Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 38: A Promise

Abby

The weight of loneliness presses down on me as the pristine table setting lies untouched. The absence

of Adam’s presence burns more than any verbal rebuke ever could. Frustration bubbles within me as I

glare at the untouched plates of food, each dish meticulously crafted to symbolize the deep affection I

hold for him.

“This damned evening…” I mutter under my breath.

My fingers tremble slightly as I quickly text Chloe: “Adam didn’t show. AGAIN.”

Before I can even put my phone down, it’s vibrating, and Chloe’s name flashes across the screen. I

take a deep breath and answer. “Hey.”

Chloe wastes no time, her voice thick with worry and frustration. “Abby, what the hell happened? Did he

at least call?”

I sigh, trying to hold back my tears. “I waited, Chloe. Set the table, lit candles, even put on that playlist

he loves. An hour goes by, and nothing. So I called him. And guess where he is?”

Chloe huffs. “Let me guess. The restaurant?”

“Bingo,” I mutter bitterly. “And the best part? He acted like it was just another day. Like he hadn’t

promised he’d be here just yesterday.”

There’s a pause on Chloe’s end before she says, “Abby, how many times are you going to let him do

this? This isn’t what love looks like.”

My voice cracks a bit as I feel the irresistible urge to defend him, even though I know it’s wrong. “But

we share so much. The passion for food, our dreams... There are moments, Chloe, where everything

feels right. I love him.”

Chloe takes a deep breath, “You remember that one time we tried to bake Leah’s birthday cake, and

we accidentally mistook salt for sugar? On the surface, they looked so similar but tasted worlds apart.

Maybe that’s Adam. Looks right but isn’t good for you.”

I’m taken aback by her words, the truth in them stinging. “I... I don’t know, Chloe. Maybe I’m afraid of

being alone.”

“And there it is,” Chloe murmurs. “You moved on so quickly after Karl. Are you sure it was moving on

and not just... moving away?”

I bite my lip, fighting the truth in her words. “Adam’s not a rebound, Chloe.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes. “But look, Abby, he’s a workaholic. He’s not treating you right. And if you

want to end things, know that everyone would understand.”

My mind whirls with conflicting emotions. "I need to cool off, think things through."

“Just remember…” Chloe’s voice is soft and comforting. “You deserve happiness. You deserve to be

someone’s priority.”

A hint of mischief enters my voice as I change the subject. “Hey, speaking of priorities, weren’t you

supposed to be on a date tonight?”

Chloe giggles, and I can imagine her blushing on the other end. "Oh, it was... well, let’s just say it was

very good."

“Wow, Chloe! Leaving so soon? That must’ve been... brief.”

She laughs, and I join in. The comfort of our shared humor momentarily eases my pain. “Let’s just say

the date was thrilling, but, well, short-lived.”

“Thanks for always being there, Chlo,” I say, feeling the weight of the night’s disappointment ease a bit.

“Always,” Chloe replies, warmth evident in her voice. “And remember, you’re not alone. Not really.”

I end the call, my emotions swirling.

I take a sip of the deep crimson wine, its flavor, though rich, now tainted by the bitterness of my

disappointment. The dining room is drenched in warm hues from the strategically placed candles, and

the glow they cast illuminates the high ceilings and ornate woodwork of my apartment. Every decor

detail, chosen with care, seems to mock my solitude.

In a fit of fury, I swipe at a plate of caprese salad, sending cherry tomatoes rolling and scattering basil

leaves.

“A waste…” I whisper angrily.

With more force than necessary, I begin scraping the food into the trash. The soft gnocchi, the

steaming risotto, the delicate veal. Everything is discarded, just like the promises Adam made. Each

dish, symbolic of moments in our relationship, is heartbreakingly thrown away.

I’m mid-way through this cathartic—albeit wasteful—process when an idea, perhaps influenced by the

wine, hits me.

“Karl,” I say aloud, the name acting like a beacon in the fog of my anger.

Karl had always been different—reliable, true to his word. He’s an asshole, but in those ways, he’s the

complete antithesis of Adam. And I miss him, and I’m drunk.

Feeling bolder by the second, and perhaps the wine lending a hand, I dial Karl’s number. My heart

races as I hear the familiar ring on the other end. What am I even doing? What would I say? Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Abby?” Karl's voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, I plunge into my impromptu plan. “Hey, Karl. Fancy some Italian tonight?”

He chuckles softly. “You mean the restaurant downtown?”

“No,” I laugh, somewhat embarrassed. “I mean at my place. I cooked up a storm, and now I have

enough food to feed an army. Care to join?”

Silence stretches between us, but it’s more contemplative than awkward. I can almost picture Karl, his

brow furrowing, trying to decipher the unexpected invitation.

“You know,” he starts, “It's late. Is everything alright?”

I bite my lip, debating how much to reveal. “Adam bailed on me. Again. And I just… I don’t want all this

effort, all this food, to go to waste.”

There's a sympathetic pause before Karl responds. “Give me twenty minutes. Can I bring something?”

I smile, relief flooding through me. “Just yourself. I’ve got everything else.”

After ending the call, I take a moment to process what I’ve just done. The dining room, still beautifully lit

by candles, reflects the romantic evening that should have been. Despite the unexpected turn of

events, I find myself slightly more hopeful about the evening.

I rush into the bedroom to freshen up. My hair is quickly fixed, a few strands rebelliously falling onto my

forehead. A splash of perfume and a dab of lipstick later, I look presentable.

I check myself in the mirror, reminding myself that this isn’t a date—it’s dinner with a friend. Sort of.

Maybe?

As I return to the living room, I take a moment to appreciate my apartment. The soft golden light

reflects off the brick walls, adding warmth to the space. Vintage paintings, relics from my travels, adorn

the walls, each telling its own story. The scent of vanilla from the candles mingles with the rich aroma of

the dishes I’ve prepared.

The mood is set, even if the audience has changed. And in more ways than I would ever care to admit,

the fact that Karl is coming fills my stomach with butterflies.

Suddenly, a flurry of memories rush in: movie nights with Karl, the two of us laughing over a shared

joke, the way he’d attentively listen when I spoke about my day.

Did I make the right decision by inviting him over? Pushing the doubts aside, I decide to embrace the

evening for what it is—a break from the predictable disappointments that Adam often brought.

With ten minutes to spare, I decide to prepare dessert. I drizzle some chocolate syrup over panna

cotta, placing a lone raspberry on top for a touch of color. As I’m garnishing the last one, the faint

sound of my doorbell rings.

My heart leaps in my chest. Taking a moment to calm my racing heartbeat, I make my way to the door.

I swing the door open to find Karl, standing there, slightly winded as if he'd rushed to make it on time.

His familiar brown eyes hold a hint of surprise, curiosity, and something else I can’t quite place. And

just like that, my evening, once filled with resentment and disappointment, holds a new promise.

“Hey, Abby.”