Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 37: Late Again

Abby

The once golden glow of the candles seems dull now. The shadows in the room stretch longer, a stark

contrast to the beautifully set table, pristine and untouched. The wine, once poured with anticipation,

sits still, a silent witness to my growing anxiety. The aroma of the truffle oil, once intoxicating, now only

serves as a bitter reminder of the love I had poured into preparing for this evening.

The clock on the wall seems to mock me with its relentless ticking, each second stretching into an

eternity. My phone lays idle beside me, and the absence of a call or message from Adam weighs

heavily on my heart.

Trying to ward off the budding dread, I take a deep breath and dial his number. “Maybe he’s stuck in

traffic or something,” I think to myself. “Or, g od forbid, he got into an accident.”

After dialing his number, I hold my phone up to my ear with a shaky hand. The soft hum of the ringtone

echoes in the silence.

After what feels like a lifetime, he answers. The din of background noises hits me instantly—shouts,

laughter, the unmistakable hustle and bustle of his restaurant.

My stomach sinks. He’s working. I should have known better.

“Adam?” My voice quivers slightly.

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“Abby? What’s up?”

His casual tone catches me off guard, and I try to steady myself. “What’s up? Seriously? You were

supposed to be here over an hour ago!”

“Oh…right. About that,” he starts, his voice hurried and distracted. “Look, Abby, I got swamped here.

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Thought maybe you wouldn’t mind if I sat this one out. You know, have dinner by yourself? You can

save me some leftovers for tomorrow, right?”

Tears pr ick at my eyes, and I feel a twinge of anger. “This wasn’t just about the food, Adam! It was

about us, about spending time together, reconnecting. This was about you showing up when you said

you would. Just this once, I actually wanted you to follow through with our plans.”

“Come on, Abby,” he interrupts. “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“But you promised,” I whimper, biting my lip to keep it from quivering. “You promised, Adam.”

Adam sighs. “I’m sorry, Abbs. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. We see each other all the time,

you know?”

“Really? Like last week, when you took me out?” I counter, sarcasm dripping from my words.

“Yes,” Adam says, sounding annoyed now. “Just like last week, when I took you out for drinks and

dancing—at your request, might I add.”

I huff angrily. “Be honest with me, Adam,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose in annoyance, “you

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wouldn’t have gone with me if you had been able to work that night. It was only because of the

electricity going out at your restaurant and you had nothing better to do.”

Silence. I can almost hear him gritting his teeth on the other end, and it’s a few moments before he

responds. “If I could have gone to work that night, I would have, Abby. You know how important my

restaurant is to me. But we still had fun, didn’t we?”

I almost feel sick. I knew all along that he would have rather gone to work that night, but hearing it out

loud is like reopening a wound.

“C’mon, Abbs,” he pr ods. “Admit it: we had fun. It was a good night.”

“But it wasn’t about just having fun, Adam,” I hiss. “Yeah, the dancing and the drinks were fun. But you

had so much to drink, just like you always do when we’re together. It’s like… It’s like you can’t even be

around me unless you’re drunk.”

Adam pauses for a moment. The sounds of the bustling kitchen coming through his end of the phone

feel like a cacophony in my ears. I think I can hear him put his hand over the receiver and say

something to someone else, and it only makes my blood boil even more. It’s like I’m not even here.

“That’s not true,” he finally says. “Of course I can be sober around you.”

I grit my teeth, not wanting to get into that aspect anymore. I’ve noticed how much Adam likes to drink

when we’re together, but that’s his own problem to solve, not mine.

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“And after all that, you…” I hesitate, the hurt from that evening flooding back. “You couldn’t even be

intimate with me.”

I glance around the room, taking in the details—the vibrant colors of the fresh roses, the gleaming

silverware, the gentle sway of the lace curtains from the soft evening breeze. It all seemed so perfect a

few hours ago.

Adam is silent again, this time for longer.

“Adam?” I call out.

He clears his throat. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says quietly. “Sh it happens. I’m sorry.”

“But what about us, Adam? What about our relationship?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.

“I’m trying, Abby. But my restaurant needs me right now, and I can’t be in two places at once. Can’t we

just reschedule?”

His nonchalant attitude is the final straw. Tears stream down my face, and I struggle to form words.

“Reschedule? How can you even suggest that? I put my heart and soul into tonight. This isn’t some

meeting you can just push to another day.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean to—”

I interrupt him, my voice filled with bitterness and hurt. “No, you listen. Every time, Adam. Every. Single.

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Time. I’ve waited for you at parties, at our own dinners, and now this. You always have an excuse. And

now, this is what it;s come to? You blowing me off completely? What’s next, if we get married? Will you

be late for the wedding, too? Leave me at the altar?”

I can hear him sigh deeply, the weight of our past mistakes hanging between us. “Abby, I—”

“Save it,” I cut him off, tears streaming down my face. “I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m worried that if

I do, I’ll say something that we’ll both regret.”

There’s a long pause, the tension palpable. “Abby,” he begins, sounding almost defeated.

But I’ve had enough. I need to be alone, and to think. “Goodbye, Adam.” I hang up, the finality of the

click echoing in the room.

My heart feels heavy, each beat echoing the painful realization that our relationship might be beyond

repair. The room, once filled with the promise of romance and reconciliation, now feels cold and empty.

The tantalizing dishes, the promise of a shared meal, now serve as a painful reminder of what might

have been.

The melancholy embrace of the night surrounds me, the soft glow of the candles no longer offering

comfort.

Taking a shaky breath, I gaze at the meticulously prepared spread—each dish, each setting, a

testament to the love I still feel for Adam.

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I can’t hold back the tears any longer. They fall freely, each one a reflection of the hope, love, and

ultimately, disappointment that I’ve experienced tonight. And as I sit here, surrounded by the remnants

of what was supposed to be a special evening, I wonder if things will ever be the same between us

again.

Or maybe my relationship with Adam really has run its course once and for all.

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