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

between us is still fresh

told him that I couldn’t have sex

When he speaks, his voice is filled

“Look, I might not be a fan of surprises, but I can’t bear to see someone struggling

Let me help,

by his words but the genuineness

other day?”

bit, yeah. But

words. “…Doing something nice.

but only if you promise not to

the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream of

his hands quickly and then moves to stand beside me. With

the right amount of cocoa

luscious.

hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between us,

we laugh at each other’s quips and focus on

is poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the preheated oven.

flour-covered hands on my

cupped hand full of flour. “How

he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting

the tip of my

shock giving

and amused. I look at him, my

lips betray me. “You’ll pay for

the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring

another word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour and, with all the strength

right

slow. The flour smacks him

shrouded in silence—then both

laughter.

two, two becomes four, and before we know

white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters, the

everywhere.

madness, it’s chaotic, but it’s also… freeing.

back in time.

shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used to

and end up laughing on the floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give

intimate closeness.

as flashes

quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal

to keep at

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

hands raised in surrender.

flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But only because you said

utter mess we’ve made. “Look at