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

since I told him that I couldn’t

in thought. When he

surprises, but I can’t bear to

not you. Let me

his words but the genuineness in his

other day?”

“A bit, yeah. But

words. “…Doing something nice.

but only if you promise

glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance

to stand beside me. With deft hands, he helps

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

luscious.

blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between us,

at each other’s quips and

it’s slid into the

brushing my flour-covered

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

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

eyelashes, and the tip of

giving way

and amused. I look at him,

lips betray me. “You’ll

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

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

it right at

is comically slow. The flour smacks him square in

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

laughter.

two becomes four, and before we know it,

powder fly in every direction, settling on counters, the

everywhere.

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

back in time.

simpler

floor. And then, almost always,

intimate closeness.

warmth fills my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of

turn away, the reminiscing

trying to keep at

noticing that the cake’s baking time is

hands raised in surrender.

in flour, grins. “Fine, truce.

gesture at the utter mess we’ve