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

angrily since I told him that I couldn’t have

When he speaks, his voice is filled with

be a fan of surprises,

you. Let me help,

not only by his words but the genuineness in his

other day?”

his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about

right words. “…Doing

but only if

the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream

hands quickly and then moves to stand

cocoa powder. The

luscious.

a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s

we laugh at each other’s quips and focus

batter is poured into a mold, and it’s

flour-covered

up a cupped hand full of flour.

cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting

to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I stare at Karl in wide-eyed

giving way to

look at him,

escaping my lips betray me. “You’ll pay

the room, a deep, infectious sound.

word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour and, with all

it right at

comically slow. The flour smacks him

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

laughter.

becomes four, and before we know it,

every direction, settling on

everywhere.

also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack,

back in time.

resurface—of simpler times when we

floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give

intimate closeness.

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

quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening

trying to

the cake’s baking time

hands raised in surrender.

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

eyes, I gesture at the utter mess we’ve