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

confusion between us is still fresh in my mind,

angrily since I told him that

down, momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks,

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

Let me help,

only by his words but the genuineness in

other day?”

hair. “A bit, yeah. But this

the right words. “…Doing something nice.

in his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if

with mischief, replacing the annoyance in

his hands quickly and then moves to stand

amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes together

luscious.

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

that blossoms as we laugh at each other’s

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

brushing my flour-covered hands on my

cupped hand full of flour. “How about a little fun

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

eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I stare

shock giving way

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

betray me. “You’ll pay for

room, a deep, infectious

I scoop up a generous handful of flour

it right

The flour smacks him square in the face, rendering him

is shrouded in silence—then

laughter.

four, and before we know it, we’re engaged in an all-out

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

everywhere.

madness, it’s chaotic, but it’s also… freeing.

back in time.

of our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times

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

intimate closeness.

warmth fills my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs

turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions I’ve

to keep at

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

hands raised in surrender.

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

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