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

confusion between us is still fresh in

him that I couldn’t have sex

in thought. When he speaks, his voice is

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

you. Let

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

other day?”

hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s about…”

right words. “…Doing

my heart. “Fine, but only if you

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

to stand beside

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

luscious.

teamwork and teasing. There’s an

we laugh at each other’s quips and

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

flour-covered hands on

of

a cloud of white powder

and the tip of my nose.

giving way

shriek, both shocked and amused. I look at him, my expression feigned

my lips betray me.

the room, a deep, infectious

generous handful of flour and, with all the strength

it right at

The flour smacks him

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

laughter.

four, and before we know

of white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters, the floor,

everywhere.

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

back in time.

of our old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used to engage

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

intimate closeness.

as flashes of those memories—of

the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions

trying to keep at

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

hands raised in surrender.

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

we’ve made.