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

out angrily since I told him that I couldn’t

lost in thought. When he speaks, his

be a fan of surprises, but I can’t bear to see

Let

by his words but the

other day?”

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

for the right words. “…Doing something nice.

warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you

glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance

quickly and then moves to stand beside me. With deft

right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes

luscious.

hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and

each other’s

batter is poured into a mold, and it’s

my flour-covered hands on

of flour. “How about a little fun while we

what he means, a cloud of white

is clinging to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose.

shock giving way

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

betray

the room, a deep,

up a generous handful of flour and, with

right

slow. The flour smacks him

is shrouded in silence—then both of

laughter.

becomes two, two becomes four, and before

of white powder fly in every direction,

everywhere.

chaotic, but it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack, I’m

back in time.

shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used

on the floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give

intimate closeness.

cheeks as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and

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

trying to keep

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

hands raised in surrender.

flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But only

gesture at the utter mess we’ve made. “Look