by Maggie Knox
The bakery was now closed for the day even if Cass’s work wasn’t done, but the lights in the display her family had put in the window for as long as she could remember, and generations before that, still twinkled in the night. Despite her distracted mood, the cutout models of gingerbread men and gingerbread houses still made her smile as Cass passed them on her way to lock the front door. She paused to check that the handmade gingerbread house she did every year was still intact, then glanced out past the festive display to the main street of Starlight Peak: the deep blue of the gloaming sparkled with the Christmas lights that outlined storefronts, wound around streetlamps and spangled front porches. Every business had decorated its storefront for the season, while urns filled with greenery and oversize Christmas ornaments had been placed every few feet at the edges of the sidewalks by the town’s enthusiastic decoration committee. Delicate flurries fell onto the marzipan-thick layer of snow that already coated the town, leaving a soft cushion that looked like icing sugar. The whole effect reminded Cass of a snow globe, and she paused to reflect on how beautiful it was.
The ringing phone interrupted her thoughts.
“Hi, honey, it’s me, just—”
Cass laughed. “I know, Dad, just checking up on me. I told you, I’m fine. Everything here is fine. You should be enjoying your anniversary trip with Mom.”
Her parents, Thomas and Helen Goodwin, had taken over Woodburn Breads bakery from Helen’s grandfather almost three decades earlier, and had been working nearly 365 days a year ever since. Cass had been trying to convince them to retire and enjoy the life they had worked so hard for, but they were stubborn. Plus, they loved the bakery—a sentiment Cass shared with her parents. So, Cass had finally taken matters into her own hands this year, consulting with her twin sister, Charlie, and chosen the perfect anniversary trip for her parents—one they would never be able to say no to: whale-watching in Cabo. Cass’s grand plan was to run the bakery so well, especially during the hectic holiday season, that her parents would realize she was ready to take over the business.
“Oh, we are, kiddo!” her father said. “Having a great time. But we’re still your parents, and you know how your mom worries.” Cass smiled. Her dad was the worrier. “This time of year is so hectic, and I don’t have to tell you how finicky that dough can be.”
“Dad, please don’t worry. I’m fine, and so is the dough.” This was a lie, but Cass worked hard to keep the strain out of her voice.
Once she’d finally reassured her parents that the bakery wasn’t collapsing in their absence, Cass returned her attention to the dough. She had to pull herself together. Starlight Bread was important, as much a part of the town’s heritage as the decorated Christmas tree in the town square, the nightly caroling sessions, and the Starlight Eve party held in the square the night before Christmas. That was when every household got their Starlight Bread order. It was tradition. And it meant a huge amount of the time-consuming bread needed to be baked, in addition to the bakery’s regular holiday offerings.
As Cass gathered her thoughts, Sharon Marston trotted past with her two standard poodles, out for their nightly walk. Sharon slowed and peered through the bakery window, waving gaily at Cass. Cass halfheartedly waved back, then picked up one of the balls of dough. Sharon walked her dogs frequently throughout the day because she said they were energetic and needed a lot of exercise. But it was no secret the recent divorcée—she had left town after high school in the arms of a dashing but apparently philandering hockey player—liked to be out and about so she’d be the first to know what was going on. Sharon’s presence was a reminder that Starlight Peak was actually a lot like a snow globe: all of them trapped inside the glass dome.
Cass looked down and realized she’d overworked this one. Her agitated hands had turned what should have been a loose boule into a tightly packed ball. It would never rise properly now. She sighed and dropped the ball into the trash bin beside the counter, then began again, forcing herself to be gentler this time. Carefully, she stretched and formed the dough without overworking it, then placed it into its proofing basket. Cass had done this hundreds of times, and knew the result depended on patience. On calm. On letting the dough rise for as long as it needed to, even if she needed it to rise faster. Woodburn Breads had always managed to pull off the yearly feat of producing enough of its traditional loaves for every family in town to receive one at the Starlight Eve party—even the year the family’s sourdough starter, which had been passed through three generations, went a little too sour and her parents needed to start a new one from the dried strips of it they kept in the freezer. But this year was different, and not just because Cass was on her own.
“Focus, Cass, focus,” she told herself. Her black cat, Gateau, took this as an invitation to play and began winding himself between her legs as she moved between counters, tripping her.
“Gateau!” Cass’s voice was loud and stern in the empty bakery. It revealed the truth about how she was really feeling: nervous. Because once she was finished getting these boules into the proofing bowls, Cass had to handle something that had been hanging over her head for a month now. Something that was making her want to skip town altogether, even during her favorite time of year. It didn’t help that earlier that day she had developed a nagging headache. Cass dropped a second ball of dough into its basket. She was about to start the third ball when a tap at the window startled her.
It was Faye Christie, one of her favorite customers, with her grandson, Jake. Jake had moved from Colorado to Starlight Peak when Faye broke her ankle, back in September, and taken a job with the fire department as the newest firefighter.
She wiped her floury hands on her apron and went to unlock the door. A rush of cold air greeted her as she ushered Jake and Faye into the warmth of the bakery.
“Hey, Cass,” Jake said, taking off his toque to shake away the fine dusting of snow and flashing her an apologetic smile. “Gran had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon and I told her we’d missed the boat and we’d have to go somewhere else, but . . .”
Faye, who was eighty-seven and had barely slowed down in recent years, even when she’d broken her ankle, interrupted her grandson, “And I said, you know as well as I do Cassie will be in there, working away, like she always is and she’d probably welcome a little break.” She raised an eyebrow. “I think you should be on that Cabo holiday, not your parents.”
Cass smiled, already packing up the remaining lemon bars that were Faye’s favorite. The older woman often came to the bakery in the late afternoon, which was a less busy time and sometimes gave Cass a chance to share a coffee and a chat with Faye while Jake ran errands. “You know I can’t leave the bakery at this time of year.”
“You said that in the spring. And, in the summer. I’m just saying, there’s more to life than work, young lady.”
Cass passed the box across the counter. “On the house,” she said, hoping that would effectively change the subject. She waved a hand as Faye tried to give her cash. “You’re actually saving these lemon bars from the garbage, Faye. So, thank you.”
“Thanks, Cassie,” Faye said. “You’re a doll.” Then she turned to Jake, who had taken the box from Cass, and clucked at him. “Be careful there, young man. You know what I’m like if I don’t get one of Cassie’s lemon bars each day.”
Jake good-naturedly rolled his eyes as he tried not to smile. “I do, Gran. But let’s get out of Cass’s hair, okay?”
Cass walked them to the door and watched the older woman take her grandson’s offered arm so she could safely cross the snowy sidewalk. She did her best with the rest of the Starlight Bread sourdough balls, then covered the bowls in proofing cloths and checked the pile of orders she kept in a cabinet near the phone. As several sheets of paper fell to the floor she had the sudden thought that maybe she should come up with a better system for organizing them, but it was almost 7:30. She was due to meet Brett soon.
; Untying her apron, she washed the flour and dough from her hands, and picked up her cell phone. For the third time that day, she tried Charlie’s number, and again, there was no answer. For a moment, Cass’s worry blossomed—and her headache grew stronger. It wasn’t like Charlie to be unavailable all day. She had a busy schedule with the baking show, yes, but she always managed to sneak away to talk to Cass if her sister needed her. And three missed calls should be a sure sign that her sister needed her, right?
Needles of worry jabbed at the edges of her mind as she put on her parka and boots, locking the bakery’s door behind her. I’m on my way she texted Brett, her resolve lengthening her stride as she headed toward his place. She had suggested they meet there because meeting at a restaurant in town, as Brett had suggested, would mean prying eyes. It needed to be a private moment, and it was only fair to Brett to give him time to process. Cass wasn’t ready to talk about this yet with anyone except her sister; even her parents still thought things were going along with Brett just fine.
Her phone notification pinged almost immediately.
I’m running a bit late at this open house, just cleaning up. Meet me here? 24 Ridge Street. See you soon! xo
Cass ignored the sick feeling his upbeat tone and the “xo” at the end of his text ignited in her stomach. That was just Brett. He signed all of his messages with “xo’s.” He was friendly and effusive, which worked well for his real estate business—and had attracted her as a teenager, when most of the other guys she knew were speaking in monosyllables.
Cass and Brett had become good friends in high school, when they discovered during a school trip to a nearby ski resort that they both had an affinity for snowboarding. They got to chatting on the ski lift that afternoon about how the female sports teams at their school didn’t get even a quarter as much attention and funding as the male teams did. Brett had later helped her fundraise for the girls’ high school basketball team jerseys. They had kept it platonic for a while, and then drifted into becoming a couple when all their friends started pairing off. She could barely recall when they’d made it official.
Now, more than a decade on, being with Brett had become the easy, safe option—which for a time had suited Cass just fine. They had maintained a long-distance relationship when she went away to college and he stayed close to home and got his Realtor’s certificate. He had suggested moving in together once she graduated, but she had wanted time to save up for a house and focus on her goal of one day running her family’s bakery. Then he had started talking marriage—and Cass had waited to feel what she knew you were supposed to at the prospect of spending a lifetime with someone: excited, in love. Instead, she realized she had fallen out of love with him at some point along the way. When Brett proposed, she should have said she couldn’t marry him—even if every single person in town expected it.
But she hadn’t. She had stalled, asking him for time to think. And her time was up.
As she marched toward the open-house address, Cass tried to tell herself that Brett would feel as certain as she did that marriage was not the right path for them. That they had outgrown each other. This would simply be a fast ripping off of the bandage.
Cass had reached the house, a Victorian set back from the street, its butter yellow–painted brick facade luminous in the dark thanks to the twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around the porch’s railing and lining the eaves. There was a small but beautifully decorated pine tree on the front porch, no doubt a Brett addition for the open house.
She climbed the steps, but when she knocked on the door she found it slightly open. Inside, what struck Cass first was that she didn’t smell Brett’s signature chocolate chip cookies—which were from a slice-and-bake package even though he told people he made them “from scratch”—that accompanied every one of his open houses.
But she did smell something: simmering garlic, roasting tomatoes, and fresh basil. What was he doing making his marinara sauce? It was Brett’s one reliable dinner, and he had made it for Cass for every special occasion in their relationship.
“Hello?” she called out.
“Hey, hon, I’m in the kitchen. Come on through. Don’t forget to take off your shoes.”
“Already did,” she replied. The way he called her “hon” made her stomach wiggle in an unpleasant way. This was going to be harder than she thought. He had been in her life a long time, and they had helped each other through a lot—including the loss of her beloved grandparents, both from illness in the same year. She had to get this right.
The anxious feeling only increased as she passed through the hallway into the kitchen. The table was set with already-lit candles, and the lights had been dimmed to what Brett would call a “romantic level.” There were wineglasses and an open wine bottle in the middle of the table. Her favorite red, a Barolo. There was also a fresh bouquet of peonies, which Brett knew she loved and were difficult to procure in Starlight Peak in winter, draped over one of the plates. Oh no.
“Quite the open house,” Cass managed, steadying herself with one hand on the large island countertop.
Brett grinned. “Isn’t it perfect? I knew you’d love the soapstone countertops. Look around you. This is your dream kitchen. Isn’t it?”
Cass took in the Viking stove and double oven, the vast pantry shelves and innumerable built-in cabinets. “It’s beautiful. Whoever buys it will be lucky.”
“It’s already sold,” Brett said, walking over to the table. He poured two glasses, handing one to Cass.
“Oh really? Who bought it? Anyone I know?”
“Yes. Someone you know very well.” Brett clinked his glass to hers, then said, “Me. I bought it for us.”
“Sorry?”
Brett laughed at her surprise, then jogged back to the Viking stove to give his sauce one last stir while she took a fortifying swallow of her wine. She clutched the stem of her wineglass. “This is our house. We can start over here and put all the confusion of this past month behind us.” Brett came back to where she stood and picked up his glass. “I’ve had quite a day, Cass,” he said, as if everything was now sorted. There was a time she had adored his certainty about everything, because it made it so much easier for her not to have to make tough decisions. “I had a meeting with a huge developer. They want to buy three storefronts in town and turn it into a food hall, really world class. This is going to bring Starlight Peak to the next level. They even mentioned a Makewell’s Bakery wanting to move in—”
“Makewell’s Bakery?!” Her shock turned to dismay. Makewell’s was a trendy new chain that had started in New York and recently moved to L.A. Cass had stopped in the last time she had visited Charlie in the city and had been appalled at the fact that everything on offer tasted like it had come from a package—and that none of the customers seemed to care, lining up around the block for subpar baked goods just so they could post on social media that they had been there. “But that would be direct competition for Woodburn . . .”
He frowned. “I don’t see it that way. Starlight Peak needs this. If you get a Makewell’s, it means you’ve arrived. Besides, Woodburn Breads is like . . . comfort food, you know? Delicious, of course, but predictable. Makewell’s is the latest thing, and we could use a bit of that energy in town.” Then seeing her face, he added, “Cass, take it from me. A little competition is a good thing! Now, would you like a grand tour of your future home?”
She had to do this. “We need to talk.”
He sipped his wine, looking slightly concerned now but hiding it behind another smile. “Sure, Cass. Let’s talk.”
He picked up a little velvet box that had been sitting on her plate.
“Now, should I get down on one knee again?” Brett started to kneel.
“Stop.” Cass grabbed at his arm, trying to pull him back up. “Please, don’t do that.”
Brett paused, looking confused. “What’s going on, Cass?”
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nbsp; She allowed her gaze to sweep the room, the beautiful kitchen, the wine, peonies, pasta sauce bubbling on the stove. Her eyes brimmed with tears—but not because she was touched by all his efforts. They were tears of anger.
“You bought this house without even checking with me?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Brett said, standing again. His fingers worked the ring box, spinning it in his hand. He seemed nervous and unsure, two things Cass was not used to seeing from him.
“But when did you buy it?” Maybe he had purchased it more than a month ago. If he had, it would be easier to accept his poor judgment—at the time, he had likely been certain she was going to say yes! Their marriage feeling as inevitable as the snow that blanketed Starlight Peak each winter.
“Last week,” he said, appearing dejected. “I orchestrated a fast close. I had to do something to convince you.”
“I told you I needed time, Brett.” Cass gestured around wildly. “Not a house!”
“You needed time. I didn’t. I’ve always known what I want when it comes to you.”
Her vision blurring, Cass hastily wiped at her eyes as she took in the sad but determined look on Brett’s face. It was a familiar one. Brett was the type of guy who was quick to apologize when he messed up—when, for example, he sold you a house that at the first heavy spring downpour proved to have a leaky basement. Quick to say things like, We couldn’t have seen that coming, but that’s on me and I sincerely apologize. Let me call my repair guy to help you fix it. I can get you a deal. Brett was used to getting what he wanted first and then putting out the fires later. His clients loved his “get it done” and “I’ll make it right” approach to real estate. But he seemed to not understand that relationships couldn’t be fixed as easily as a leaky basement.