• • •

Sydney put the beat-up piece of paper down on the countertop and looked up at Cass. The look of confusion on her assistant’s face did not bode well. “I trust you and everything, but—I thought we were doing eggnog cupcakes. I was waiting all night for you to e-mail me the recipe for today, and the file with everything for the rest of the week. Normally you aren’t so . . . on the fly.” Sydney frowned. “Sorry. Maybe you still aren’t feeling well . . .”

“No!” Cass said, a little too loudly. “I’m perfectly fine.

Sydney looked down at the recipe again. “It’s just that normally I’ve done most of the prep before you even get here. And this is a complicated recipe. Are you sure about this, Charlie?”

“I feel good about this one. I’m trying something new. Spontaneity.”

“And the other recipes?”

“I’ll definitely send those later.” As Cass rushed off down the hall to wardrobe, where she had been due fifteen minutes ago, she sent another text to Charlie. Hey, hope things are going well! Still waiting for that recipe file, can you please send when you get a chance? Her feet were covered with Band-Aids from yesterday’s heels, and she cringed at the idea of the uncomfortable outfit and footwear she would have to wear again today. But she could endure whatever was thrown her way. It was only eight more days.

• • •

Once Cass was dressed—this time in an emerald-green, strapless dress with a full skirt that was fancier than anything Cass had ever worn, and glittery gold stilettos—she headed back on set to see how Sydney was doing with the display cupcakes.

“The cupcakes came out beautifully, but this won’t set,” Sydney told her.

Cass swallowed hard as she glanced at the still too-liquid gelée that was to be cut out into small circles and stacked neatly between the mandarin-vanilla cake and champagne buttercream layers. It was a lovely shade of orange-red, but nowhere near the wobbly but firm stage it needed to be. It hadn’t set properly the night before, either, but she had been sure the powers of the on-set blast chiller were going to solve this problem. “It’s okay,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “It’s supposed to be a challenge for the contestants. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Sydney looked like she had something to say about that, but instead took the tray of Aperol gelée and put it back into the blast chiller.

Over at his cooking area, Austin’s assistant appeared to have finished his prep already. An impressive concoction rested atop the workstation. Cass couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a simple chocolate ganache tart, just with a complicated design. Her dessert was far more interesting and complex in flavor—especially when she added the small segments of candied blood orange and the prosecco foam as decorations—and she had to get points for originality. Maybe it was all going to be worth it. Austin was busy making notes, but then he seemed to sense Cass watching him and looked up.