Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 281

“Okay, I’ll... get ready then. You’ll be okay out here?”

Karl waves a hand dismissively. “Go ahead. You got a mirror somewhere so I can get to work on…” He gestures to himself, to his tousled hair, his white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “...This?”

I nod and point to the hallway. “There’s a full-length mirror over there. Good luck.”

He grins. “Same to you.”

…

The steam curls around me and smooths away my tense muscles. It’s funny how I never realize how badly I need a hot shower until I’m finally in it, and now I don’t want to get out. But once my body is washed and my hair is shampooed, I don’t have much more time. With a reluctant sigh, I finally turn off the water and step out, wrapping a towel around me.

First, I get started on my hair. The sound of the blowdryer fills the bathroom as I get to work, running a brush through it until it’s all dry. Then, I pull it back into a neat bun that sits at the nape of my neck. Have to make sure no hairs get in the food, so I slick it down with a tiny bit of gel, both to make it look sleek and keep it in place.

Next, I slip into my chef’s whites, which I had professionally cleaned just for today. They’re a bit too crisp against my skin, but they look nice. I slip into a pair of comfortable loafers, then glance in the mirror.

Looks good. Now, makeup.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, and that’s when the memories of the cook-off return. The thick foundation, the dramatic eyes, and lips painted a bright shade of red. False lashes, too, which I remember being horribly uncomfortable when I cried.

My hand freezes as I’m about to reach into my makeup bag for my foundation.

Do I want this? To cake my face, to place the focus of tonight on my appearance rather than my abilities and my professionalism? To feel uncomfortable, like I’m wearing a mask?

“You look perfect in your chef’s coat, Abby,” he says, and his voice is soft.

I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks, but I don’t bother to hide the tinge of red that begins to spread across my face.

“Thank you, Karl,” I manage, voice steady even though my heart is pounding a mile a minute in my chest. “You look perfect, too.”

We look at each other for a moment longer, the silence only punctuated by the sound of soft jazz music playing on the speakers—he must have picked it out while I was in the shower, and it’s a nice touch.

And then, like clockwork the moment the hour hand meets 7:00, it happens.

The doorbell rings. The judges have arrived.