She drove the rest of the way to her sister’s apartment in traffic that was already starting to thicken, even though it was still early morning. One thing she knew for sure was that there was no turning back now.

• • •

The Sweet & Salty set was in Hollywood, and earlier that morning Cass’s phone had shown it was a twenty-five-minute drive from Charlie’s Santa Monica apartment. But Cass, who had been living in a town where you could walk just about anywhere within fifteen minutes, was unprepared for the relentless buildup of traffic. It was only when she was bumper to bumper that she remembered one of Charlie’s most important instruction: give yourself an hour to get to the set, especially in rush hour.

Now Cass was late as she raced through the revolving door and came to a stop in front of a security desk.

Here goes. First chance to pretend to be Charlie. No problem. Cass glanced at the security guard’s name tag and said, “Good morning, Eddie,” as if she had been greeting him every day for the past year. But he just looked at her blankly, and Cass realized this guy clearly had no clue who she was.

“ID, please,” the security guard said. “Holly, Jolly Christmas” was playing in the lobby. It made Cass homesick for Starlight Peak. At this time of day back home she and Walter would be getting the loaves in the oven, the bakery filled with mouthwatering smells and the windows steamed from the heat of the ovens. The local radio station would be playing nothing but Christmas music.

“Oh . . . um . . .” Oh no. She had left the identification card back at Charlie’s apartment. “Silly me. I changed purses, and um, I don’t have it. I mean, I have it but not on me.” She tried to rein in her nerves. You are Charlie. You are Charlie . . . “I work on Sweet and Salty. I’m Charlie Goodwin, one of the host-judges. You must have seen me?”

“Lady, I have no clue what Sweet and Salty is. The only show I watch is football. And whatever Netflix show my wife is currently obsessed with. So, identification, please.”

“I can’t go home and get it. I’m already late! Can you just call someone? Someone on the set?” Cass thought fast. “Priya! Ask for Priya Basu.”

The guard sighed and picked up the phone.

Cass drummed her fingers across the counter nervously.

Soon she heard the click-clack of high heels and a woman appeared. She was tall, with a sleek black-haired bob and dressed in a cream pantsuit. Sasha Torres. Cass recognized her from photos on Charlie’s Instagram page and struggled to remember what Charlie had instructed her to say. Sasha gave her a concerned frown. “I had to see this for myself, because I clearly remember telling you to take today off,” she said, her tone clipped with irritation. “You look terrible, Charlie.”