#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


    uing cookoff for the Alpha partypetition.


    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


    ns.


    The ingredientsy sprawled on the counter: flour, sugar, eggs, chocte, vani 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 exim, caught off guard. “What are you doing here? It’ste. 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 ce.”


    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 nces 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, recing 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 batteres 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 weugh 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, eyshes, 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.”


    Hisughter 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 isically 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


    One handful bes two, two bes 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 upughing on the floor. And then, almost always,ughter would give way to an


    This is property ? N?velDrama.Org.


    intimate closeness.


    A sudden warmth fills my cheeks as shes 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 nce 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 wittyeback, he simply salutes me with a yful 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, thefortable silence


    between us is broken by Karl’s hesitant voice.


    “Aboutst night…” he begins, clearing his throat.


    I instantly stiffen. It’s thest 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 rtionship.”


    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 eachyer


    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