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

us is

him that I couldn’t have sex with

down, momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his

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

not you. Let me help,

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

other day?”

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

right words.

his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only

the annoyance

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

of cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully, velvety

luscious.

teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected

we laugh at each other’s

the batter is poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the preheated oven. “Now,

flour-covered hands

grins, holding up a cupped hand full of

cloud of white

of

giving way to

both shocked and amused. I look at him, my

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

deep, infectious

a generous handful of flour and, with all the strength I

right at

slow. The flour smacks him square in the face, rendering

shrouded in silence—then

laughter.

handful becomes two, two becomes four, and before we know

powder fly in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

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

back in time.

shared kitchen resurface—of simpler

the floor. And then, almost always,

intimate closeness.

fills my cheeks as flashes of those

me. I quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions

trying to keep at

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

hands raised in surrender.

toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce.

the utter mess we’ve made. “Look at this! Now,