Abby The restaurant is buzzing with activity as we prepare for the lunch rush. Karl’s returned to work today, and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel as awkward as I thought it would. In fact, there’s a sense of normalcy that I didn't expect to find. John, especially, is elated to see Karl back.
Leah takes a sip of her water, looking thoughtful. “Abby, you might have to make a choice here—between your best friends who have stood by you, or the man who’s ruined everything for you over and over again.” “I really think he can change, Leah,” I say, my voice tinged with a desperate hope. “Pe
Abby The weight of the world feels like it’s pressing down on my shoulders like a leaden weight, and just when I think it can’t get any heavier, Karl appears in the doorway of my office. “Is everything okay, Abby?” he asks, and there’s a genuine concern in his eyes that almost—almost—makes m
Abby The weight of failure feels almost physical, like there’s something sharp and heavy literally lodged in my chest. I stare at the computer screen displaying “Truffles Unavailable” in blunt, red letters. I’ve sent countless emails to suppliers, spent hours scouring online marketplaces, an
Karl It’s almost midnight when I put my car in park in the dimly lit alleyway, and I can’t believe I’m here right now. “Abby will see how much you care once you get these for her,” my wolf says, satisfied. “Yeah,” I answer out loud as I cautiously get out of the car. “We’ll see about that
“Karl?” Adam’s voice catches my attention, and I whip around to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “What are you doing here?” I swallow my pride and walk up to him, trying not to show my embarrassment. “You’ve got a minute? I need to ask you something.” Adam nods and gestures fo
Abby “Okay, John, pass me the truffle oil,” I call out, my focus entirely on the pan in front of me. “Got it,” John replies, handing me the small, dark bottle. The kitchen is close to closing time, and John and I have been spending every free moment today trying to get this recipe right.
“You know,” I chuckle, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, “when I first went to culinary school, I thought I would be facing all of these obstacles. Older men not taking me seriously, financial issues, critics.” “And you have faced all of that and then some,” John teases.