Abby
It takes a moment for me to process John’s words. I’m standing here, on the subway platform, with my phone in my hand and my coffee in the other, feeling like my life is spiraling out of control.
The buzz of the city, the sleepy commuters shuffling past me, and the distant clatter of subway cars fade into the background as I realize my situation is getting desperate.
“Okay, okay. Don’t panic, Abby,” I mutter to myself, opening my contacts to find Anton’s number. Anton is a skilled chef, and he’s been working with me for a little while now. He could fill in for John in a heartbeat, I’m sure of it.
My thumb hovers over the call button for a second, considering, but then I tap it. I’ve got no other options right now, the clock is ticking, and Anton will be a shoe-in. The
