Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby
On the morning of the cook-off, I’m already awake before my alarm even starts
buzzing.
Last night, I hardly slept at all thanks to a combination of excitement over the
cook-off and my wine-induced conversation with Karl. All night, his words
swirled around my mind: “I’m really proud of you,” he had said.
Hearing Karl say those words was so unexpected, yet so heartwarming at the
same time. I can’t get them out of my mind, like a lost puppy who’s found her
home, or a shipwreck survivor lost at sea who has found a lifeline. It’s strange
how much of an impact it has had on me.
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As soon as my alarm goes off, though, I pop out of bed and thrust myself into
cook-off mode. Today is not the day to be thinking about my ex-husband. Today,
I need to focus on winning that cook-off, otherwise all of my efforts will have

been for nothing.
After a slightly-too-hot shower, I pull my hair back into a neat and tidy bun, then
get dressed. I know I’ll be asked to change into a uniform for the cook-off, so I
opt for something simple: a t-shirt, jeans, and a jacket.
“Okay, Abby, this is it,” I murmur to myself, checking my reflection one last time
in the mirror before I head out. “Today’s the day you show them all.”
I rush down the stairs, grabbing the go-bag that I prepared last night and
heading out to the cafe down my street for a quick pick-me-up before the day
begins. The bell jingles over my head as I step inside, and I’m greeted by the
comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods.
The barista, a sweet lady named Carol, is behind the counter.
“Morning, Abby! The usual?” she asks.
“Morning, Carol. Yes, please—black coffee, one sugar, and a croissant.”
The transaction is brief, and soon I’m sipping my coffee, savoring the bitter
liquid as it glides down my throat. It’s like a little cup of courage.

Then, with my coffee in one hand and a bagged croissant in the other, I start my
brisk walk toward John’s apartment. The air is crisp, the sun rising in pastel
hues, and I feel optimistic about today.
The streets of the city come alive as I walk, each step invigorating me further. I
can already imagine John’s surprised face when he sees how pumped I am,
and I hope he feels the same.
Speaking of John, I figure I should call him and check to make sure he’s awake
and ready. Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and dial his number,
already scripting what I’ll say in my head.
I wait. It rings and rings but goes to voicemail.
After I hang up, I let out a deep sigh. “Maybe he’s taking a shower,” I mutter,
shaking my head. John wouldn’t play hooky on me, not with something like this.
He’s never been that type.
My boots click against the pavement as I approach the subway entrance,
jogging down the steps and then stopping in front of the turnstile. I reach for my
subway card, but just as I’m about to swipe it, my phone buzzes.
It’s John.
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