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

recent confusion between us is

I told him that I couldn’t

lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice

might not be a fan of surprises, but I

not you. Let me help,

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 about

the right words.

heart. “Fine, but only if you promise

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

quickly and then moves to stand beside me.

right amount of cocoa powder. The

luscious.

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

as we laugh at each other’s quips

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

flour-covered hands

hand full of

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

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

shock giving

amused. I look at him,

lips betray me. “You’ll pay for

deep,

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

right

The flour smacks him square in the face,

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

laughter.

four, and before

every

everywhere.

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

back in time.

of our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we

end up laughing on the floor. And then, almost always,

intimate closeness.

warmth fills my cheeks as flashes of those

away, the

trying to keep at

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

hands raised in surrender.

grins. “Fine, truce. But only because

we’ve made. “Look