#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
recent confusion between us is still fresh in my
told him that I couldn’t have sex with
momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his
of surprises, but I
you. Let me
not only by his words but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re not still mad about
other day?”
running a hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s about…”
for the right words. “…Doing
but only
eyes glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream
moves to stand beside me. With deft
of cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully, velvety
luscious.
of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected
each other’s quips and focus on perfecting the
it’s slid
brushing my flour-covered hands on
grins, holding up a cupped hand full of flour. “How about a little fun while we
means, a cloud of white powder is
clinging to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I stare at Karl in
shock giving
amused. I look at him, my expression
my lips betray
deep, infectious sound. “Bring it on,
I scoop up a generous handful of flour and, with all the strength I
right at
him square
is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt
laughter.
becomes two, two becomes four, and before we know it, we’re engaged in
every direction, settling on
everywhere.
madness, it’s chaotic, but it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack,
back in time.
our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times
laughing on the floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give way
intimate closeness.
fills my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and
the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions
trying to keep
that the cake’s baking time is nearly up. “Okay, okay! Truce!” I call
hands raised in surrender.
covered head to toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But only because you
I gesture at the utter mess we’ve made. “Look at this! Now, who’s going to clean
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