Shaking off the worry, Charlie took another big sip of the coffee because, even if she couldn’t taste it, she needed the caffeine. Charlie had to convince everyone she was Cass—which physically wouldn’t be hard, but she was fuzzy-headed and hadn’t worked in the family’s bakery since she was a teenager, except for the odd Christmas holiday when she was home early enough to help out. Over the years the two had swapped identities on numerous occasions. Once Charlie had pretended to be Cass at the local fall fair baking competition, because Cass had strep throat and had lost her voice, and brought home the blue ribbon for her twin’s pecan squares. But those times were nothing like this. For one thing, the swaps were brief, and there had never been quite so much at stake.

Charlie sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. Her head was killing her. Even the ibuprofen she’d taken an hour ago wasn’t touching the searing band of pain. She was running on no sleep and too much coffee, and couldn’t shake the feeling she had made a terrible mistake in asking Cass to switch places with her. Maybe her head injury was worse than she thought.

It was still dark outside. Charlie hadn’t been back home in almost a year—the show had been incredibly demanding on her time—and she was looking forward to seeing Starlight Peak once the sun came up. She hoped the familiarity of her hometown would be a soothing balm to her rattled nerves.

Rubbing her temples, Charlie surveyed the bakery’s kitchen. Little had changed since she and Cass were kids, helping their parents make and bake the treats for their tight-knit community. At Christmastime, though, the bakery’s production ramped up to a breakneck pace, and today alone she had to make dozens of loaves of the holiday Starlight Bread, along with the regular bakery offerings. She felt pressure against her shins, heard purring, and glanced down to discover Gateau, Cass’s beloved black cat, winding between her feet.

“Are you hungry?” Charlie asked, crouching down to scratch Gateau behind the ears. She was a dog person, but Gateau was more like a dog than a cat—Cass had apparently taught the cat to play fetch with a miniature tennis ball—which Charlie appreciated.

Cass had mentioned something about when and how to feed Gateau, but she couldn’t remember any of it. She looked around, wondering where Cass kept the cat food. She opened the bakery’s fridge and found some ham, which they used for the ham and cheese croissants, and rolled up a piece in her fingers. Glancing at the clock—a cuckoo clock in the shape of a cat, whose eyes moved back and forth with each passing second—Charlie saw it was almost six.

“Let’s get you upstairs. As much as I’d love to fulfill all your dreams and let you outside, your momma would kill me.” Charlie wiggled the ham roll and then called for Gateau to follow her upstairs to Cass’s apartment, which was over the bakery. A two-bedroom best described as “laid back,” not untidy but certainly more cluttered than what Charlie was used to. There were cheerful overstuffed pillows in pinks and oranges, and lemon-yellow drapes that captured the sunlight and spread it throughout the apartment. The apartment couldn’t have been more different from Charlie’s, which featured granite counters, stark-white cabinetry, and modern touches. But this homey space was perfect for Cass, and Charlie suddenly missed her sister and all the time they used to spend together. With a sigh, she put the piece of ham on the floor of the small kitchen, and Gateau happily sat in front of it.