Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 65: Apologies

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. Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

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

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.

“What happened?” I rush over, my eyes narrowing with concern.

“I, erm… I rolled my ankle while serving table nine. Just give me five minutes and I’ll get back out

there,” she says, grimacing with each word.

I take one look at her flushed face, her ankle swelling before my eyes, and shake my head. “No, you’re

going home. Put that leg up. I’ll take over your tables tonight.”

Daisy starts to protest, her eyes filled with worry. “But the tips—”

“Don’t worry about that. Whatever tips you miss out on tonight, I’ll cover. Just go home and take care of

yourself.”

She hesitates for a moment before finally nodding, gratitude flooding her features. “Thank you, Abby.”

“Get better, okay?” I say as she limps out of the restaurant, supported by Ethan.

I tie on an apron and grab a notepad, turning my attention to Daisy’s tables. And then I see her—Emily,

the Luna who used to be an acquaintance of mine, sitting there with her friends, smirking as if she

owns the place.

Here we go.

“Nice to see you all again,” I greet, forcing a smile as I approach the table.

“Well, well! If it isn’t Abby,” Emily says, a stiff smile taking over her features. “We were just talking about

you.”

“Were you?” I manage an equally stiff smile and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Hopefully only

good things.”

Emily and her friends exchange glances, their eyes twinkling with a fakeness that makes my skin crawl.

“Of course,” Emily says.

“Can I get you started with some drinks?”

“Two red wines, a cosmopolitan, and a gin and tonic,” Emily says, her tone dripping with fake

sweetness.

“Coming right up,” I reply, making a note on my pad.

As I move away, my ears catch snippets of their conversation, laced with contempt. “Wow. Last time I

figured it was just a fluke, but she’s waiting tables again?”

“To think an ex-Luna doesn’t even get to run her own restaurant, but has to wait tables instead…”

There’s a giggle. “Maybe she can’t handle running the place. Probably gave it over to one of the men.

She was always like that, you know. Letting Alpha Karl run everything, always giving him goo-goo

eyes.”

As I listen to their words, my hands start to tremble. I head into the back room to catch my breath, my

eyes stinging, the weight of their comments crashing down on me. Who do they think they are, coming

into my restaurant and speaking about me like that?

“Abby, you alright?”

I look up to see Karl standing there, his expression etched with concern.

“I’m fine,” I lie, unable to hide the shake in my voice.

“You don’t look fine. What happened?”

Against my better judgment, I find myself spilling the story about Emily and her friends. His face

tightens with each word, his eyes darkening like a stormcloud.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, setting his jaw.

“No, Karl, don’t make a scene,” I protest, but he’s already pushing through the swing door, his resolve

unbreakable.

I follow him out, my heart pounding as he approaches Emily’s table and pulls up a chair.

“Evening, Ladies.”

Emily and her friends perk up, their eyes widening.

“Alpha… Alpha Karl?” Emily exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

Karl smirks. “I work here. As a dishwasher-slash-line cook,” he says, locking eyes with Emily.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her face. “You’re… working here? Why?”

“Why not?” Karl asks. “Got a problem with it?”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment of surprise before Emily collects herself and shoots him a smirk.

“No problems. None at all. For an Omega or a Beta, at least. But an Alpha such as yourself…”

“And what of it?” Karl says, standing to his full height. His shadow casts across the table, making Emily

and her friends appear small. “Think that service jobs aren’t fit for Alphas?”

Emily swallows. “Well—”

“Don’t worry,” Karl assures her. “No offense taken. In fact, since I’m working on the line, I’ll make sure

your food tonight is cooked real well.”

“Really?” Emily says, taking the bait. “You’ll take care of that?”

Karl grins. “Yup. To a crisp, in fact.”

Emily scoffs. Without another word, she gathers her purse, her friends following suit, and they march

out of the restaurant.

Karl watches them go, then turns back to me. “You think that will ruin my reputation?”

“Do you care?” I ask, my voice softer now.

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. I’ve learned something valuable working here, something I

should’ve known all along.”

“And what is that?” I ask.

Karl smiles. It’s a genuine, warm smile, one that makes my heart flutter. “Service jobs are hard, honest

work,” he says gently. “And I’ve realized that now. All thanks to you.”