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 fresh

I told him that I couldn’t have

lost in thought. When he speaks, his

I might not be a fan of surprises, but I can’t bear to see someone struggling

not you. Let me help,

by his words but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re not still mad about

other day?”

hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s about…”

for the right words. “…Doing

“Fine, but only if you promise

eyes glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them.

moves to stand beside me. With deft hands, he

cocoa

luscious.

of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease

at each other’s quips and focus on

is poured into a mold, and it’s

brushing my flour-covered hands on my

hand full of flour. “How about a

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

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

shock giving

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

escaping my lips betray me. “You’ll pay for

fills the room, a deep, infectious

a generous handful of flour and,

it right at

smacks him square

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

laughter.

becomes four, and before

of white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters, the floor, the

everywhere.

chaotic, but it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack, I’m

back in time.

old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used to engage

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

intimate closeness.

fills my cheeks as flashes

I quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal

to keep at

cake’s baking time

hands raised in surrender.

grins.

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