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

I told him that I couldn’t have sex

in thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled

not be a fan of surprises, but I

you. Let me

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

other day?”

bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s about…” he

the right words. “…Doing something nice.

voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you promise not

mischief, replacing the annoyance in them.

stand beside me. With deft hands, he

of cocoa

luscious.

teamwork and teasing.

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

and it’s slid into the preheated oven.

brushing my flour-covered

grins, holding up a cupped hand full of flour.

cloud of white powder is flung at

to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I stare

shock giving way

shocked and amused. I look at him,

my lips betray

fills the room, a deep, infectious sound.

scoop up a generous handful of

it right

flour smacks him square in the face,

a split second, the kitchen is shrouded in

laughter.

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

in every direction,

everywhere.

also… freeing. As

back in time.

old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we

And then, almost always, laughter would give way

intimate closeness.

flashes of those memories—of

turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions I’ve

trying to keep at

oven, noticing that the cake’s baking

hands raised in surrender.

flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But only because you said

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