Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

Karl

As I lift another beam into place, a bead of sweat trickles down my forehead, but my attention is elsewhere. Across the field, Abby is in her element, orchestrating the kitchen with a natural ease. There's an undeniable rhythm to her movements, and I find myself watching her probably more than I should. I try to focus on my task, reminding myself I'm here for the approval ratings, not personal indulgences, but that's easier said than done.

Abby looks gorgeous all of the time, but she’s even more stunning when she's in her element. The pull between us is undeniable, too, and I can feel my wolf tugging at me whenever I look at her.

I can't help but wonder if her wolf is pulling at her, too.

But then my mind wanders back to what happened late last night in the kitchen. She had asked what I thought would happen between us over a glass of wine, and I had answered as honestly as I could despite the storm of emotions raging inside of me.

I had told her what I secretly hoped, what I secretly wanted. Although, I guess it hasn't exactly been a secret all this time.

And yet, when I had asked her the same question, she had blanched and practically fled from the room under the pretense of being tired and tipsy. It hurt a little, I won't lie. Of course I want this relationship to be real and more than just a facade. Of course I don’t want to sleep with her casually. But it's rarely that simple, is it? Especially when you factor in the part where I divorced her and broke her heart once.

"Hey, Alpha Karl, need a hand with that?” a volunteer, a burly man with a friendly face, asks as he approaches, breaking me out of my deep train of thought.

“Thanks, Mike,” I respond, grateful for the distraction. Together, we lift the heavy beam into its slot. The structure of the new library is taking shape, piece by piece.

Mike wipes his brow and looks over at the cooking tent. “The food smells good over there. That's Abby, right? Your Luna?”

"Yeah, that's her,” I reply, following his gaze. “She's incredible in the kitchen. Have you tried the food?”

Mike shakes his head. “No, but I can’t wait to try what they've whipped up. Heard a lot about her cooking.”

"Hopefully only good things,” I tease.

The burly volunteer chuckles. “Well, I won't lie, I heard about what happened at the Alpha party,” he says. “But I also heard your speech the other night at the masquerade. And no one got sick from the food then, so... I hope it all works out for her.”

His words make me smile. “Thanks, man,” I say, shaking his hand. “Support like yours is important. We're hoping her restaurant gets to reopen and whoever actually poisoned the food gets the justice they deserve.”

Just then, the lunch bell rings, cutting our conversation short. We make our way over to the tent where Abby and her team are serving food. The aroma is inviting, and my stomach rumbles in response. Volunteers queue up, chatting and laughing, the atmosphere light and cheerful.

I grab a plate, loading it with a generous helping of stew and a piece of crusty bread. However, just as I'm about to take my first bite, a voice rings out from behind me.

"Hope this doesn't end like last time,” a volunteer jokes, nudging his friend. “Remember the Alpha party? I can't afford to get sick.”

The tent falls into a sudden silence. My wolf bristles inside of me, and I stiffen, ready to defend Abby against the onslaught of accusations that might come. But before I can speak, she steps forward, her laughter breaking the tension.

"Oh, don't worry. Everything here is perfectly safe. We run a tight ship in our kitchen,” Abby says, her voice clear and steady. “In fact, let me show you how we do things. You'll be impressed.”

The volunteer looks surprised but interested. “Sure,” he says. “I'd like that.”

Others chime in, curious. Abby leads them on an impromptu tour. I hang back, watching her effortlessly handle the situation with a grace that I don't think any of us expected; even her staff shoots me looks of surprise. She points out the various stations, explaining the processes and protocols they follow.

“So, as you can see, everything is meticulously prepared and cooked to just the right internal temperatures,” Abby concludes, setting down the special thermometer that she was just using to show that the internal temperature of one of the kitchen breasts is a perfect 165 degrees Fahrenheit. “We take great pride in our cleanliness and quality.”

The volunteer who made the joke looks genuinely apologetic by now, but also appreciative for the tour. “I didn't mean anything by it, really,” he says. “It's just, you know, after what happened...” Abby waves him off, still smiling. “It's okay, I get it. But rest assured, you're in safe hands.”

As the group disperses, I approach Abby. “Handled that like a pro,” I say, admiration in my voice. She shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes. “Comes with the territory. You learn to roll with the punches.” I nod, taking a bite of the stew. It's delicious, and I tell her so.

"You were going to say something to him, weren't you?” she asks, eyeing me knowingly.

“Maybe,” I admit. “But you clearly didn't need my help.”

She laughs, and it's a sound that resonates somewhere deep inside of me, causing my heart to skip a beat. “I can take care of myself, but thanks, Karl,” she says.

I want to say more, to tell her how much I admire her strength and resilience, but the moment isn't right. Instead, I simply enjoy the meal and her company.

The rest of the lunch break passes in a blur of conversation and laughter.

As lunch wraps up, I head back to the building site, energized not just by the food but by Abby's presence. The rest of the day stretches before us, filled with more work, more sweat, but now, it feels a little lighter, and maybe even just a little brighter.

Every now and then, though, I steal a glance at the cooking tent, catching glimpses of Abby as she works. She's laughing loudly, joking with her friends. They're throwing kitchen towels at each other over something someone said, and the laughter is contagious.

It's nice to see Abby and her team back together again, and it makes me realize just how depressed she’s actually been these past couple of weeks now that I can make the comparison. She hasn't laughed and smiled like this in two weeks.

And, unexpectedly, it makes me realize something else.

I had joked with Abby that if she said “I love you first, she would have to move here. But now, seeing her with her team like this, I'm not so sure if I could ever expect that from her. She's made a life of her own in the city, without me. She's got friends there, dreams, a career that she built from the ground up.

How could I possibly take that away from her?