“Got it,” Charlie said, still trying to quell the nausea; her head felt like it was under water. She had to hold it together until the B-roll was shot or risk Austin getting precisely what he wanted—the set, and Sasha’s full attention, to himself.

Priya fixed Charlie up, adding extra blush to her cheeks to hide how pale she was, and Sam checked on her a few more times. (Headache? Nausea? Dizziness? No, she replied, feeling guilty for lying.) Everything was going smoothly and Charlie was proud of her ability to keep her symptoms hidden despite how awful she felt, until the shot when she and Austin had to demonstrate how to caramelize the pineapple.

When Charlie was cooking, she relied on a lot of things: a childhood spent baking with her pastry-chef father at the family’s bakery, her formal schooling, her years of experience, and her senses—particularly her sense of taste and smell. Charlie had an uncanny ability to detect flavor notes others could not. It had served her well in her career so far, and she knew she was far superior to Austin in this regard.

But then came the pineapple B-roll scene.

She had it all under control, or so she thought, until her assistant, Sydney, said, “Um, Charlie? I think your pineapple is burning?” Sure enough, while Charlie had been preparing another part of the dessert her pineapples had started to char.

How had she not noticed?

Dumbstruck, Charlie looked back up at Sydney, who was waving a hand in front of her nose as she turned off the stove’s heating element. Sydney looked as shocked as Charlie felt. Plumes of smoke rose out of the cast-iron pan, the pineapples blackened around the rims. But Charlie couldn’t smell the burning.

She leaned over the pan, inhaled deeply. Nothing.

Austin was watching her, a curious look on his face. Charlie had never made an error like this on set. It was something a bumbling, beginner home chef would do, and she was mortified—and worried. Because it was then she remembered the peppermint extract that had soaked into her now discarded skirt. The smell of which she realized she hadn’t noticed once she came to.

Sydney looked at her for a beat. Then Sydney said, loudly because she knew Sasha was listening, “It was my fault. I must have put the temperature too high. You said medium-high, right?”

“Uh, no,” Charlie replied, grateful beyond belief for Sydney at that moment. “I said medium-low.”

“Oh, darn. I’m really sorry,” Sydney said.

“It’s fine,” Sasha said, with a deep sigh and a disapproving look tossed Sydney’s way. Charlie was going to have to find a way to thank Sydney for taking a hit on her behalf. “We got the shot with Austin’s pan. Good work, everyone.” There was some enthusiastic clapping—Sasha was very committed to creating what she called a “positive and supportive” set—and then they were wrapping things up for the day.

“Go get checked out,” Sasha said as she walked past Charlie.