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 in my

him that I

looks down, momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice

might not be a fan of surprises,

you. Let

words but the genuineness in his

other day?”

through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But

the right words. “…Doing

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

with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them.

washes his hands quickly and then moves to stand beside

the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes

luscious.

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

we laugh at each other’s quips

mold, and it’s slid

brushing my flour-covered hands on my

grins, holding up a cupped hand full of flour. “How about a little fun while we

white powder is flung at

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

shock giving way to

both shocked and amused. I look at

lips betray me.

a deep, infectious sound. “Bring

of flour and, with

right

flour smacks him square in the face,

second, the kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt

laughter.

and before we know it, we’re engaged in

Clouds of white powder fly in every

everywhere.

it’s also… freeing.

back in time.

resurface—of simpler times when we used to engage in

fights and end up laughing on the floor. And then, almost

intimate closeness.

cheeks as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs

I quickly turn away, the

to

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

hands raised in surrender.

toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce.

mess we’ve made. “Look