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

is still fresh

I told him that I couldn’t have sex with

momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his

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

not you. Let me

taken aback, not only by his words but the

other day?”

through his hair. “A bit,

for the right words. “…Doing

“Fine, but

brown eyes glint with mischief, replacing the

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

the right amount of cocoa

luscious.

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

we laugh at each other’s

the batter is poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the

my flour-covered

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

of white powder

is clinging to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I

shock giving way to

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

lips betray me. “You’ll pay

the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring

I scoop up a generous handful of flour and,

it right

The flour smacks him square in the face, rendering him

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us

laughter.

two becomes four, and before we know it,

powder fly in every direction, settling on

everywhere.

freeing. As we

back in time.

resurface—of simpler times when we used

the floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give way

intimate closeness.

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

me. I quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal

to

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

hands raised in surrender.

toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But only because you

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