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

of the recent confusion between us is still fresh in my mind, the

angrily since I told him that I couldn’t

looks down, momentarily lost in thought. When he speaks, his voice is filled

“Look, I might not be a fan of surprises, but I can’t bear to see someone

you. Let me

words but the

other day?”

hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about

the right words. “…Doing something nice.

voice warms my heart. “Fine, but

replacing the annoyance in them. “Wouldn’t

his hands quickly and then moves to stand beside me.

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

luscious.

the next hour, it’s a blend of teamwork and teasing. There’s

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

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

flour-covered hands

full of flour. “How about a little fun

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

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

shock giving way to

and amused. I look at him,

betray me. “You’ll

deep, infectious sound.

handful of flour and, with

it right

reaction is comically slow. The flour smacks him square in the face, rendering

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

laughter.

before we know it, we’re

every direction, settling on counters, the

everywhere.

freeing. As we duck, dodge,

back in time.

simpler times when we used to engage in

the floor. And

intimate closeness.

flashes of those memories—of tangled

the reminiscing threatening

trying to keep

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

hands raised in surrender.

flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But

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