Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

#Chapter 55: Flour Fight
Abby

The ambiance of the restaurant after hours is one of muted stillness, a stark contrast to its bustling

daytime persona.

I absolutely cherish these moments, where the world seems to fade, and it’s just me and my culinary

creations.

Tonight, it’s not about a new dish or preparation for the next day’s service, nor is it even about the

upcoming cookoff for the Alpha party competition.

Instead, it’s personal. Chloe’s birthday is tomorrow, and there’s no way I’m going to let it slide without a

special treat. Hence, the covert operation: baking her a surprise birthday cake and finalizing our party

plans.

The ingredients lay sprawled on the counter: flour, sugar, eggs, chocolate, vanilla extract, and a myriad

of decorations. I’ve decided on a red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting—her absolute favorite.

As I start mixing the batter, a shadow unexpectedly looms over me.

Startled, I nearly drop the whisk. Turning around, I’m met with the piercing gaze of Karl. He stands

there, his arms crossed, a mixture of annoyance and curiosity evident in his brown eyes.

“Karl!” I exclaim, caught off guard. “What are you doing here? It’s late. You scared me half to death.”

He arches a brow. “Could say the same about you.”

Flustered, I reply, “I could ask you to leave since I literally own the place.”

His smirk is both infuriating and charming at the same time. “Trying to pull rank on me, Abby? Really?”

“Well, what do you want?” I sigh, not in the mood for his banter, especially given our recent encounter.

Instead of answering, he glances down at the mess on the counter, then back to me, eyes softening a

little.

“Baking a cake, huh?”

I nod, rolling my eyes. “Observant, aren’t we?”

“I can help,” he offers, surprisingly sincere.

“With the way you reacted the other day? I think I’m good, thanks,” I respond, a little sharper than

of the recent confusion between us is still fresh in my mind,

told him

lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled with

“Look, I might not be a fan of surprises, but I can’t

Let me

words but the genuineness

other day?”

hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t

for the right words. “…Doing something nice.

but only

brown eyes glint with mischief, replacing the

hands quickly and then moves to stand beside me. With deft hands, he helps

right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully, velvety

luscious.

blend of teamwork and

each other’s quips and focus on

it’s slid into the preheated oven. “Now, we

brushing my flour-covered hands on

cupped hand full of flour. “How about a little

process what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my hair and

of my nose.

giving

and amused. I look at

lips betray

a deep, infectious sound. “Bring it on,

of flour

right

The flour smacks him square in the

split second, the kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt

laughter.

before we know

every direction, settling on counters, the floor, the

everywhere.

it’s chaotic, but it’s also… freeing.

back in time.

resurface—of simpler times when we used to

end up laughing on the floor. And then, almost always,

intimate closeness.

fills my cheeks as flashes of those

the reminiscing threatening to

to keep at

oven, noticing that the cake’s baking time is nearly

hands raised in surrender.

flour, grins. “Fine,

we’ve made.