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

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

him that I

in thought. When he

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

Let

words but the genuineness in

other day?”

“A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s about…”

for the right words. “…Doing

“Fine, but only if you promise not to mess it

with mischief, replacing the annoyance in

to stand beside me. With deft

amount of cocoa powder.

luscious.

the next hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and

as we laugh at each other’s

poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the preheated oven. “Now, we wait,”

my flour-covered hands on my

a cupped hand full of flour.

can process what he means, a cloud of white powder

eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I stare at Karl in wide-eyed

giving way to

both shocked and amused. I look

my lips betray me.

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

up a generous handful of flour and, with all the

right at

comically slow. The flour smacks him square in

split second, the kitchen is shrouded in

laughter.

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

in every direction, settling on counters, the

everywhere.

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

back in time.

kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we

floor. And

intimate closeness.

cheeks as flashes of

quickly turn away, the

to

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

hands raised in surrender.

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

mess we’ve made. “Look at this! Now, who’s going to clean