Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

“Look, I know how you feel,” he says, growing exasperated himself. “But with
the way my approval ratings are dropping right now in my pack, if word got out
that I was working as ‘just a sous chef’ for my ex-wife, people would go feral. It
would be a nightmare. For both of us.”
“You’re overthinking it,” I retort. “Trust me, Karl. We’ll keep your identity hidden. I
promise.”
He sighs deeply, a troubled look crossing his face. “Look, why don’t you just call
Adam? He could help you. And honestly, he kind of owes you.”
The name hits me like a bucket of cold water, instantly raising my hackles.
“Adam? Really, Karl? Is that your solution?”
Enter title...
He looks confused, taken aback by my sudden vehemence. “Why not? He’s in
the same field; he has the skills. You two know each other well.”
I shake my head, my eyes narrowed. “Adam and I could never work together in

the kitchen. We’re like oil and water. Plus, he has his own restaurant; how would
it look if he[s my sous chef?”
“What do you mean?” Karl asks, genuinely perplexed.
“Imagine the gossip that would start if Adam helps me win this competition.
People will think we’re colluding, or worse, that he’s got ulterior motives. That
maybe he would be trying to secretly cater the Alpha party on his own. My sous
chef can’t have any strings attached, Karl,” I say, staring at him, willing him to
understand.
Karl seems lost, his eyes searching mine.
“I...” he begins, but then stops, looking flabbergasted.
I sigh, passing my hand over my face. The clock is ticking: 7:45 a.m. I’m running
out of time. I need to be at the studio by 9 at the latest, and it’s all the way on
the other side of the city. It’ll take me a solid 45 minutes to get there on foot,
even with the help of the subway.
Then, suddenly, I have an idea.

“Karl,” I say, taking a step closer to him, “do you remember that time four years
ago, when we were still married? We had to prep for Leah’s surprise birthday
party. You jumped in to help me last-minute, and we were like... a well-oiled
machine,” I say, pleading with him with my eyes.
He looks up at me, his eyes searching mine, and for a second, I can see what
looks like recognition flash through his gaze.
“Yeah, I remember,” he says softly, dropping his eyes, “but Abby, we’ve been
broken up for three years. A lot can change in three years. You’re different. I’m
different.”
“Chemistry doesn’t change, Karl. Skills may get rusty, but the way we worked
together? That was magic, and magic doesn’t have an expiration date. Hell,
think back to all of the times we’ve worked together recently. The kitchen fire,
the truffles, all of the dinner rushes...”
He stares at me, and I can see the gears turning in his head. “Do you really
think we still have that sort of... chemistry?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say, nodding. “Of course I do. In fact, I almost asked you to be my
sous chef before I asked John. But I chickened out, and now I wish I had asked
you weeks ago, so we wouldn’t even be here right now.”
His eyes lock onto mine, a world of unspoken words reflected in their depths.
“Really? You were going to ask me?”