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

angrily since I told him that I couldn’t have

down, momentarily lost in thought. When he

of surprises, but I can’t bear to see someone

you. Let

words but the genuineness

other day?”

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

for the right words. “…Doing

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

glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance in

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

of cocoa powder. The

luscious.

next hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease

each other’s quips

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

flour-covered

up a cupped hand full of flour. “How

a cloud of white powder is

clinging to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of

shock giving way

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

betray me.

deep, infectious sound. “Bring

of flour and, with all the strength I

it right at

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

split second, the kitchen is shrouded in silence—then

laughter.

handful becomes two, two becomes four, and before

white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

madness, it’s chaotic, but it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and

back in time.

shared kitchen resurface—of simpler

floor. And

intimate closeness.

my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of

quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions

trying to

baking time

hands raised in surrender.

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

we’ve made. “Look at this!