#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 fresh in my mind, the way that

I told him that I

looks down, momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice is

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

not you. Let me

taken aback, not only by his words but the genuineness in his gaze.

other day?”

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

words. “…Doing something

voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you promise

with mischief, replacing the annoyance in

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

the right amount of cocoa powder.

luscious.

a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an

we laugh at each other’s quips and focus

mold, and it’s slid

my flour-covered

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

he means, a cloud of white powder

my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I

giving way to

I shriek, both shocked and amused. I look at

my lips betray

fills the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring

I scoop up a generous handful of flour and, with all the strength I can

it right at

him square in the face, rendering him ghost-like

a split second, the kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt in peals

laughter.

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

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

everywhere.

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

back in time.

old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler

the floor. And then,

intimate closeness.

warmth fills my cheeks as flashes of those

I quickly turn away, the reminiscing

to keep at

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

hands raised in surrender.

to toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But

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

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