Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 50: A Little Help

Abby

“You… Want to help?”

I’m taken aback. It’s not quite like Karl to willingly offer help, especially in the middle of the night like

this. In fact, the very thought of it instantly whisks me back to a memory that was buried in the deep

recesses of my mind from when we were married.

“Karl, could you pass me the pepper?” I had called out from our spacious kitchen, my hands full as I

tried to juggle several trays of hors d’oeuvres.

New Year’s Eve was tonight, and I had wanted to throw an unforgettable party for our friends. I had

spent days now focusing on my preparations. Everything had to be perfect.

The house was buzzing with energy. But instead of the joyful kind, it felt tense.

Karl’s servants moved around the house like shadows, silently and efficiently, executing his orders.

While I loved that our home came with a staff that made everything seem effortless, I wanted to be

involved in the preparations.

I wanted it to feel personal.

“Abby, let them handle it,” Karl had said, his voice strained.

His face was buried in his phone, undoubtedly dealing with some Alpha matters. The life of the leader

of our pack was never easy, and often the weight of it all rested heavily on his shoulders.

But this party was important to me. A fresh start, a new year, a way to reconnect with Karl after what

felt like months of him being distant.

“I want to do it,” I had insisted, rolling up my sleeves. “This is something I enjoy.”

Karl had only shot me a brief glance, his chocolatey eyes filled with the kind of exasperation you’d

expect from someone juggling the weight of the world.

“You always make things more difficult than they need to be,” he had muttered.

I’d tried to brush off his comment, focusing on the golden brown mini quiches in the oven. © 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

Everything was going well, until, in my distraction, the hors d’oeuvres were left for a tad too long.

The once appetizing aroma was quickly replaced by the acrid smell of burnt food. Panic settled in as I

quickly opened the oven, smoke billowing out, the treats blackened and ruined.

“Damn it!” I exclaimed, my eyes filling with frustrated tears.

Karl, hearing my outcry, finally pulled away from his phone. “What happened?” He surveyed the mess,

his impatience palpable.

“I... I got distracted,” I stammered, feeling small. “I need to start over. Can you help me?”

His expression twisted, the weariness and irritation evident. “Abby, I have Alpha matters to attend to.

Matters that impact the community. And you want me to roll dough?”

“It was just a simple request,” I murmured, hurt evident in my voice.

But Karl was already walking away. “This whole party, your insistence on doing everything yourself, it’s

all just... silly.”

Silly.

The word felt like a slap in the face. My vision blurred with tears. I had wanted this party, not just for our

friends or for the turn of the year, but for us, as a couple, to find our way back to each other. To find

moments in the mundanity of life that would reconnect us.

In a final act of taking control, Karl gestured for one of his servants.

“Handle this,” he had ordered curtly, pointing at the kitchen mess.

That had been the last straw for me. Without a word, I had stormed out of the kitchen, my heart

breaking with each step. It wasn’t about the burnt hors d’oeuvres or even the party preparations. It was

about feeling unheard, unimportant, and overshadowed by the looming ‘Alpha matters.’

“Yes,” Karl says, shooting me a slight smirk and drawing me back out of my memory. “I, Karl, want to

help you.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Karl, I appreciate it, but I’ve got this. You’ve already been working all day,

so you can head home.”

Before Karl can answer, I gently extricate myself from his grip and head back down the hallway toward

my office. But upon sitting back down in my chair, I notice a presence. I look up to see Karl standing in

the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets and an amused look in his

eyes.

“Karl, I said you can go home,” I say, stifling a laugh. “You don’t need to be here. Really.”

He pushes off the doorframe, entering the office and closing the distance between us. His deep brown

eyes lock onto mine, a steely determination evident in them.

“I can’t just stand here and watch you work yourself to the bone,” he insists. “Just tell me what I can

do.”

My heart flutters at his insistence. Part of me wants to refuse, to guard my problems and maintain

control. But another part, the one that’s exhausted and overwhelmed, yearns for an outstretched hand.

Taking a deep breath, I relent, pointing at the towering pile of paperwork on my desk. “Okay, first, I

need to file all of this for payroll. After that, I’ve got to put in orders for ingredients, and then there’s the

paperwork for renewing the liquor license.”

Karl nods, determination set in his features. “Let’s tackle the payroll first.”

Handing him a stack of paperwork, I give him a brief overview of how to file it. He listens intently, and

for a moment, a flicker of hope ignites within me.

Maybe, just maybe, this night won’t be as long as I feared.

However, my optimism is short-lived. Within minutes, I notice Karl’s brow furrowing in confusion, his

hands shuffling the papers awkwardly. Glancing over, my heart sinks as I see the disarray.

“Karl, that’s not how they’re supposed to be filed,” I say, trying to keep the exasperation from my voice.

He looks up, a sheepish expression on his face. “I thought I was doing it right. Sorry, Abby.”

I take a deep breath, pushing down my rising frustration. “It’s okay. Let’s just go over it again.”

We spend the next hour re-filing the paperwork, with me guiding him through every step. Several times

I can see him biting his lip and clenching his jaw, a telltale sign of his mounting frustration.

Yet, to my surprise, he doesn’t blow up or walk away.

As we finish the last of the payroll forms, I can’t help but comment. “You know, even just a few months

ago, you would’ve thrown these papers in the air and stormed out.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was always a bit... hot-headed.”

“A bit?” I smirk, raising an eyebrow.

He grins. “Okay, maybe more than a bit. But working here, in this restaurant, has taught me a lot. About

patience, about teamwork, about pushing through even when it gets tough.”

My heart warms at his words, realizing the growth he’s undergone.

“I’m… proud of you, Karl. And...” I hesitate, recalling the accident a few weeks ago when I’d burned my

arm in the kitchen, “seeing you stay calm tonight, not giving up... it means a lot.”

Karl’s expression softens. “Honestly, Abby, watching you push through challenges, like that day you

burned your arm and still refused to leave the restaurant... It’s been inspiring. You’re strong, and I’ve

learned so much from you.”