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

of the recent confusion between us is still fresh in my mind,

him that I couldn’t have sex

lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice

I might not be a fan of surprises, but I can’t

Let me help,

aback, not only by his words but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re not

other day?”

bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that.

words.

heart. “Fine, but only

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

to stand beside me. With deft hands, he helps

the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter

luscious.

it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between us,

blossoms as we laugh at each other’s quips and focus on perfecting the

is poured into a mold, and it’s

my flour-covered

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

what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my hair and

tip of my nose. I stare at Karl in wide-eyed disbelief,

giving

I look at

escaping my lips betray

fills the room, a deep,

generous handful of flour and, with all the strength I

it right

comically slow. The flour smacks him square in

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us

laughter.

two becomes four, and before we

of white powder fly in every direction, settling on

everywhere.

freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack, I’m

back in time.

simpler times when we used to

laughing on the floor. And then, almost

intimate closeness.

fills my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of

the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions I’ve

to keep at

at the oven, noticing that the cake’s baking

hands raised in surrender.

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

we’ve made. “Look at this! Now, who’s