Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

“No hard feelings,” Anton adds. “Besides, you gave me the fire I needed. Every kitchen needs a little heat,

oui?”

…

The evening rush is in full swing, and I’m feeling that exhilarating mix of adrenaline and contentment that

comes from seeing the restaurant function like a well-oiled machine. The clinking of silverware, the

murmur of customers, and the sizzle from the kitchen—it’s all music to my ears.

I’m busy updating the specials on our chalkboard when Daisy rushes over, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Abby, there’s a guy here. Says he’s a journalist? He wants to talk to you.”

My gut clenches.”A journalist? Now? Why?”

Enter title…

Daisy shrugs, looking just as confused as I feel. “I don’t know, but he’s asking some really specific

questions. I didn’t know what to say.”

Taking a deep breath, I put down the chalk and head to the front of the restaurant, where a man with a five

o’clock shadow and wearing a crumpled suit is fl*pping through a notepad. He looks up, his eyes sharp,

and extends a hand before I even have the chance to say anything.

“Richard Kohler. I’m with the Daily Dispatch. You’re Abby, right?”

“Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

Richard glances around, his eyes taking in the interior of my restaurant, the pristine table settings, the wall

decor, the soft lighting. It feels like he’s trying to see through the walls, and I’m not sure if I like it.

“So, Abby, word has gotten out that you’ve hired a homeless person as a chef in your kitchen. Care to

comment?”

His tone is casual, but his eyes are predatory. Suddenly, all of this feels like one big trap.

“Yes, I hired Anton,” I say cautiously. “And he’s been an excellent addition to the team. He’s more than

qualified for the job.”

Richard scribbles something in his notebook, not breaking eye contact. “Interesting choice, don’t you

think? Hiring someone off the streets. Doesn’t that concern you, in terms of hygiene and the like?:

I feel my face flush. This guy’s getting under my skin, but I have to keep it together. “Anton is fully certified

and has been trained in food safety. He’s as professional as anyone in this industry.”

“But still, a homeless man, working with food. What will your customers think?”

My heart starts to pound in my chest. This is getting out of control. “I would hope my customers trust my

judgment. After all, the quality of the food and service speaks for itself.”

Richard raises an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied. “And what about the other staff? How do they feel about

working with someone who was, quite literally, a… street person?”

My mouth opens, but words escape me. He’s hitting me from all angles, and I can feel the room closing in.