“What exactly is going on, Charlie?”

“I hit my head at work . . . a little concussion, apparently—” At this Cass instantly understood why her own head had been hurting so much. The twins had always been connected like this—if one got hurt, the other felt her pain. When fifteen-year-old Cass broke her wrist snowboarding, Charlie’s arm inexplicably ached for a week; when Charlie caught a bad flu not long after arriving in L.A., Cass spiked a fever.

“Charlie!”

“I’m okay, Cass. It’s not that serious. Except one of the temporary symptoms is I can’t taste or smell anything—”

“That sounds very serious to me! Did you go to the hospital?”

“I did, and I checked out fine. This tiny little injury is going to resolve itself. Just not fast enough. The Sweet and Salty Christmas special is in the middle of a tight taping schedule for our lead-up to the holidays. And I’m useless on set if I can’t actually taste the recipes I’m judging—or smell what’s cooking. Which is where you come in. All you have to do is pretend to be me. You’re already a baking and pastry expert, so it’s not a huge stretch. A lot of it is scripted, and you’ll just have to go along with the preplanned stuff—like my recipes, which are all set. You’ll follow my blueprints and then use your own expertise when it comes to the judging part. I’ve FaceTimed you from the set, so you know what it all looks like.”

“I’ve never been on camera. I’d have no idea what I was doing.”

“All you have to do is pretend the cameras aren’t there, be yourself—while pretending to be me, of course. Meanwhile, the bakery will be fine! I know what I’m doing. Even Mom and Dad don’t have to know we’ve swapped.”

“But if you can’t taste or smell anything, how can you manage things at the bakery?”

“I know the Woodburn recipes like the back of my hand. I’ll take care of everything. No one will know you aren’t me, and I’m not you. And then, when the holidays are over, we’ll switch back.”

It was crazy to consider—reckless even, for a million reasons. Yet, as Cass stood on the sidewalk of her tiny town, a town that had started to feel incredibly claustrophobic tonight, the idea of creating some distance between her and Brett was very appealing.

“If I do this, I’ll need a favor from you, too.”

“Anything. Name it.”

“Things with Brett are a mess. I tried to tell him it was over tonight, and instead he told me he’d bought a house for us to live in when we get married! So . . . maybe while you’re here you could pretend to be me in every area of my life, including this? Tell him it’s over on my behalf. You’re so much better at dealing with conflict than I am.”

“Keep the bakery going, handle Brett. Got it. So, do we have a deal?”