Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Abby
It takes a moment for me to process John’s words. I’m standing here, on the
subway platform, with my phone in my hand and my coffee in the other, feeling
like my life is spiraling out of control.
The buzz of the city, the sleepy commuters shuffling past me, and the distant
clatter of subway cars fade into the background as I realize my situation is
getting desperate.
“Okay, okay. Don’t panic, Abby,” I mutter to myself, opening my contacts to find
Anton’s number. Anton is a skilled chef, and he’s been working with me for a
little while now. He could fill in for John in a heartbeat, I’m sure of it.
Enter title...
My thumb hovers over the call button for a second, considering, but then I tap it.
I’ve got no other options right now, the clock is ticking, and Anton will be a shoein. The line rings, and with each passing second,
I can feel my nerves becoming
even more tightly wound.

Finally, Anton answers. “Abby. What’s going on?”
I suck in a deep breath. “Anton, are you busy today? Specifically, in the next
couple of hours?”
“Well... Not really... Why?” He sounds a little off, not quite like his normal
chipper self, but I chalk it up to the early hour, and continue.
“Look, Anton, I’m in a bind. John is really sick, like, food-poisoning sick, and he
can’t be my sous chef for the cook-off. I know it’s super last-minute, but can you
please step in for him? I-I’ll give you a week’s bonus.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for my heart to
drop to my stomach. Then Anton coughs. It’s not a casual, just-woke-up kind of
cough. It’s a deep, guttural, I’ve-been-sick-all-night-puking-my-brains-out sore
throat kind of cough.
“Anton, are you okay?” I ask, my eyes widening, my voice tinged with disbelief
and a sudden spike of dread.
He sighs. “I, like John, have been throwing up all night, Abby. I can barely get

out of bed.”
“What? You too?” My voice rises with each word, high-pitched and incredulous.
“How is this even possible? What the hell did you guys eat?”
“If John is also sick, then it must have been something we both ate,” Anton
muses. “You think it could be from last night? At your good-luck party?”
The mention of my party sends a ripple of disbelief through me. I can’t even
fathom that my innocent party could be the cause of all of this. “But... But you
and John cooked everything yourselves! In my restaurant kitchen, which, I might
add, is impeccably clean!”
“I know, I know. We cooked everything with the same professionalism as we
always do,” Anton assures me with another cough