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, the

I told him that I couldn’t have sex with

momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled with a

“Look, I might not be a fan of surprises, but I

you. Let

words but the genuineness in

other day?”

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

right words. “…Doing something

sincerity in his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you promise not to

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

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

just the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes

luscious.

blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between

that blossoms as we laugh at each other’s quips and focus

a mold, and it’s slid into the preheated oven. “Now, we

my flour-covered hands on

a cupped hand full of

cloud of white

and the tip of my nose. I stare at Karl in wide-eyed

shock giving way

I look at him, my expression feigned outrage,

my lips betray me.

laughter fills the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring it on,

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

it right

smacks him square in

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

laughter.

becomes four, and before we know it, we’re engaged in

powder fly in every

everywhere.

but it’s also… freeing.

back in time.

our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we

floor. And then, almost always, laughter

intimate closeness.

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

quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to

to keep

the oven, noticing that the cake’s baking time is nearly

hands raised in surrender.

to toe in flour, grins.

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