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

between us is still fresh in my mind, the way that

told him that I couldn’t

thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled

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

not you. Let me help,

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

other day?”

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

right words. “…Doing something

“Fine, but only if you promise

brown eyes glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance

moves to stand beside me. With deft hands,

adding just the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter

luscious.

a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an

as we laugh at each other’s

and it’s

flour-covered

holding up a cupped hand full of flour.

a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my hair

tip of my nose. I

giving way to

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

my lips betray me. “You’ll

deep, infectious sound.

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

right at

comically slow. The flour smacks him square in the

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

laughter.

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

fly in every direction, settling on

everywhere.

it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack,

back in time.

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

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

intimate closeness.

my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of

me. I quickly turn away, the reminiscing

to keep

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

hands raised in surrender.

grins. “Fine, truce. But

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