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 way that

angrily since I told him that I couldn’t have sex with

thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled with

not be a fan of surprises, but

not you. Let me

his words but the genuineness in his gaze.

other day?”

a hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this

right words. “…Doing something

his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you promise not

brown eyes glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance in

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

cocoa

luscious.

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

we laugh at each other’s quips

it’s slid into

flour-covered

cupped hand full of flour. “How about a

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

hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I stare at Karl

giving way to

and amused. I look at him, my expression feigned outrage, but

escaping my lips betray me. “You’ll pay for

laughter fills the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring

generous handful of flour and, with all the strength I

right

comically slow. The flour smacks him square in the face, rendering him

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

laughter.

becomes two, two becomes four, and before we know it, we’re engaged in an all-out

powder fly in every direction, settling on counters, the

everywhere.

it’s also… freeing. As we

back in time.

shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when

floor. And then,

intimate closeness.

cheeks as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs

away, the reminiscing threatening to

to keep at

the cake’s baking time is

hands raised in surrender.

grins. “Fine, truce. But

we’ve made. “Look at this! Now,