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

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

lost in thought. When he

of surprises, but I can’t bear to see

not you. Let me

but the genuineness

other day?”

hand through his hair. “A bit,

right words.

heart. “Fine, but only

with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them.

stand beside me. With deft

amount of cocoa powder. The

luscious.

it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing.

as we laugh at each other’s quips

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

my flour-covered hands on

of

what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my hair and

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

giving way

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

my lips betray me. “You’ll

fills the room, a deep,

generous handful of flour

it right

is comically slow. The flour smacks him square in

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

laughter.

handful becomes two, two becomes four, and before

fly in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

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

back in time.

of our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler

up laughing on the floor. And

intimate closeness.

flashes of those memories—of tangled

I quickly turn away, the

to

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

hands raised in surrender.

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

we’ve made.