Cass glanced at the prompter, clearly reading the “day two” written on the screen. Way to go, Cass.

“Sorry, Sasha,” she called out. “I should have caught that. Ready whenever you are.” Her confidence was now shot, and a cold and clammy sheen of sweat covered her arms. She was out of her league here. Way out of her league.

“Well, you didn’t write the damn script,” Sasha muttered, giving a pointed glance to one of the headset-wearing men who was also holding a clipboard, looking guilty. “Fine. Let’s go from the top again. Charlie, first pass is day three. Got it?”

“Got it,” she replied, nodding and clearing her throat. They were counted in again.

“I’m Austin Nash . . .”

“And I’m Charlie Goodwin . . .”

“And together, we’re Sweet and Salty!”

Cass smiled, hoping it looked natural. “Welcome to day two of . . . Oh! I’m so sorry.”

There was shuffling and coughing in the background, and Sasha let out another sigh. Cass was ruining this, and she’d only been at it for about two minutes. “Austin, swap lines with Charlie.” Cass wished she could run off set, straight back home to Starlight Peak. But even if she wanted to, these heels wouldn’t let her get far.

Austin was flawless, of course, effortlessly picking up where she left off. Cass struggled to find a rhythm with the script, screwing up a few more times as they worked through the various intros for the baking competition.

Finally, Sasha called for a break, and Priya came out to freshen up both Austin’s and Cass’s makeup. As Priya powdered away Cass’s nervous sheen of sweat, she saw Austin and Sasha off to the side, talking animatedly but too quietly for her to hear.

Priya followed Cass’s gaze, then harrumphed. “Don’t you worry about him, hon. Sasha knows exactly who Austin Nash is.” Cass was grateful to her sister’s best friend, but she was worried about the secret huddle. Just then Austin glanced over, giving Cass a big smile.

“Happy to pick up the slack,” he said, loudly enough for the rest of the set to hear him. “We’re a team, right, Charlie?”

Cass smiled wanly in response. “You bet,” she replied brightly, feeling a touch better as she imagined throwing one of the whipped-cream-topped cranberry-cloud pies the assistants were prepping into his smug, gorgeous face.

4

Charlie

Tuesday: 11 Days to Christmas . . .

Starlight Peak

The bakery’s morning to-do list was long and the note from Cass not long enough.

I put the dried fruit in the rum to soak before I left. Walter Demetre, the student who helps me in the bakery—remember him? We used to babysit him and his sister—comes in at 5:45 a.m. Also, Gateau has outdoor cat aspirations, so keep her upstairs during morning rush. xx

Charlie glanced again at the list and the note, and the words blurred momentarily. She sipped at her coffee but scowled when none of the flavor or aroma came through—it might as well have been hot water. For a moment she indulged her panic that maybe this loss of her senses could be permanent, and a deep feeling of dread settled in. The devastation, both personal and professional, would be . . . Stop it, Charlie, she silently chastised herself. She had to assume this was merely a temporary side effect of her concussion. Any other outcome was unacceptable.