Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 77: Mounting Frustrations
Abby
The day starts just as any normal day should: with the aroma of simmering tomato sauce and sizzling
bacon filling the restaurant, and the sound of happy breakfast customers wafting through the air.
But as I settle into the rhythm of another busy workday, something feels off. I can’t quite explain it, but it
almost feels as though something is electric in the air.
That’s when it happens.
I haven’t even taken my first sip of coffee of the day when Ethan is suddenly rushing into my office
faster than I thought he could even move with his leg, and there’s a look of dread on his face. Before I
can even open my mouth to speak, his words are tumbling out in a torrent of emotion.
“Abby, we’ve got a problem. Amelia West from ‘Gourmet Gazette’ is here, and she doesn’t look happy.”
My heart sinks at the mention of the infamous food critic.
“Why?” I ask, bolting up from my chair. “What happened?”
Ethan shrugs, throwing his hands up in the air. “Hell if I know. All I know is that she got her food a few
minutes ago, made a face, sent it back, and started writing in her notebook. G od, I’m such an idiot. I
didn’t even recognize her at first...”
With a deep breath, I place a hand on Ethan’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’s alright, just keep calm. Let’s
make sure everything is perfect. Double-check the specials and inform the servers. I’ll go talk to her
and see why she sent the food back.”
After taking a moment to compose myself, I head over to Amelia’s table. “Good morning, Ms. West. It’s

an honor to have you here. Is everything to your satisfaction?”
She looks up from her notebook, snapping it shut with a sour look on her face. “Where do I even start?”
she hisses. “My food was lukewarm, and I couldn’t even taste the garlic underneath the mountain of
sauce on the plate. I’ve been waiting for my coffee for fifteen minutes, and your waitress had an
attitude when I sent the food back.”
The food critic’s words send a shiver through my spine. Amelia West isn’t exactly known for being the
most lenient of food critics. If I had known that she was here, I would have served her myself.
“I’m very sorry, Ms. West,” I reply, maintaining my composure. “Your feedback is invaluable to us. I’ll be
sure to brew you a fresh pot of coffee right away, and the waitress will be disciplined accordingly. Can I
get you another dish on the house?”
She sighs, pushing her chair back. “No, don’t bother. I’m finished here.”
Before I can answer, Amelia gets up and storms out. All I can do is walk away, my fists clenched. This
is bad. This is really bad. I make a beeline for the kitchen, where Ethan is wringing his hands as John
scrambles to make another plate of eggs Benedict for the critic.
“Don’t bother,” I hiss as the door swings shut behind me. “She left.”

Ethan’s eyes widen. “You’ve gotta be kidding!” he says. “What do we do?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “There’s nothing we can do now,” I mutter. “Let’s just make sure
nothing else goes wrong today. And Ethan, talk to whichever waitress had Amelia’s table. Apparently
she had an ‘attitude’. But there’s no need to get too upset; Amelia West is just a bi tch.”
Ethan nods, preparing himself to speak with the waitress. The kitchen, which has fallen into a hush
since my entrance, returns to its normal pace; but Karl is standing off to the side, his knowing eyes
searching mine. All I can do is throw him a shrug and walk away, hoping that this is the worst that will
happen today.
I retreat to my office to collect myself. Thankfully, I’m able to lose myself in some paperwork for a
couple of hours; but it feels as though it’s only been five minutes that I’ve been alone before there’s
suddenly a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and it’s Sarah, one of the servers. Her face is red and her eyes are puffy, not from novelbin
crying, but from what looks like a nasty cold. She’s got a tissue in her hand and her hair is disheveled.
“Abby, I’m really sorry. I thought I could manage today, but—”
“Go home,” I interrupt, trying to hide the mild annoyance in my voice—not directed at her, but rather at
yet another hitch in the day. “Feel better, Sarah.”
“Thanks, Abby.”
But then, to make matters worse, I’ve barely been in my office for another half hour when Ben, another
server, appears in the doorway. He looks just as bad as Sarah.

“Abby, I think I caught...”
“Just go,” I groan, passing my hand over my face. “Try not to get anyone else sick.”
After Ben leaves, I let out a weary sigh and sink further into my chair. Two servers down, a
disappointed food critic, and the breakfast rush isn’t even over.
Resigned, I leave the sanctuary of my office, heading back to the floor to help out. That’s when I see
Mark and Lisa, two of our employees, locked in a heated argument by the hostess stand.
“He’s stealing my tables!” Lisa exclaims, her eyes shooting daggers at Mark.
“Your tables? You don’t own the floor, Lisa!” Mark retorts.
“Enough!” I interject, my patience wearing thin. “Mark, give Lisa her tables back. Lisa, focus on the
guests and not internal squabbles.”
Both nod, mumbling apologies, but the tension lingers in the air after they leave. I watch them go, biting
the inside of my cheek, before turning back to the hostess station to see a a man standing there with a
clipboard and an official-looking badge on his jacket.
“Good morning,” I say as pleasantly as I can. “How many are dining today?”
“Oh, I’m not dining,” he says with a terse smile, holding his hand out. “I’m Jack Thompson, the health

inspector. Mind if I take a look around?”
Of course. The universe still has one more curveball up its sleeve.
“Certainly, Mr. Thompson,” I manage, taking his outstretched hand. “We always aim to maintain the
highest standards.”
I lead him through the kitchen first, where Ethan and the crew are wrapping up the breakfast rush. He
makes notes on his clipboard, asking to see the temperature logs, the storage areas, and even the
labeling on the spices.
All of this is standard procedure; except for today, of course, when we’ve already been through the
wringer more than once.
“I noticed your cutting boards look rather worn, which could cause food contamination,” he says, a hint
of sternness intertwined with his words. “And these towels are not stored properly. They need to be in a
sanitizing solution when not in use.”
I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to show my frustration. “Absolutely, Mr. Thompson. We’ll replace
the cutting boards and correct the towel situation immediately.”
He nods, jotting down more notes on his clipboard. “Very well. Let’s continue.”
The tour continues for what feels like an eternity, with him pointing out minor infractions, and with me
nodding and assuring him they’ll be fixed. It’s like having someone walk around with a white glove,
checking for every little infringement. And I feel like a haggard scullery maid, just wanting to sit down
for five minutes without being interrupted.
Finally, he closes his clipboard. “You’ll need to address these issues immediately. Failure to comply will

result in a follow-up visit and potential penalties.”
“Understood,” I say, trying to keep the exhaustion from seeping into my voice. “We’ll take care of
everything.”
After he leaves, I gather the staff for an impromptu meeting. “Alright, listen up. We had a visit from the
health inspector. There are a few things we need to fix. Ethan, please order new cutting boards. John,
Karl, make sure your dish towels are stored properly.”
They all nod, their faces a mixture of fatigue and determination. Karl shoots me another worried look
and almost seems like he wants to get involved, but I choose to ignore it. Not now, I think to myself. Not
today.
Once the meeting ends, I trudge back to my office. I look at the stack of paperwork still on my desk,
then at the clock. It’s somehow already four o’clock, and I don’t know where the time went. All I know is
that my eyes are heavy, and my body feels like it’s made of lead.
I’ll just close my eyes for a second, I think, leaning back in my chair. Just a quick break before I tackle
the mountain of responsibilities still ahead...
...
Suddenly, I’m awoken by the sensation of someone shaking my shoulder... and a surprisingly dark
office.