“Okay . . . sure. But Sasha has to know, because you won’t be on set.”

“Oh, I’m going to be on set,” Charlie said, pulling out her phone.

“Dr. Miguel said no screens, Charlie.” Priya tried to pull the phone out of her hand, but Charlie hung on.

“He’s a physician assistant. And no one can know about the concussion. I’m serious. No one.”

Priya frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s going on in that beautiful and concussed head of yours, Charlie?”

A plan had formulated in Charlie’s mind the moment Miguel told her she had to rest, and she realized that even if she disobeyed those orders she was still in trouble because of her loss of smell and taste. She could never perfect the recipes, let alone properly judge the contestants’ creations in this state, which she prayed was temporary. If she tried to do her job like this, Charlie would fail—and she would lose the Bake My Day hosting job to Austin. She hadn’t worked this hard to have it all evaporate because of a bump on her head.

“I’ll explain everything, but first I need to make a phone call.”

2

Cass

Monday: 12 Days to Christmas . . .

Starlight Peak

Cass Goodwin stood at the bakery’s counter, looking at the proofing baskets lined up, trying to calm her rising anxiety—the dough needed her to relax. If she let her emotions surface, the dough, and all of today’s progress, would be ruined. She knew it sounded superstitious and maybe even silly. But Cass had been doing this her entire life; she knew what worked and what didn’t. And making sourdough while upset never worked.

Walter Demetre, the high school student who worked part time at the bakery, had set up for proofing before he left for the day. The proofing baskets were on the butcher block countertops, lined with linen. Nearby, on the flour-dusted granite counter, the dough was waiting for Cass to perform a series of stretches and pulls before gently shaping it into balls, and placing those in the baskets overnight. The dough balls would eventually be studded with rum-soaked raisins, candied citrus peel, orange zest, and sliced almonds, then baked, becoming the sourdough-based Starlight Bread her family’s bakery was known for at this time of year. But first she had work to do. She lifted the first ball of dough and tested the texture: at the first pull, it separated. She shook her head and placed it back on the counter.

The bakery was now closed for the day even if Cass’s work wasn’t done, but the lights in the display her family had put in the window for as long as she could remember, and generations before that, still twinkled in the night. Despite her distracted mood, the cutout models of gingerbread men and gingerbread houses still made her smile as Cass passed them on her way to lock the front door. She paused to check that the handmade gingerbread house she did every year was still intact, then glanced out past the festive display to the main street of Starlight Peak: the deep blue of the gloaming sparkled with the Christmas lights that outlined storefronts, wound around streetlamps and spangled front porches. Every business had decorated its storefront for the season, while urns filled with greenery and oversize Christmas ornaments had been placed every few feet at the edges of the sidewalks by the town’s enthusiastic decoration committee. Delicate flurries fell onto the marzipan-thick layer of snow that already coated the town, leaving a soft cushion that looked like icing sugar. The whole effect reminded Cass of a snow globe, and she paused to reflect on how beautiful it was.