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 my mind,

I told him that

momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled with a

might not be a fan of surprises, but

not you. Let me help,

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

other day?”

a hand through his hair. “A bit,

for the right words.

sincerity in his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you promise not to

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

moves to stand beside me. With deft hands,

adding just the right amount of cocoa powder. The

luscious.

hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s an unexpected ease between

as we laugh at each other’s quips and focus on perfecting

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

flour-covered hands on my

holding up a cupped hand full of flour. “How about a

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

and the tip of my nose. I

shock giving way to

look at him, my expression feigned outrage, but

lips betray me. “You’ll pay for

the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring

a generous handful of flour and, with all

right at

flour smacks him square in the face, rendering him ghost-like

kitchen is shrouded

laughter.

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

in every direction, settling on counters,

everywhere.

freeing. As we

back in time.

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

end up laughing on the floor. And

intimate closeness.

my cheeks as flashes of those

I quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal

to

cake’s baking time is nearly up. “Okay,

hands raised in surrender.

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

we’ve made. “Look at this!