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

out angrily since I told him that I couldn’t have

he speaks,

surprises, but I

not you. Let

but the

other day?”

through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about

the right words.

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

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

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

right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes together

luscious.

it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s

as we laugh at each other’s quips and focus on

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

flour-covered

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

can process what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my

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

giving way

I look at

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

a deep, infectious sound. “Bring it

a generous handful of flour and, with

right

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

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt

laughter.

before we know it,

of white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

it’s also… freeing. As

back in time.

simpler times

laughing on the floor. And then, almost always,

intimate closeness.

flashes of those memories—of tangled

the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions I’ve

trying to keep at

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

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