#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
is still fresh in
I told him that I
momentarily lost in thought. When he
I might not be a fan of surprises, but I can’t bear to see someone
you. Let
but the genuineness in his gaze. “You’re
other day?”
“A bit, yeah. But
right words. “…Doing something nice.
in his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you
with mischief, replacing the
quickly and then moves to stand beside me. With deft hands,
adding just the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes
luscious.
of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between
as we laugh at each
mold, and it’s
my flour-covered hands on my
hand full of
of white powder is flung at me, dusting
and the tip of
shock giving
amused. I look
escaping my lips betray me. “You’ll
the room, a deep,
word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour
it right
flour smacks him
the kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt in
laughter.
and before we know it, we’re engaged in an all-out
every direction, settling on counters, the
everywhere.
it’s also… freeing. As
back in time.
shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used to engage
fights and end up laughing on the floor. And then, almost always,
intimate closeness.
as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and
turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions
to keep
that the cake’s baking time is nearly up. “Okay, okay! Truce!” I call
hands raised in surrender.
grins.
at the utter mess we’ve made. “Look at this! Now, who’s going to clean
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