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

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

him that

down, momentarily lost in thought. When he

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

you. Let

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

other day?”

running a hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah.

words. “…Doing something

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

the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream of

hands quickly and then moves to stand beside me. With deft hands, he

of cocoa powder. The batter

luscious.

teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between us,

laugh at each other’s quips and focus on

and it’s slid into the preheated oven. “Now,

my flour-covered hands on

up a cupped hand full of flour. “How about

cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my hair

and the tip of my nose. I

shock giving

shriek, both shocked and amused. I look

lips betray me. “You’ll

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

of flour and, with all the

it right at

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

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt in

laughter.

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

in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

madness, it’s chaotic, but it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and

back in time.

kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used to engage

floor. And then, almost always, laughter

intimate closeness.

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

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

to

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

hands raised in surrender.

grins. “Fine, truce. But only because

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