For a few moments she was paralyzed by the chaos around her—camera grips and assistants running to and fro, instructions being barked from every corner, bright lights lending it all a surreal feel—and struck by the entirely new sensation of stage fright. But then she thought about her sister, and stood still for a moment, remembering everything she knew so well about her other half. She channeled Charlie’s self-assuredness as she casually walked toward the large island in the center of the studio as though she did this every day. All was fine until Cass’s heel caught a wire, sending her careening forward. She would have fallen, but suddenly Austin was there beside her. He caught her, then grinned. “Falling for me now, are you, Char?”

Cass forced a laugh and kept her tone nonchalant. “You wish.”

“Ninety seconds, folks,” a woman in a headset announced.

“Where is everyone?” Cass asked Austin, because the audience seats and the contestants’ baking stations were empty.

Austin gave her a curious look. “What are you talking about?”

Right. Charlie had explained that the twelve days of Christmas baking marathon contest wasn’t “live to air.” Segments of it were taped in front of a live studio audience, but there was some wiggle room if things went off the rails since the shows actually aired the next day. “Never mind,” she said.

Priya arrived just then, with a lipstick and tiny brush in hand. “Quick refresh,” she said to Cass, who obligingly let Priya touch up her lips. Priya winked, then as she was leaving whispered, “Relax. You look terrified.”

She was terrified. Her heart felt like hummingbird wings inside her chest. But she forced her shoulders down and back, and reminded herself she was Charlie Goodwin—reality television star and kick-ass pastry chef. You. Can. Do. This.

“Mikes going hot in three . . . two . . .”

Cass looked into the camera in front of her, and smiled warmly. Austin, standing beside her, didn’t seem as tall or intimidating anymore, now that Cass—already five-seven—was a good three inches taller in her heels.

“I’m Austin Nash . . .” he said, his voice smooth and assured.

“And I’m Charlie Goodwin . . .” she chimed in, then waited a beat for Austin.

“And together, we’re Sweet and Salty.” They said it in unison. Then Cass continued, feeling her confidence build as she read the teleprompter, “Welcome to day two of Sweet and Salty’s Twelve Days to Christmas Countdown—”

“Okay, stop. Stop.” It was Sasha, who sighed with irritation. For a moment, Cass couldn’t figure out what she’d done wrong. She put a hand to her brow, trying to shield her eyes from the bright lights.

“Who’s responsible for this?” Sasha glanced around the room, and there was a lot of shuffling of papers but no one spoke.

“What did I say?” Cass whispered to Austin, forgetting for a moment he was not her ally but rather her enemy.

“It’s day three,” Austin whispered back, smirking with delight. “Someone screwed up the prompter. But I would have caught it. Guess that bump on the head is getting to you, huh?”