Cass laughed. “Fine. You’ve cracked me wide open. It’s a message from a . . . friend.”

“What sort of friend? A cute physician assistant friend?” Priya grinned, and Cass blushed. “Show me. Immediately.”

Cass flipped her phone around to show the text from Miguel, but as soon as she did, her giddy feeling dissipated and a heaviness settled into her stomach.

“Whoa, what happened to happy Cass? This looks like ‘just had a run-in with jerky Austin’ face.” Priya cupped Cass’s chin, forcing her eyes up.

“I screwed up,” Cass said, sighing heavily.

“Come on now. It can’t be that bad?”

“It is. He thinks I’m Charlie. But I don’t want to lie anymore. I want to tell him the truth.”

“Then why don’t you?” Priya held up her two fingers again to the bartender.

“I don’t know how?” Cass shrugged.

Priya nodded, then grabbed the phone out of Cass’s hand.

“What are you doing? Priya, what are you doing?”

A moment later Priya handed the phone back to Cass. “There. You’re welcome.”

Cass’s mouth hung open as she glanced between Priya and her phone’s screen, where Miguel was already typing a response, the ghost dots wiggling. Her heart raced as she quickly scanned Priya’s text, which was right underneath Miguel’s original message: Thinking about you. Hope you’re having a good day.

Thinking about you, too, Priya had texted on Cass’s behalf. Then: Would love to see you.

Finally, Miguel’s response.

Great minds . . . Are you free Sunday? I have an idea.

“Now you can go blow off some steam. Have fun. Forget about the show and stupid Austin for a day. Enjoy Miguel. Because if you don’t, someone else might.” Priya pointed at herself. “Just saying.”

Cass swallowed hard, her stomach in knots at the idea of seeing Miguel again. This was starting to feel more serious . . . and she had no plan.

“Cass, it’s okay to not have everything figured out,” Priya said, as if reading her mind. “And if the opportunity comes up to tell him what’s really going on, then you can take it. Or not. Your choice.”

She was desperate to believe Priya’s words. Then, with slightly shaking fingers and the courage that comes from too many cocktails, she replied to Miguel.

12

Charlie

Saturday: 7 Days Until Christmas . . .

Starlight Peak

“Good morning, sunshine!” Walter deadpanned, sweeping fluffy snowflakes off the shoulder of his parka before hanging it up near the front of the bakery. “Hey, what’s with you? Do I need to put on another pot of coffee?”

Charlie was hunched over the countertop in the middle of the bakery’s workroom, staring morosely into her empty coffee cup. “Sure,” she said distractedly. “More coffee would be good.”

Except, it wouldn’t. Nothing was going to make her feel better—certainly not another cup of coffee—even if Walter did make the best coffee, often adding a pinch of cinnamon to the grounds and a dash of vanilla to the pot once it had brewed, something Charlie had decided she was going to start doing once she returned to L.A. Surely, adding these little touches to her former life would make her less homesick when she was gone. Perhaps it would be that simple—when the time came, of course.