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 recent confusion between us is

I told him that I couldn’t have sex

thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled

might not be a fan of surprises, but I

Let me help,

taken aback, not only by his words but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re not still mad

other day?”

running a hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s about…” he

right words. “…Doing something nice.

but only if you promise not to

eyes glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance

then moves to stand

cocoa powder. The batter comes

luscious.

the next hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected

at each other’s quips and focus on perfecting

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

my flour-covered

up a cupped hand full of flour.

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

clinging to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of

shock giving way

shriek, both shocked and amused. I look at him, my

betray

deep, infectious sound. “Bring

handful of flour

right at

smacks him square in the face, rendering

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt

laughter.

and before we

in every

everywhere.

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

back in time.

old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we

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

intimate closeness.

as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and

quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening

to keep

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

hands raised in surrender.

to toe in flour, grins.

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