Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#Chapter 80: New Horizons

Karl

The sun is barely hovering above the horizon as I pull up in front of Abby’s apartment building on

Friday morning.

I can’t help but smile as I think about the day ahead of us. My black car idles, the hum of its engine

drowned out by the pop song playing on the radio—a song I can easily imagine Abby singing along to,

although I don’t personally care for that kind of music myself.

With a deep breath, I turn off the engine and grab the to-go cup of her favorite coffee from the cup

holder.

She opens the door almost as soon as I knock, as though she was standing there, waiting. There’s a

look in her eyes that makes it seem as though she’s still on the fence about going. But the second her

eyes meet mine, the tension in her shoulders eases. Just a bit.

“Good morning,” I greet, handing her the coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

She grins, taking a sip immediately. “You read my mind.”

There’s a slight silence for a few moments. My eyes scan the inside of her apartment, where a bag sits

on the floor behind her; it’s packed haphazardly, no doubt. She’s never been the neatest traveler.

“Oh, one more thing,” she says before I can say anything. She slips her phone out of her pocket and

begins tapping furiously on the screen while her coffee cup balances precariously in the crook of her

elbow. “I have to tell Ethan—”

“Ethan will be fine without you,” I say, snatching both the phone and the coffee cup away. “And so will

the restaurant. Just enjoy your time off, Abby.”

She glares at me for a moment, that signature stare of hers, but finally relaxes and lets out a deep sigh.

“You’re right.”

We hit the road within a few minutes. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting her face

in a warm amber glow. I plug in my phone and shuffle through a playlist I know she’ll love.

“So, long drive ahead. Music?”

“Surprise me,” she says, her fingers nervously tapping on the coffee cup.

I hit play, and the first chords of a nostalgic song—one that played at our wedding—fill the car. She

laughs, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

“Come on, it’s a classic,” I defend, bobbing my head to the beat.

Abby’s lips twitch upwards into a smile, but it quickly fades. I watch from my peripherals as she averts

her gaze to the window, occasionally sipping out of her coffee cup. She thinks I don’t notice, but she’s

swaying back and forth to the song, ever so slightly. And that’s enough for me.

We’ve been riding in comfortable silence for about half an hour when Abby suddenly points to a barely

visible building off the main road.

“Remember that place?” she asks.

I glance in the direction she’s pointing, spotting the outline of an old, worn-down motel that has seen

better days. “Ah, the Woodpecker Inn,” I say, a smile forming on my own face. “We stayed there more

than once.”

“Yeah.” She pauses, her voice taking on a more nostalgic tone. “You proposed to me there, didn’t you?”

I smirk, shaking my head. “Your memory is betraying you. I actually proposed at that fancy restaurant in

the city. What was it called—La Bella Vita?”

Abby gives me a sideways look. “Karl, you’ve got it all wrong. You proposed at the Woodpecker Inn,

right near the fireplace where we used to—”

Her voice trails off momentarily, leaving space where our memories belong. The fireplace at the

Woodpecker Inn… I try not to think about it, because if I do, I’ll get too distracted and possibly run the

car off the road.

“I know what we used to do near that fireplace, but no, Abby, I proposed at La Bella Vita. I remember

because the hostess almost kicked us out for disturbing the peace after you said yes.”

We go back and forth like this, both of us stubbornly clinging to our own versions of the story. The

tension is playful, almost electric, a reminder of simpler times. I’m about to pull out my phone and call

one of our mutual friends to settle the argument when Abby’s eyes widen, and she bursts into laughter.

“We’re both idiots,” she exclaims.

“What?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“We’re both wrong,” she says, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It was the lighthouse.”

“The lighthouse?”

“Yes!” she says, shooting me a sideways glance. “The one near your pack’s territory. With the

restaurant attached?”

The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I burst into laughter too. “You’re right. The

lighthouse! How could I forget?”

“We had dinner at the restaurant there, and you proposed at the top,” she says, her voice taking on an

almost melancholic tone. “And then we went to the Woodpecker Inn.”

For a moment, there’s a softness in her voice, a glimmer of something that I’ve missed desperately. We

lock eyes for the briefest of moments, and it’s as if the years peel away.

I miss those days, miss what we were. The regret hits me like a ton of bricks, settling heavy in my

chest. It’s a regret that’s been there for too long, lurking in the shadows even when I was too stubborn

to acknowledge it.

Finally, after another hour and a half of driving, the towering trees give way to the familiar entrance of

my estate. I haven’t been here in a few months now, but it feels just as familiar as ever; especially with

Abby beside me.

I throw her a quick glance, hoping that I don’t see any glimmer of doubt in her eyes. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she says, though I catch a note of uncertainty in her voice.

I pull into the driveway, the old mansion coming into view. Before I can even cut the engine, the front

door swings open. Gerald, our family butler for as long as I can remember, steps onto the porch. His

face lights up when he sees me. “Mr. Karl!” he exclaims, shuffling out. “How nice to—” But then, his

face falls the moment his gaze lands on Abby. Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

“Miss… Abby? What are you doing here?” he asks, a thinly veiled note of disapproval coloring his

words.

“Hello, Gerald,” Abby replies, her tone neutral. “I’m just visiting.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, and though he says nothing more, his eyes say it all. Maybe I should have

mentioned it beforehand. But hell, if he has a problem with Abby being here, that’s his issue to deal

with, not ours.

I reach for her bag, but she’s already grabbed it. “I got it,” she says, our fingers brushing for a moment.

Electricity shoots up my arm, and I have to resist the urge to pull her closer.

“Shall we?” I gesture toward the entrance.

She nods, stepping onto the cobblestone path that leads to the door. I catch up to her and we walk side

by side, the tension palpable but not entirely uncomfortable. She glances around, taking in the towering

oaks, the sprawling garden she once adored, the manor itself. There’s a wistfulness in her eyes that

tugs at my heart.

Once inside, she continues to look around, this time at the grand staircase, the antique chandeliers, the

aged paintings of our ancestors adorning the walls. All the things that make this place more than just a

house. It’s a home. It was her home, too, once upon a time. Maybe it will be her home again.

“You okay?” I ask as we ascend the stairs. Her room—the master bedroom, and I’ve decided to take

the guest room—is right at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, but her voice quivers, betraying her true emotions.

I unlock the door and swing it open, revealing the room she spent so many years in. It’s been a few

years since she’s been gone, but I kept the furnishings the same. In fact, I couldn’t sleep in here for the

first two years; not since I thought she cheated on me.

“Wow,” she breathes, stepping inside.

Her eyes move from the familiar furnishings to the photos still sitting on top of her old dresser. One in

particular catches her eye, a candid shot of us, laughing like there’s no tomorrow. Truthfully, I never

took it down, although I couldn’t bear to look at it for the longest time.

For a moment, I see the Abby I fell in love with all those years ago. Vulnerable, yet strong. Closed off,

yet incredibly open.

She wipes a tear away before it can fall, then turns to me with a shaky smile. “It’s just…a lot, you

know?”

“I do,” I reply softly, not trusting myself to say more.

She clears her throat, setting her bag down on the bed. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

“If you’re up for it, I was thinking dinner later,” I suggest, leaning against the doorframe.

She nods, biting her lip in a way that’s incredibly cute and reminiscent of the old Abby. “That sounds

good.”

“Alright,” I say. “I’ll let you get settled, then. And if you need me, I’m in the guest bedroom.”

As I walk away, heading back down the grand staircase, I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and

trepidation. This visit is a big step for both of us. Where it leads, I can’t say for sure, but for the first time

in a long while, I’m hopeful.

And as I get to the bottom of the stairs, I realize something else, too. For the first time in years, the

house feels like a home again. And it’s all because Abby is here, even if it’s just for a visit.