It wasn’t working. Instead, along with her frustration, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time: Charlie was homesick. Starlight Peak, her hometown only a few hours north of Los Angeles, was so festive this time of year, with sugary snowcapped mountains as backdrop, and every home, shop, and street corner laden with Christmas decorations. Life in quaint Starlight Peak was so much simpler than city life. And the best part about her hometown? Austin Nash wasn’t there.

Suddenly, the storage room’s overhead fluorescent bulbs lit up with a flash. Charlie quickly pushed off the wall, dropping her phone to the ground. She and Austin’s new assistant, Nathan (she made it a habit to learn everyone’s names, no matter what their role on the show), stared at each other for a moment, the melodic voice coming from the meditation app on her phone the only sound in the room. Now focus on your shoulders . . . how much tension are you holding there . . . Breathe into your belly . . . Be aware of all the sensations in your body . . .

Nathan sneezed—likely the peppermint extract—then cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He was obviously nervous to have interrupted the show’s “talent,” especially when she was clearly not having the best day. “Oh, uh, sorry, Ms. Goodwin. I didn’t realize—”

“Hi, Nathan. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Charlie picked up her phone and stopped the meditation. “And call me Charlie, okay?”

Charlie wondered about Nathan’s story, what his great L.A. dream was. This town was filled with a lot of ambition. It was rare to meet someone who wasn’t hustling a few jobs at least, hoping for their big break.

“Did Sasha ask you to come in here and get me?” Charlie asked.

“Well,” Nathan said, drawing out the word. “Kind of? But she also told me to season a few of the frying pans for the next segment.” He was shorter than Charlie, who stood about five-seven without shoes, and he had to go up on his toes as he reached past the Christmas decorations for the nonstick enamel pans on the top shelf. That was when Charlie knew that whatever Nathan’s big dream was, it had nothing to do with cooking.

“We don’t season nonstick pans,” Charlie said, tucking her phone into the pocket of her skirt and rubbing her nose against another minty tickle. “The coating can crack.” She reached for one of the cast-iron pans. “Here. Cast iron. The workhorse of the kitchen.”

Nathan took the pan from her, misjudging the weight and then cringing as he almost lost his grip.

“Nothing caramelizes like cast iron,” Charlie said, putting a hand under the pan until the assistant reset his grip. On the menu today was a cupcake variation of a pineapple upside-down cake with a spiced bourbon sauce to keep it holiday themed, and Charlie knew the cast iron would be best to coax out the fruit’s sticky dark syrup, which was necessary to showcase the dessert’s complexity.