“What’s wrong with the starter?” Cass asked tersely, stepping forward. Walter looked momentarily confused as to why the twin he believed to be Charlie seemed most concerned.

“I don’t know, actually. It’s not bubbling. It looks frothy?”

Charlie’s throat closed, remembering the canister of icing sugar on the counter. The one she might have accidentally fed the starter with a couple of days ago.

“Cass, any idea what’s going on?” Cass turned to Charlie, who didn’t trust her voice not to come out as a squeak.

“No,” Charlie said. Then she swallowed hard.

Walter glanced between the twins, sensing the tension in the room but attributing it to the starter issue. “Do you want me to show you, or . . . ?” His voice trailed off as he gestured to the back room.

Cass and Charlie stared at one another. “It’s fine. We can take it from here,” Charlie—still playing Cass—said, before turning to Walter. “Seriously, you’ve worked late enough.”

He paused a moment longer, then told Charlie to call him if she needed his help, before leaving the bakery. The twins continued the swap facade until the door shut firmly behind him. Then Charlie switched the sign to closed and locked the bakery’s door before turning back to Cass.

But she didn’t get a word out before Cass launched into her. “What happened to the starter?!”

“I don’t know!” Charlie was frazzled. The Woodburn Breads starter had been in their family for generations. And a frothy starter was not a healthy starter.

“It’s possible I screwed something up when I was feeding it last? Like, I might have used icing sugar instead of flour? But things have been crazy here. Apparently Sharon Marston is starting some dog biscuit company and wants our starter for her sourdough biscuit line. Don’t worry, I didn’t give her any.” Charlie tried to change the subject, because Cass’s expression was growing angrier by the second. “And can we talk about ordering? I mean, I don’t know how you keep on top of orders when you have no system.” She pointed to the drawer under the cash machine, where she had found the bakery orders. “How do you not miss stuff? Why isn’t all of this digital?”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to manage things around here, Charlie.” Cass’s jaw clenched. “And I’ll deal with the frothy starter in a minute, but most importantly, what the hell was Sarah Rosen doing here?”

“Who?” Charlie asked. She felt like she was trying to play catch-up, because she still had no clue why Cass had come home early. What did she mean she called in sick, and what else had happened? Plus, Charlie was trying to reconcile the truth that she had fed the starter icing sugar. Icing sugar! “Who’s Sarah Rosen?”

“The woman with the ridiculously high-heeled boots who walked out of here with take-out boxes?” Now Cass pointed at the door, gesturing wildly with her one hand.

“Whoa. What the hell are you so pissed off about? She was a customer, passing through town. We want that sort to visit the bakery, right? That’s how the bills get paid, Cass.” Charlie knew her tone was unnecessarily harsh, but she couldn’t help it. She was feeling defensive, not to mention anxious about what had happened in L.A. “Why haven’t you told me why you’re home early? Or what’s happening with the show?”