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 in my mind,

I told him

lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice

fan of surprises, but I

you. Let me

his words but the genuineness

other day?”

a hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah.

for the right words. “…Doing something nice.

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

eyes glint with mischief, replacing the

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

of cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully,

luscious.

it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an

blossoms as we laugh at each other’s quips

a mold, and it’s slid into

my flour-covered hands on

full of flour. “How about a

what he means, a cloud of white powder is

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

shock giving way to

shriek, both shocked and amused. I look at him, my

escaping my lips betray

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

up a generous handful of flour

it right

flour smacks him square in the face,

is shrouded in silence—then both of us

laughter.

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

Clouds of white powder fly in every

everywhere.

freeing. As we duck, dodge, and

back in time.

of our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we

fights and end up laughing on the floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give way to

intimate closeness.

warmth fills my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of

the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions

to keep

the oven, noticing that the cake’s baking time is nearly up. “Okay, okay! Truce!” I

hands raised in surrender.

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

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