Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 75: Come Home

Karl

Abby’s face looks apprehensive, which was exactly what I feared.

When my secretary called me last week to come home for a pack meeting, my original plan was to slip

back home on the day of the meeting and come back to the city without uttering a word. I wanted to just

get my duties over with and return to my task of trying to win Abby back, but plans have changed.

After everything that’s happened recently, I want her by my side. And although I won’t admit it, in a

selfish way, I want her to see our old home and remember what we had together. Maybe then we can

move things forward.

“Well?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Tell me. What’s the catch?” All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I have to go back to my pack this weekend for a meeting. It’s

family stuff, council discussions, you know. The usual.” I hesitate, reading her face, which now shows a

mix of curiosity and guardedness.

“And…?”

“And… I’d like you to come with me.”

The sudden stillness in her eyes, the subtle twitch of her lips, tells me this isn’t what she expected.

“Karl, you know I have responsibilities here, right? There’s the restaurant first and foremost, and

beyond that, I have to practice for the cook-off.”

“Yeah, I know. But look, it’s a weekend. We’d be back first thing Sunday morning. The restaurant can

manage without you for two days, and as for the cook-off…” I grin, trying to channel some semblance

of charm into my plea, “you can practice in my kitchen. I’ve got it all set up—really, anything you’d

need.”

Her eyes narrow, but not dismissively. She’s considering it, I can tell. I can still remember how much

she loved our old kitchen; she was the one who designed it, after all.

It’s a home chef’s paradise, complete with two ovens, an industrial grade dishwasher, a huge counter

island, and an entire pantry full of cooking supplies.

She used to spend hours in there every day, cooking up some new concoction or baking something

extravagant. Half of my staff put on weight while she was living there because she was always giving

out some goodie or another.

When she left, though, it started collecting dust. I’ve hardly used it since I divorced her, but it’s still the

same, more or less. And recently, I’ve had the place prepared for her.

Just in case she decides to home home.

“No,” she says, shaking her head decisively. “It’s not a good idea. Karl, we talked about this. The two of

us being there again…”

Her voice trails off, but I know what she was about to say: that the two of us being there again could

make things even more complicated than they already are. Duh. That was kind of the whole point. But I

won’t reveal that to her.

“Listen,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I had the guest room all set up for you. Remember how much

you used to love that room? Your own private balcony and an en suite bathroom.”

Abby pauses for a few moments as recognition flashes through her eyes. The guest bedroom was

another room that she adored. She always loved showing it off whenever we had overnight guests. And

sometimes, when we had a fight or when she wasn’t feeling well, she even slept in there.

“You’re trying to butter me up.” Abby’s words are terse, and she ends the sentence by finishing off her

drink.

Caught off guard by her intuition, I chuckle, still trying to sound casual. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“But why?” she murmurs. “What do you really want from me, Karl?”

Her words leave me feeling oddly empty and sad. Just like always, she’s onto me. Her intuition has

almost always been top notch. And before I can say anything, she shakes her head and licks her lips.

“Karl, we can’t…”

“Just think about it,” I interrupt, taking a sip of my whiskey to steady myself. It burns going down,

tethering me back to the present. “I’m not trying to get anything out of you. I just wanted you invite you

home. Thought it would be nice.”

“It’s not my home anymore.”

Ouch. Her words sting.

For a moment, we both fall silent, our eyes locked in a sort of silent negotiation. The air around us

thickens with possibilities, good and bad. What is it that I’m really asking of her? A journey back to my

world, a chance to share a part of my life that’s been so far from her for so long?

Or perhaps it’s more selfish than that—a desire to show her off to my pack, to say, “Look, she’s with me

again.”

“Karl, I won’t lie. It’s tempting,” she finally murmurs. “But right now, it’s a big ask. Let me sleep on it at

the very least.”

I nod, trying to hide the flicker of disappointment that washes over me. “Of course. Take all the time you

need. I’ll be leaving on Friday.”

With a last sip of her whiskey, Abby slides off her stool and puts on her jacket, offering me a smile

that’s equal parts warmth and uncertainty. “Good night, Karl.”

“Good night, Abby,” I say, but as she turns to go, I find myself captivated by her silhouette against the

dim lights of the bar, her hair cascading like a blonde halo around her.

She’s radiant—she’s always been beautiful, but there’s something about the maturity she’s gained over

the years. Somehow, she’s been sculpted into an even more stunning woman now that she’s older.

But then, she’s gone before I can think too much about it, leaving me alone with my thoughts and an

empty glass.

“Well, muddied that one up pretty good, huh?” My wolf’s voice suddenly breaks through my thoughts. I

felt him there throughout the conversation, listening, judging.

“Shut up.”

“No, really,” he prods. “Could you be any less subtle?”

I stifle a groan and take another sip of my whiskey, tapping my glass on the bar for a refill. “I did my

best,” I answer internally, offering the bartender a slight smile and a nod of my head as he pours some

more of the amber colored liquid into my glass. “She’s just so…”

“Astute,” my wolf finishes for me. “Too smart for you, maybe.”

“Hey!”

My wolf chuckles, a low, rumbling sound in the back of my mind. “I sensed that she’s open to it,

though,” he assures me. “Give her a little space to decide. I’ll bet by Thursday she’s practically begging

to go.”

His words are only so reassuring, though. Abby isn’t predictable like that. She’s too free-spirited, much

unlike the way she was when we were together. It’s become clear to me over the past months that her

looks weren’t the only things that changed since we got divorced.

But I’ve changed, too. And while I was a domineering little prick all those years ago, I’m not like that

now. I like a woman who stands up for herself and knows what she wants. I know I’ve still got some

growth to do. But so does she.

I just hope that, whatever growth needs to be done, we can do it together. As one.