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 memory of the recent confusion between us is

him that I couldn’t have sex with

momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice is

I might not be a fan of surprises, but

Let me help,

his words but the genuineness in his

other day?”

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

right words.

warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you promise not to mess

replacing the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream

hands quickly and then moves to stand beside

cocoa powder. The

luscious.

teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between

as we laugh at each other’s quips and

into a mold, and it’s slid into the preheated

my flour-covered hands on my

of flour. “How about

a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my

to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose.

giving way

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

betray me.

a deep, infectious

word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour and, with all the

right at

is comically slow. The flour smacks him

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

laughter.

two becomes four, and before we know it, we’re engaged in

fly in every

everywhere.

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

back in time.

resurface—of simpler

and end up laughing on the floor. And then,

intimate closeness.

flashes of

turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions

to

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

hands raised in surrender.

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

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