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

is still fresh in

I told him that I

momentarily lost in thought. When he

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

you. Let

but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re

other day?”

“A bit, yeah. But

right words. “…Doing something nice.

in his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you

with mischief, replacing the

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

adding just the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes

luscious.

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

as we laugh at each

mold, and it’s

my flour-covered hands on my

hand full of

of white powder is flung at me, dusting

and the tip of

shock giving

amused. I look

escaping my lips betray me. “You’ll

the room, a deep,

word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour

it right

flour smacks him

the kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt in

laughter.

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

every direction, settling on counters, the

everywhere.

it’s also… freeing. As

back in time.

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.

as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and

turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions

to keep

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

hands raised in surrender.

grins.

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