“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Charlie said, as she tried to regain her balance.

“No, I’m sorry!” The woman set her hands onto Charlie’s shoulders to try and steady her. “I had my nose buried in my phone and didn’t see you. Totally my fault.”

The woman, who looked a touch younger than Charlie, wasn’t someone she recognized from Starlight Peak. She had the look of a city dweller—sleek black coat with leather trim on the pockets, a soft camel-colored cashmere scarf knotted around her neck, her dark hair glossy and pin straight to her shoulders, her makeup impeccable.

“Nice boots,” Charlie said. The woman glanced down at her high-heeled boots, which looked out of place for the weather.

“Thanks,” she replied. “Not the best in the snow it turns out, but surprisingly comfortable.”

There was a pause as the two women smiled at each other. Then the stranger said, “Don’t let me keep you. Those bags look heavy.”

“Not too heavy, but definitely delicate. And this is my stop, so no worries.”

“I’m headed inside, too,” the woman said. “I hear this is the place for sugar cookies.”

“It sure is,” Charlie replied.

Walter appeared from the back and, seeing Charlie, gave a quick wave. “Just finishing up the dishes,” he said. “Need any help?”

“I got it. Thanks, Walter.” Charlie placed the bags down and removed her outerwear. The woman faced the front window, admiring the gingerbread house.

“This is stunning,” she said, bending slightly to look through the small but ornately decorated windows, which had tiny candles, glowing with miniature LED lights as the flames. “Who made this?”

“Um, my . . . I did. With some help from my assistant, Walter.”

“Well, I’m impressed. This must have taken a lot of work.”

Charlie nodded, knowing precisely how time consuming it was, having made similar gingerbread houses with Cass and their parents over the years. Some of her best memories had taken place in this bakery, and she continued to be surprised at how often and acutely she’d felt the pull of home recently. Charlie now thought of L.A. as her home, but these past few days in Starlight Peak reminded her that most of her history existed in this snowy, charming little town.

“I love these isomalt icicles and snowflakes. That’s not easy to do.”

Charlie, tying on her apron, looked up at the woman. “Most people don’t know what isomalt is. Are you in the business?” Isomalt was a sugar substitute that could be heated to a liquid and then manipulated into a variety of shapes. Thanks to its clarity, it made a perfect stand-in for snowflakes, icicles, and other decorations adorning the gingerbread house. But it was not easy to work with, and certainly not for beginners.

“I’m obsessed with The Great British Bake Off,” the woman said, smiling at Charlie. She came over to the bakery case, and nodded appreciatively. “Everything looks delicious. Aside from a dozen sugar cookies, what do you suggest?”

Charlie reached for two of the take-out boxes. “We’re known for our sourdough.”