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

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

angrily since I told him that I couldn’t have sex

lost in thought. When he speaks, his

a fan of surprises, but I can’t bear

Let me

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

other day?”

sighs, running a hand through his hair. “A bit, yeah. But this isn’t about that. It’s

words.

but only if you promise not to

brown eyes glint with mischief, replacing the annoyance in them.

then moves to stand beside me. With deft hands, he

right amount of cocoa powder. The

luscious.

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

at each

poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the

brushing my flour-covered hands on

hand full of flour. “How about a little fun

cloud of white

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

shock giving way

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

my lips betray me. “You’ll

deep, infectious

scoop up a generous handful of flour and, with all

right

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

split second, the kitchen is shrouded in silence—then

laughter.

two, two becomes four, and before

every direction, settling on counters, the floor, the

everywhere.

chaotic, but it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge,

back in time.

simpler times when we used to

the floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give way

intimate closeness.

as flashes of those

quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to

to

cake’s baking time is nearly up.

hands raised in surrender.

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

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