They’re like a comedy duo, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.

Anton’s eyes meet mine, and his face lights up in a brilliant smile. I almost don’t even recognize him at

first because he’s shaved his beard, showered, and someone has given him new clothes, but it’s him

alright. “Abby! I bet you thought I wouldn’t show, hm?”

I can’t help but grin back. “It may have crossed my mind, but I’ve never been more glad to be wrong.”

Anton looks back at the mixing bowl, his hands gracefully twirling the wooden spoon through the batter.

“So, are you ready to be dazzled by my culinary expertise? Or should I say, continue to be dazzled?”

I chuckle, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle before me. “Go on, dazzle away.”

In the midst of all this, I glance over to see Karl standing against the stainless steel counter, his arms

folded. His expression is a blend of skepticism and wonder, but I can detect the slightest curl at the

corners of his mouth—an almost smile. And that’s enough for me.