There was a peal of laughter. “It’s Sharon Marston, Cass!”

Charlie frowned. Sharon had been a year ahead of the twins in school and had married some pro hockey player and left town a few years earlier. Charlie had always viewed her as mostly harmless, though she had been known as a gossip in high school.

“Oh. Hi, Sharon. So what can I get for you?” Charlie prepared to write the order on the notepad beside the phone, which operated as the bakery’s main order database. It was ridiculous to still be taking orders this way—on a landline, with a pen and notepad. If the rumor really was true about Makewell’s wanting to move in, Woodburn Breads needed to step things up. She made a mental note to give this more thought later.

“I’d like two loaves of sourdough. And, of course, you’ve put me down for a Starlight loaf on Christmas Eve?”

“Of course,” Charlie said.

Sharon cleared her throat. “Speaking of sourdough . . . Do you have any tips for me on feeding a starter? I’m trying to start my own.”

Charlie felt there was something odd about this phone call, but she had too much to do to try and figure out what it was. “Well—there are tons of food blogs on the Internet. Give it a quick google, okay? And I’ll have your order ready for tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks,” Sharon said, sounding disappointed.

Charlie hung up with Sharon and immediately called her sister, but it went to voicemail. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d had nothing to eat since the morning rush had ended. Food held no appeal, not when she couldn’t smell or taste it, but she had to eat. She’d grab a date square and take a walk—some fresh air might help clear her head. Charlie put on her coat and hat, remembering her gloves at the last minute when she glanced out the bakery’s window and saw it was snowing gently.

She’d forgotten how picturesque Starlight Peak was, especially when it snowed. The building and storefronts were reminiscent of a German Christmas market, with twinkling lights lining peaked roofs and candles glowing in most windows. Gingerbread-style homes stretched along lamplit streets, and the cobblestoned town square was magical this time of year.

Charlie sat on a bench facing the square’s outdoor skating rink, the chilly air refreshing. Then her stomach growled and she realized she had forgotten the square back at the bakery. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she willed her hunger away.

“Cass?” Charlie’s eyes popped open.

Oh. It was the hot firefighter. “Hi . . . Jake.” She was relieved when his name came to her. “What brings you out here tonight?”

He pointed to the other end of the rink, smiling. “She does.”

It was then Charlie saw the dog—a black Lab, who was running circles around the outdoor rink, giving happy little barks at every corner she turned.

“Bonnie!” Jake called. The dog stopped immediately, ears perked. “Come!” Bonnie ran toward them faster than Charlie would have thought possible, given she was slightly overweight, and stopped right in front of Jake. She dutifully sat at his feet, her long pink tongue hanging out, her wagging tail making an angel’s wing in the snow. Jake pulled something out of his pocket and broke it in half, offering it to the dog. She sniffed it eagerly, then nudged his hand with her nose, refusing to take the treat.