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

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

him that I couldn’t have sex with

When he

a fan of surprises, but

Let me help,

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

other day?”

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

right words.

warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you

the annoyance in

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

just the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully, velvety

luscious.

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

at each other’s quips and focus on

a mold, and it’s slid

my flour-covered hands on

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

cloud of white

tip of my nose. I

giving way to

amused. I look

betray me. “You’ll pay for

a deep, infectious sound.

another word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour

right

reaction is comically slow. The flour smacks him square in

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

laughter.

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

powder fly in every direction,

everywhere.

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

back in time.

shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when

laughing on the floor. And then, almost always, laughter

intimate closeness.

cheeks as flashes of

away, the reminiscing threatening to

trying to

cake’s baking time is nearly

hands raised in surrender.

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

my eyes, I gesture at the utter mess we’ve made. “Look at this! Now, who’s