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 still fresh

angrily since I told him that I couldn’t have

looks down, momentarily lost in thought. When he

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

you. Let me

only by his words but the genuineness in

other day?”

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

for the right words. “…Doing

but

with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream

washes his hands quickly and then moves to stand beside me. With deft hands, he helps pour

cocoa

luscious.

teamwork and

we laugh at each

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

flour-covered hands

cupped hand full of flour. “How about a

he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at

tip of my nose. I

giving way

look at him, my expression feigned outrage,

escaping my lips betray

the room, a deep, infectious sound.

of flour and, with all the strength I can

right

slow. The flour smacks him square in the face,

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us

laughter.

four, and before we know

Clouds of white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters, the

everywhere.

it’s also… freeing.

back in time.

simpler

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

intimate closeness.

as flashes of those

away, the reminiscing threatening

trying to

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

hands raised in surrender.

toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce.

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