Abby
The tension in the room feels palpable, a thick curtain of unsaid words and unexplored emotions hanging in the air between Karl and me. My grip tightens on the knife handle as I glance at the chaos of ingredients strewn across the counter.
“Tell me first,” I blurt out, wanting to avoid the inevitable confrontation as long as possible. “What are you doing here? The restaurant closed hours ago.”
Karl sighs and shakes his head, walking past me and over to the line. I watch as he bends down behind the counter and disappears for a moment, muttering to himself, before he stands back up and holds something up in the air: his wallet.
“Dropped this earlier,” he says, slipping it into his pocket. “Wanted to come back and make sure it was here. Now it’s your turn. What are you do
