Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

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Abby

I feel frozen to my spot as the judges make their way toward Daniel’s station.

The grin stretched across his face almost makes me feel sick, and it’s all I can

do not to run off the stage right now.

“Wow,” Vanessa says as she takes the first bite of Daniel’s dish, which looks

leaps and bounds ahead of mine just by presentation alone. “Really, Daniel;

wow. Despite everything, you created a phenomenal dish.”

“Thank you so much,” Daniel says, his eyes flickering toward me. “You know,

with my sous chef’s wrist in so much pain, it was difficult. But we made it.”

Enter title…

Next, the judges begin making their way toward me, and I feel like I’m going to

be sick. They stop in front of my station, and I can feel the cold weight of

Logan’s gaze on me already.

“Hello, Abby,” Vanessa says, her gaze sweet as ever despite the circumstances.

“Your performance in the second round was lacking, but you’re here now. How

do you feel?”

I swallow. “I feel…” I pause, my throat cracked and dry. “I feel… Hopeful,” I

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mutter. Vanessa nods in response along with the third judge, but Logan—his

face is as inscrutable as ever.

As the judges begin their taste test, times feels as though it’s moving in slow

motion. All eyes are on me, Abby, the chef with the ‘violent’ partner. I wish that

Karl was here now, if only to have his presence by my side, but he’s not. Right

now, this stage feels even more vast and cold than it ever has.

“Oh… Abby,” Vanessa finally says, her voice low. “This… This isn’t what I

expected from you.”

I feel a tightness in my chest as panic begins to set in. “I… I tried to bring the

flavors together, to—” I start to explain, but my words falter under her gaze.

She nods, but it’s not one of understanding. “I see what you tried to do, but it’s

not coming together on the plate. I’m sorry, Abby.”

My gaze flicks to the second judge, Xavier, a chef of few words. His eyes meet

mine, and I see it there before he even speaks—a profound disappointment.

“It’s unbalanced,” he adds simply, his voice final.

I want to argue, to defend my dish, to say that the circumstances were against

me, but I swallow the words. They know the chaos that unfolded. They saw Karl

being taken away, and yet they seem to expect the impossible from me.

But it’s Logan’s voice, clear and authoritative, that slices through the tension.

“Abby, what we have here is a fundamental problem,” he states, his cold eyes

meeting mine.

I clutch the edge of my station, my knuckles whitening. “Please, enlighten me,” I

say, hoping that the quiver in my voice isn’t too obvious.

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, to put it plainly…” He pauses, as though for

dramatic effect. “You didn’t follow the instructions, Abby. This dish is not what we

asked for.”

My breath hitches, and I find myself gasping for air. “But I—I don’t understand,” I

stammer, my composure shattering. “This is farro mafaldine with black truffle

butter and mushrooms. It’s exactly what was asked of me.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Logan says with a disappointed shake of his

head. “This is not farro mafaldine with black truffle butter and mushrooms.”

My eyebrows raise, but Logan is already digging through the dish with his fork. I

watch in horror as he stabs a piece of black truffle and holds it up in the light,

turning it this way and that.

“Abby, does this look like a black truffle to you?”

The studio suddenly seems as though all of the oxygen has been sucked out of

it. I lean closer, my eyes widening as I notice that Logan is right. The color, the

texture, the smell… It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. These aren’t the coveted black

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truffles. They’re black trumpet mushrooms.

“No,” I admit, my voice hardly more than a whisper as I feel the weight of the

camera and the audience pressing in on me. “It doesn’t.”

Logan slowly lowers the fork, a soft sigh escaping his lips that almost sounds

like a hiss. “I’m disappointed, Abby. Truly.”

“As am I,” Vanessa murmurs, bowing her head slightly. Xavier, the third judge,

nods silently in agreement.

I find myself scrambling for a logical explanation, as if that would somehow help

here. “I—I took them right out of the container labeled ‘black truffles,’” I

stammer, my words tumbling out of my mouth like an avalanche. “I promise, I

didn’t know—”

Much to my surprise, Vanessa’s eyes seem to flash, and she tilts her chin up to

meet my gaze. “Abby, you are a chef. It is your responsibility to know the

differences between your own ingredients. I’m sorry, Abby, but I’m with Logan on

this one.”

The disappointment in her voice makes me feel as though I’m about to crumble.

No, this can’t be. Vanessa Greene, my number one idol in the entire world, my

biggest role model, won’t even take my side.

Xavier leans in then, his own gaze narrowed. “Abby, I must agree with my

colleagues. This sort of mistake is simply unacceptable.”

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