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 c
Abby The clinking of wine glasses fills the room as I lead Karl into my living room, gesturing toward the elegantly set dining table. “See?” I say, pointing out the various dishes, which I’ve rewarmed in the oven since I called Karl. “It’s almost restaurant-worthy.” “Almost?” He whistles appre
“I knew that you wanted this, Abby,” he murmurs. “I know you’ve missed me. Adam can’t hold a candle to what you and I had.” My heart wrenches; Karl is right. The wetness between my legs only further proves that point. I want Karl, want to relive what we felt for each other before, want to make my
Karl The sting of rejection pulses through me, acute and raw, as I distance myself from Abby’s place. My footsteps echo through the quiet city streets, the usual hustle and bustle of the nightlife seemingly dimmed tonight. Each step aligns with the rapid beat of my heart. I can’t shake the
Abby Pushing the restaurant’s door open, I’m immediately enveloped by the scent of fresh bread and brewing coffee. The day beckons, promising a hustle that I’m both dreading and anticipating. Each wooden table is adorned with a fresh bunch of flowers, the gentle hum of the morning preparations
That elicits a soft chuckle from me. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Karl hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his words. “Look, about Adam…” I raise a hand, cutting him off. “Let’s not, okay? I appreciate the concern, but I’d rather focus on today. We’ve got a brunch crowd to wow.” His
Abby Just as I’m leaning forward to make sense of the strange spark in the back of the oven, something ignites. I jump back with a yelp just as the heat nearly consumes me. My heart races as the orange flames dance menacingly from the oven, cutting off the symphony of our dinner rush with its
But through it all, the warmth of Karl’s hand is a constant, grounding me. Even in the throes of pain, I can't help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Our shared experiences in the kitchen, the dance of dishes and ingredients, have fostered a connection I never anticipated. I feel him glan