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

us is still fresh in my mind, the way that

him

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

of surprises, but I

not you. Let

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

other day?”

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

for the right words. “…Doing

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

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

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

amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes together

luscious.

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

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

it’s

my flour-covered

a cupped hand full of

can process what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at

tip of my nose. I stare at

shock giving

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

lips betray me. “You’ll

room, a deep, infectious

word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour

it right at

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

kitchen is shrouded in silence—then both of us erupt

laughter.

becomes four, and before we

powder fly in every direction, settling on

everywhere.

it’s also… freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack, I’m

back in time.

old shared kitchen resurface—of simpler times when we used to engage in

on the floor. And then, almost

intimate closeness.

flashes of those memories—of

the reminiscing threatening to

to keep at

oven, noticing that the cake’s baking

hands raised in surrender.

grins. “Fine, truce. But only because you

the utter mess we’ve made. “Look at