Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 221

Abby

It takes a moment for me to process John’s words. I’m standing here, on the subway platform, with my phone in my hand and my coffee in the other, feeling like my life is spiraling out of control.

The buzz of the city, the sleepy commuters shuffling past me, and the distant clatter of subway cars fade into the background as I realize my situation is getting desperate.

“Okay, okay. Don’t panic, Abby,” I mutter to myself, opening my contacts to find Anton’s number. Anton is a skilled chef, and he’s been working with me for a little while now. He could fill in for John in a heartbeat, I’m sure of it.

My thumb hovers over the call button for a second, considering, but then I tap it. I’ve got no other options right now, the clock is ticking, and Anton will be a shoe-in. The line rings, and with each passing second, I can feel my nerves becoming even more tightly wound.

Finally, Anton answers. “Abby. What’s going on?”

I suck in a deep breath. “Anton, are you busy today? Specifically, in the next couple of hours?”

“Well… Not really… Why?” He sounds a little off, not quite like his normal chipper self, but I chalk it up to the early hour, and continue.

“Look, Anton, I’m in a bind. John is really sick, like, food-poisoning sick, and he can’t be my sous chef for the cook-off. I know it’s super last-minute, but can you please step in for him? I-I’ll give you a week’s bonus.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for my heart to drop to my stomach. Then Anton coughs. It’s not a casual, just-woke-up kind of cough. It’s a deep, guttural, I’ve-been-sick-all-night-puking-my-brains-out sore throat kind of cough.

“Anton, are you okay?” I ask, my eyes widening, my voice tinged with disbelief and a sudden spike of dread.

Anton coughs again, and I can hear the strain in his voice. “Honestly, Abby, if I knew, I would tell you. All I can say is that I followed every procedure perfectly. It had to have been a freak accident.”

I wince and scrunch my eyes closed for a moment, secretly hoping that this is all just an anxiety dream. But when I open them again, the subway station is still there, and Anton is still coughing on the other end of the phone.

“Anton, this is crazy,” I find myself saying. “How can both of my go-to sous chefs be incapacitated on a day like today, of all the days this could have happened? What should I do?”

“Merde. I wish I knew, Abby,” Anton says softly, his voice tinged with regret. “If I could crawl out of this bed and help you, you know I would. I am sorry.”

The words echo in my ears, mingling with the cacophony of the waking city around me. Sorry. Is that what it all comes down to? Months of preparation, of blood, sweat, and tears, all up in smoke because of a bad piece of... what? Chicken? Fish?