Chasing His Kickass Luna Back

#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 Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

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

intended. The memory of the recent confusion between us is still fresh in my mind, the way that he

stormed out angrily since I told him that I couldn’t have sex with him.

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

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

Especially not you. Let me help, Abby.”

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

other day?”

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

searching for the right words. “...Doing something nice. Together.”

The sincerity in his voice warms my heart. “Fine, but only if you promise not to mess it up.”

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

He washes his hands quickly and then moves to stand beside me. With deft hands, he helps pour the

flour, adding just the right amount of cocoa powder. The batter comes together beautifully, velvety and

luscious.

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

camaraderie that blossoms as we laugh at each other’s quips and focus on perfecting the cake.

Soon, the batter is poured into a mold, and it’s slid into the preheated oven. “Now, we wait,” I

announce, brushing my flour-covered hands on my apron.

Karl grins, holding up a cupped hand full of flour. “How about a little fun while we do?”

Before I can process what he means, a cloud of white powder is flung at me, dusting my hair and face.

Flour is clinging to my hair, eyelashes, and the tip of my nose. I stare at Karl in wide-eyed disbelief, the

initial shock giving way to mischief.

“Karl!” I shriek, both shocked and amused. I look at him, my expression feigned outrage, but the

giggles escaping my lips betray me. “You’ll pay for that.”

His laughter fills the room, a deep, infectious sound. “Bring it on, chef.”

Without another word, I scoop up a generous handful of flour and, with all the strength I can muster,

hurl it right at him.

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

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

laughter.

One handful becomes two, two becomes four, and before we know it, we’re engaged in an all-out flour

war. Clouds of white powder fly in every direction, settling on counters, the floor, the oven—

everywhere.

It’s madness, it’s chaotic, but it’s also... freeing. As we duck, dodge, and counter-attack, I’m transported

back in time.

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

food fights and end up laughing on the floor. And then, almost always, laughter would give way to an

intimate closeness.

A sudden warmth fills my cheeks as flashes of those memories—of tangled limbs and whispered

promises—overwhelm me. I quickly turn away, the reminiscing threatening to reveal emotions I’ve been

desperately trying to keep at bay.

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

hands raised in surrender.

Karl, though covered head to toe in flour, grins. “Fine, truce. But only because you said so.”

Rolling my eyes, I gesture at the utter mess we’ve made. “Look at this! Now, who’s going to clean up

this disaster?”

“Considering I started it,” Karl chuckles, brushing flour off his arms, “I’ll do it.”

“Damn right you will,” I retort, feigning sternness. But then I add, softer this time, “Thanks, Karl.”

To my surprise, instead of his usual witty comeback, he simply salutes me with a playful response. “Aye

aye, captain,” he says, and grabs a broom to start cleaning.

As I carefully remove the cake from the oven, setting it on the counter to cool, the comfortable silence

between us is broken by Karl’s hesitant voice.

“About last night…” he begins, clearing his throat.

I instantly stiffen. It’s the last thing I want to discuss, especially after the rollercoaster of emotions

tonight has been. I turn to face him, a wall of defenses up.

“It was a mistake, Karl,” I say tersely. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His expression falters, a mix of hurt and frustration evident. “Abby, we can’t just pretend—”

But I cut him off. “I just did. It’s in the past. Just like everything else about our relationship.”

Karl’s gaze searches mine, trying to decipher the turmoil behind them. But I remain resolute, unwilling

to delve into that emotional quagmire.

“You always do this,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, but the sting of the words hits me hard.

Part of me wants to retort, but I decide not to. We continue working in silence, cleaning up the mess of

flour coating the kitchen. When we’re finished, I return to making the cake, carefully icing each layer

and piping intricate patterns on the surface before writing ‘Happy 25th Birthday, Chloe!’ in bright,

elegant letters.

And when I finally look up from my work, Karl is already gone.

______________________

Hi readers

Thank you so much for your patience during this time. We've pretty much rewritten chapters 36-55 in

order to give you guys a better experience with the story. If you are confused by the plot, please go

back and re-read our revised chapters as we have added a new, more intense plot. I'm sure your wait

will not be met with disappointment! Within a week, the book will return to its normal daily updates.

Jane 2023-9-18