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

between us is still fresh in my mind,

him that I couldn’t have

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

not be a fan of surprises, but

not you. Let

his words but the genuineness in

other day?”

“A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about

right words. “…Doing

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

brown eyes glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t dream

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

of cocoa powder. The batter comes together

luscious.

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

each

poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the preheated

brushing my flour-covered hands on

cupped hand full of

I can process what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my

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

shock giving

and amused. I look at him, my expression feigned

my lips betray me. “You’ll

the room, a deep,

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

it right

is comically slow. The flour smacks him square in the face, rendering him ghost-like

split second, the kitchen is shrouded

laughter.

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

every direction, settling on

everywhere.

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

back in time.

resurface—of simpler times when

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

intimate closeness.

flashes of those memories—of

away, the reminiscing threatening

to keep

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

hands raised in surrender.

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

utter mess we’ve made. “Look at this! Now, who’s