Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

Chapter 0285

Abby

A warmth rushes over me as I carry the extra plates to the table where the judges are sitting. Karl

follows close behind with a jug of water and two extra glasses. The scent of rosemary and thyme hangs

in the air as I slide the plates down and pull up a chair.

My heart’s doing somersaults, but I manage to muster a smile.

Xavier looks up, his eyes twinkling, and nods toward my plate. “I must say, Abby, the presentation is

spot on.”

Vanessa agrees, her fork poised over the perfectly seared chicken. “And the aroma! You were right

about the lemon and lion’s mane.”

“Thank you,” I say with a polite nod. “It’s a trick I’ve held onto for years.”

Karl gives me an encouraging wink as we start to eat. I can’t help but steal glances at Logan, who’s

quietly cutting into his entree, his expression unreadable.

“So, Abby,” Xavier begins, wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “tell us

about this recipe. There’s a story here, I’m sure.”

I take a small breath. “Well, it’s a take on a recipe of my grandmother’s. I added the lion’s mane to

make it my own.”

Vanessa chimes in, “So you took the foundation and built upon it. That’s the mark of a true chef, in my

opinion; being able to take something so simple and make it your own, while still keeping the integrity

of the original dish.”

Xavier nods. “Exactly.”

The meal progresses with lively chatter. Vanessa and Xavier share stories about past competitions and

dishes that left a mark on them. I listen, enthralled and chiming in when I can, but it’s all so much. Here

I am, Abby, sharing a meal in my own home with some of the greatest chefs of my time.

“I must say,” Vanessa says after chewing a bite of potato thoughtfully, “I’m quite impressed. Really.”

“I as well,” Xavier chimes in. “Abby, this is worlds away from your performance at the cook-off. What a

shame your fellow contestant…” He pauses, shaking his head. Vanessa’s eyes fall to her plate. I can

tell she’s disappointed by the memory.

“Well, I won’t talk about it,” Xavier continues, taking a sip of his wine. “But really, you’ve outdone

yourself.”

I can’t help but bask in the glow of their praise, but a glance at Logan cools my excitement. He still has

yet to say more than two words throughout this entire meal, and his expression is inscrutable.

Xavier picks up on the tension and continues. “And Abby, aside from cooking, what do you do to

unwind?”

I think for a moment before answering. “I…”

“She gardens,” Karl chimes in, and there’s a hint of something proud in his tone. I glance up at him,

surprised. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he continues. “And she’s really good at it.”

“Really?” Vanessa asks, cocking her head. “Do you have a garden here? I’d love to see it.”

I open my mouth to respond, but then stop; because truthfully, I don’t. Not like I used to. Not like when I

still lived with Karl, where I had my own sprawling garden. My lemon trees were my crowning glory, but

that’s all behind us now.

“Just a few window boxes right now,” I say, popping a potato into my mouth. My gaze meets Karl’s

again, and I can feel a flush of red creep into my cheeks.

As dinner continues, Xavier and Vanessa continue to hold the conversation afloat with praise and

stories. But there’s an undercurrent of tension emanating from Logan’s end of the table that I can’t

ignore.

Finally, I decide to break the silence.

“Logan, you’ve been quite quiet. Is the dish to your liking?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He pauses, lays his fork down with precision, and meets my gaze. “It’s fine,” he states plainly.

His words leave a knot in my stomach. Just two words? It’s… fine? Nothing more? I want to prod, but

it’s too late. Vanessa and Xavier are finishing their meal, and it’s time for the third course.

Dessert. The make-or-break moment.

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My hand shakes a little as I reach for the whisk. The room is quiet save for the sound of the jazz music

on the speakers. Across from me, at the kitchen counter, the judges sit in waiting. Vanessa swirls her

wine around in her glass with ease.

Xavier leans forward, elbows on the table, an eager spark in his eyes. I think the wine has made him a

little more energetic, or perhaps the good food and good company, if you ignore Logan.

“So, Abby, what are you preparing for dessert?” he asks, although I think he already knows.

I force a smile, grateful for the distraction. “Chocolate souffle. It’s a…” I pause, glancing up at Karl

again, and it’s like I’ve been transported back to the night when he made that souffle for me.

It only just now hits me that maybe that’s why I’ve chosen it tonight: because deep down, it’s a way to

connect with him.

“It’s a personal favorite,” Karl chimes in, giving me a knowing nod.

Vanessa watches, her eyes following my every move. “Chocolate souffle. I haven’t had a good souffle

since I was a child.”

Strangely enough, her words seem to bolster me, as though it’s a challenge. I can’t help but grin as I

begin to whisk. “Well, perhaps it’s time to remedy that.”

Xavier chuckles. “I have no doubt about that, especially after that entree.”

There’s warmth in Xavier’s words, but my eyes catch Logan whispering something to Vanessa, his

expression unreadable. A stone sinks in my stomach. What could he be saying?

“And just like that, into the oven they go. Here’s to hoping they don’t collapse.”

As we wait, the tension seems to relax ever so slightly, although Logan’s face remains unreadable.

Light conversation flows, questions about techniques, a few jokes here and there. Coոtent of

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“Perfect,” Karl breathes, and I can’t help but agree with him.

I carry the souffles to the table, my hands steadier than I feel. “This is it, the final course. A classic

chocolate souffle. No frills, no tricks.”

As I set the ramekins down, the judges admire the presentation but say nothing just yet. It’s not Xavier

and Vanessa that I’m necessarily worried about, though; it’s Logan.

Because his face is unreadable, his eyes narrowed almost to slits. And as he picks up his spoon, I can

feel my breath hitch in my throat.