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

memory of the recent confusion between us is still fresh

since I told him that

he

fan of surprises, but I can’t

you. Let me help,

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

other day?”

hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s about…” he

right words. “…Doing something

his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but

with mischief, replacing the

then moves to stand beside me. With deft hands, he helps

cocoa

luscious.

a blend of teamwork and teasing.

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

batter is poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the

flour-covered hands on

of flour. “How about

I can process what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung

is clinging to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my

giving way

shriek, both shocked and amused. I look at

betray me.

room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring it

scoop up a generous handful of

it right

smacks him square in the face, rendering him ghost-like

is shrouded in

laughter.

before we know it, we’re

Clouds of white powder fly in every

everywhere.

also… freeing. As we duck, dodge,

back in time.

our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler

And then, almost always, laughter would

intimate closeness.

cheeks as flashes of those memories—of

the reminiscing threatening to reveal

to

noticing that the cake’s baking

hands raised in surrender.

toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce.

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