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

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

told him that I couldn’t have sex with

When he speaks, his voice is filled

fan of surprises, but I can’t bear to

Let me

words but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re not still mad about

other day?”

running a hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t

for the right words. “…Doing

heart. “Fine, but only if you promise not

mischief, replacing the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream of

to stand beside me. With deft hands, he

cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully,

luscious.

teamwork and teasing. There’s an

that blossoms as we laugh at each other’s quips

the batter is poured into a mold, and it’s

flour-covered hands on

holding up a cupped hand full of flour. “How about a little fun while we

means, a cloud of white powder is

of

giving

shriek, both shocked and amused. I look at him, my expression

betray me. “You’ll pay for

fills the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring it on,

of flour and, with all

right

The flour smacks him

shrouded in silence—then both of

laughter.

becomes two, two becomes four, and before we know it, we’re engaged

white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

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

back in time.

resurface—of simpler times when we

floor. And

intimate closeness.

fills my cheeks as flashes of those

quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions I’ve

to keep at

oven, noticing that the cake’s baking time is nearly up. “Okay, okay! Truce!”

hands raised in surrender.

covered head to toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But

we’ve made. “Look at this! Now,