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,

told him that I couldn’t have

momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks,

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

not you. Let

words but the genuineness in his gaze.

other day?”

bit, yeah. But this isn’t

words. “…Doing something

“Fine, but only

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

and then moves to stand beside me. With deft

the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully,

luscious.

a blend of teamwork

we laugh at each other’s quips and focus on perfecting the

into a mold, and it’s slid into

flour-covered hands

grins, holding up a cupped hand full of flour. “How about a little fun

of white powder is flung

and the tip of

giving

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

lips betray me. “You’ll pay

deep, infectious sound. “Bring it

of flour and, with all the strength I can

it right at

reaction is comically slow. The flour smacks him square

split second, the kitchen is shrouded in

laughter.

before we know it, we’re engaged in

in every direction, settling on counters, the floor, the

everywhere.

it’s chaotic, but it’s also… freeing.

back in time.

old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used

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

intimate closeness.

sudden warmth fills my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and

quickly turn away, the reminiscing

to keep

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

hands raised in surrender.

toe in flour, grins.

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