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

us is still fresh in my mind, the

since I told him that I couldn’t have

in thought. When he

fan of surprises,

not you. Let me help,

not only by his words but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re

other day?”

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

the right words. “…Doing something

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

with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them.

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

adding just the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes

luscious.

next hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and

laugh at each other’s quips and focus on perfecting the

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

my flour-covered

hand full of flour. “How about a

cloud of white powder is flung

the tip of my nose.

shock giving way

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

lips betray

the room, a deep, infectious

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

it right

is comically slow. The flour smacks him square in

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then

laughter.

two, two becomes four, and before we know

fly in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

also… freeing. As we duck, dodge,

back in time.

of our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used to

And then, almost always, laughter would give way

intimate closeness.

flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and

the reminiscing threatening

to keep

baking time

hands raised in surrender.

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

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