The Holiday Swap

by Maggie Knox

  Cass’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Charlie. A month ago, Cass had confided in her twin about the proposal: “I can’t believe I didn’t just say yes. Is there something wrong with me?”

  “I can see why you didn’t say yes!” Charlie had said. “You need time to think. This is the rest of your life we’re talking about. And also, Cass—you’ve been with Brett for, like, your entire life so far. Think about that. Are you sure you’re ready to spend the rest of it with him, without experiencing anything else?” Charlie had been against the cooling-off period, suggesting instead that Cass trust her gut and break things off. Brett had once been a great boyfriend for Cass, but their relationship had run its course. However, Cass had found that too difficult. She didn’t want to marry him, but cutting him loose was going to mean a huge change in her life. And Cass wasn’t a fan of change—or of conflict. Now, her fingers itched to pick up her phone. But she needed to see this through.

  “I’m sorry you bought this house,” Cass began. She looked at the velvet box in Brett’s hand. She hadn’t been able to pick up Charlie’s call, but she knew exactly what her sister would tell her to do: get a backbone and finally tell Brett how she really felt. “Actually, I’m not sorry. I’m—I’m pissed, Brett. You keep saying you know what you want, but you don’t ever stop to consider what I want. Which was a month to think—not a month for you to go and choose the house we were going to live in.”

  “But this is the best house for us. Look at this kitchen, Cass. The mudroom downstairs even has special racks and cabinets for our snowboards and gear! And about our wedding—we’ve talked about it! The botanical gardens, perfect for a summer wedding. Peak Pub chili for the reception, just like you wanted. Unpretentious, homey. Remember? Everyone is looking forward to this, Cass.”

  “Brett. This is about more than a gorgeous kitchen and expensive stoves and somewhere to store snowboards and what everyone in the town is looking forward to. We don’t make sense anymore! We haven’t for a long time. And forcing this thing, doing what everyone expects, for the rest of our lives, just because it would be too embarrassing to call it quits in front of the whole town—it isn’t right!”

  “I don’t care what the town thinks, I really don’t.” They both knew this was a lie: Brett was all about appearances these days.

  “Keep the ring, Brett,” Cass said. “It’s over.” Her heart had started to race and her palms were sweaty—but at least she had said it. Soon, she could leave. “And obviously I can’t accept this house. It’s gorgeous, so you should have no problem selling it again.”

  “No. I can’t accept that we’re over, Cass,” Brett said quietly as he turned the ring box over in his hands.

  “I know it’s hard. You’ll get through this. We both will.” Her voice was shaky, and she felt like the walls were closing in—and beyond that, as if her already tiny hometown was getting tinier. Her throat was starting to feel tight. “I just . . . I need to go.” With that she hurried to the front door and slammed her feet into her boots.

  Brett was on her heels. “Cass, wait! Please, just stay. Let’s have dinner and talk. I’m sure we can work this out.”

  Cass had her hand on the doorknob now. She forced herself to be firm again. “No, Brett. It’s over between us.” Soon she would be outside, breathing fresh air that didn’t smell of simmering red sauce and failure. She’d call Charlie back and tell her everything, and her sister would assure her she was doing the right thing. She’d go back to the bakery and make a pot of rosemary tea, her mother’s remedy for a headache. She’d distract herself with work, maybe even get ahead for tomorrow.

  She pushed the door open and stepped onto the porch, taking in a deep breath of the wintry air.

  “Please come back inside,” Brett said in a low voice.

  But Cass headed down the stairs. She heard Brett call out and turned around to see him fumbling with his shoes so he could follow her.

  “Cass, don’t do this. It’s freezing out here,” he said when he caught up to her at the end of the walkway. He was coatless and shivering. “Things don’t make sense without you!” The snow fell lightly, the flakes settling on his blond hair. “Please. We can work this out.”

  Cass sighed, taking in the face she knew so well. She felt badly for hurting him, even if she knew it was the right thing to do. “I don’t think we can. I can’t accept your proposal, and I definitely can’t accept this house. It’s over. Please respect that.”

  “What if all you need is a little more time?”

  It was then they saw Sharon, who had stepped out from the darkness between the streetlights, her dogs sniffing around a lamp base and looking for a spot to relieve themselves. From the look on Sharon’s face, she had seen and heard everything.

  Brett glanced at Sharon, then at Cass, giving her a pleading look. “I love you, Cass. I’m going to let you go tonight—but only because I know in my heart we’re meant to be and you’re going to come back to me. I know that. And you’ll realize it eventually, too, once you get over this . . . this quarter-life crisis you’re going through.” He lowered his voice ever so slightly, though Sharon and her dogs had already moved a few feet closer.

  Cass wished Sharon would walk in the other direction and mind her own business, but that was highly unlikely. “I’ll be here waiting,” he went on, “with the ring, and the house—with everything we’ve ever dreamed of. We are going to be together, Cass Goodwin. We are going to get married.”

  Cass opened and closed her mouth but nothing came out. Brett gave her a smile, then waved to Sharon and exchanged pleasantries with her before walking back into the house—which he still somehow believed was going to be theirs.

  “Twice in one night,” Sharon said, now beside Cass. “Sit.” Her poodles immediately sat on either side of Sharon, like statues.

  “Sorry?” Cass said, still dazed.

  “It’s nice to see you twice in one night,” Sharon repeated. “How are your parents enjoying their trip? I went to Cabo on my honeymoon. Worst food poisoning of my life.”

  “Yeah, they’re fine. Having fun, last I talked to them.” She longed for her mother in that moment, for her comforting embrace and sage advice—which was often so similar to Charlie’s advice. But she was entirely on her own. Cass stared up at the house, saw the front window curtain move slightly, and knew Brett was watching, probably hoping she wasn’t sharing too much with Sharon.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Sharon said, following Cass’s gaze. “And Brett is such a great guy. You’re lucky.”

  “Um, yes. Sure am.” Cass needed to go, to put some distance between herself, the house, Brett and prying Sharon. “I have to get back to the bakery. Enjoy your walk.”

  Cass’s thoughts spun as she headed back. She pulled out her phone to call Charlie back, but it rang in her hand.

  “Charlie,” Cass answered. “I have so much to tell you. I went to see Brett—”

  “Cass, hold that thought, okay?” her sister said. “I need your help with something. I know it’s going to be the very last thing in the world you want to do, and will push you way outside your comfort zone, but I need you to think about how much you love me and how you’d do anything for me and how much I need this. My career depends on it.”

  This made Cass stop in the middle of the sidewalk and press the phone tighter to her ear. “Depends on what? Charlie, are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “I will be. I think. But I need you.” Her voice sounded shaky, uncertain—and very un-Charlie-like. Suddenly her messy evening with Brett was the last thing in the world that mattered to Cass.

  “Of course. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  “Come to L.A.”

  “What? But, Charlie, this time of year is imposs—”

  “I know, I know. The holidays are the busiest time for the bakery and Mom and Dad aren’t around this year and under normal circumstances y
ou would never leave—but it would just be for a few days.”

  “How many?”

  A pause.

  “Ten.”

  Cass knew she couldn’t abandon the bakery for the remaining days left until Christmas—and yet, all at once, the idea of temporarily leaving her problems behind was tempting. “Believe me, I would love to get out of town, but I can’t just drop everything. The Starlight Bread orders alone . . . Plus, Brett just told me a Makewell’s is thinking of moving in. I feel like everything is falling apart. I have to be here to keep it together.” Cass thought about the dough she’d abandoned, and the stack of unfulfilled orders back at the bakery. Her parents were trusting her to run the show while they were gone, and she needed them to believe she was up for the task of taking over the bakery, a lifelong dream. Except, as she looked around at the familiar streets of her hometown now, her dream suddenly felt small and suffocating.

  “No one is neglecting the bakery. I’ll take your place. We’ll switch, like we used to do when we were kids, remember? You come to L.A., I come home. It will be fun.” But there was nothing in Charlie’s voice that indicated this was going to be fun. Charlie loved her life in L.A., which, from Cass’s perspective, was full of glamor and adventure, and could not be more different than life in Starlight Peak. The last time Charlie had come home she had seemed distracted, restless. Why would she want to come back here so badly?

  “What exactly is going on, Charlie?”

  “I hit my head at work . . . a little concussion, apparently—” At this Cass instantly understood why her own head had been hurting so much. The twins had always been connected like this—if one got hurt, the other felt her pain. When fifteen-year-old Cass broke her wrist snowboarding, Charlie’s arm inexplicably ached for a week; when Charlie caught a bad flu not long after arriving in L.A., Cass spiked a fever.

  “Charlie!”

  “I’m okay, Cass. It’s not that serious. Except one of the temporary symptoms is I can’t taste or smell anything—”

  “That sounds very serious to me! Did you go to the hospital?”

  “I did, and I checked out fine. This tiny little injury is going to resolve itself. Just not fast enough. The Sweet and Salty Christmas special is in the middle of a tight taping schedule for our lead-up to the holidays. And I’m useless on set if I can’t actually taste the recipes I’m judging—or smell what’s cooking. Which is where you come in. All you have to do is pretend to be me. You’re already a baking and pastry expert, so it’s not a huge stretch. A lot of it is scripted, and you’ll just have to go along with the preplanned stuff—like my recipes, which are all set. You’ll follow my blueprints and then use your own expertise when it comes to the judging part. I’ve FaceTimed you from the set, so you know what it all looks like.”

  “I’ve never been on camera. I’d have no idea what I was doing.”

  “All you have to do is pretend the cameras aren’t there, be yourself—while pretending to be me, of course. Meanwhile, the bakery will be fine! I know what I’m doing. Even Mom and Dad don’t have to know we’ve swapped.”

  “But if you can’t taste or smell anything, how can you manage things at the bakery?”

  “I know the Woodburn recipes like the back of my hand. I’ll take care of everything. No one will know you aren’t me, and I’m not you. And then, when the holidays are over, we’ll switch back.”

  It was crazy to consider—reckless even, for a million reasons. Yet, as Cass stood on the sidewalk of her tiny town, a town that had started to feel incredibly claustrophobic tonight, the idea of creating some distance between her and Brett was very appealing.

  “If I do this, I’ll need a favor from you, too.”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  “Things with Brett are a mess. I tried to tell him it was over tonight, and instead he told me he’d bought a house for us to live in when we get married! So . . . maybe while you’re here you could pretend to be me in every area of my life, including this? Tell him it’s over on my behalf. You’re so much better at dealing with conflict than I am.”

  “Keep the bakery going, handle Brett. Got it. So, do we have a deal?”

  Cass paused, but then felt relief course through her—and something else, too: a surge of exhilaration at the idea of getting out of Starlight Peak. She felt the tension from the night draining away. She had wished for an escape, and now Charlie was offering her one. “Deal.”

  “Really? Okay. Thank you. How about first thing in the morning? Can you make it for four? That should give us enough time.”

  “In Upland, at the Flying J station just off the San Bernardino freeway,” Cass said, amazed at how easily she was going along with this, but too caught up in the moment to slow herself down. “You know the one?”

  “Sure do. Where we always used to stop for snacks when we’d take family trips into the city as kids.”

  Cass stood still, feeling the connection of her shared history with her sister wash over her, along with the cool, fresh mountain air she’d be saying goodbye to for a while. “See you in the morning,” she said before hanging up and picking up her speed, eager to get home and pack, before she changed her mind.

  3

  Cass

  Tuesday: 11 Days to Christmas . . .

  Los Angeles

  The GPS in her sister’s Prius chirped out directions as Cass drove. “Turn left on Ocean Avenue . . .” Cass ignored it and turned right instead, toward the Santa Monica Pier, where the morning sun was still just a glimmer over the gentle ocean waves. Cass marveled at how different her daily view was from Charlie’s.

  She needed to get to Charlie’s place to unpack the few things she’d brought with her—so she wouldn’t be late for the morning start on Sweet & Salty’s soundstage—but the pull of the pier was hard to resist. At least they had hair, makeup, and wardrobe on set—that would save her trying to replicate her sister’s glamorous television looks. Though she didn’t have a lot of time, she decided a few minutes at the beach would be okay; she could shower and be out the door in fifteen minutes flat.

  Cass pulled into a beachside parking lot and turned off the car. The pier was basically empty, its only occupants a couple of early morning joggers and a few pigeons looking for breakfast scraps. But Cass remembered many days spent there with Charlie when they were younger. The two of them, sun-kissed streaks in their dark blond hair, running up and down the wooden planks, their faces smeared with powdered sugar from the donuts they’d buy by the bagful while their parents lounged on a blanket on the warm sand below.

  Charlie and Cass’s paternal grandparents had lived nearby, their father having grown up on a surfboard and with his feet in the sand. Thomas Goodwin, a celebrated Cordon Bleu chef at a successful restaurant, was living in Santa Monica when he met Helen Woodburn, who was on a spring break vacation with some friends. The two had swiftly fallen in love, and Thomas had given up his L.A. lifestyle and career, moving to Starlight Peak to run Woodburn Breads with Helen. Their dad always said it had been the easiest and best decision of his life.

  A few pink and orange streaks were smudged across the dark sky now. Cass crouched down and took off her canvas running shoes, holding them in one hand as she walked across the sand toward the pounding surf. Soon, she was close enough that the waves touched her toes. A moment later, the bottom of her pants were soaked by a frothing wave. A surfer was out, and Cass watched as the woman waited for the right wave. It reminded her of Charlie, who had inherited their Dad’s love of surfing. Cass had never tried it, but it looked like fun. Cass longed to stay and watch to see if the surfer managed to catch the perfect wave, but realized, after a quick glance at her watch, that she was out of time.

  When Cass and Charlie had met up at the gas station, Cass had been alarmed at the dark circles under her sister’s eyes, at the uncharacteristic paleness to her normally California-glowing face. Charlie had insisted the a
ccident at work was no big deal. Cass had prodded for more details, but her sister had brushed her off, saying they had more pressing things to worry about. Like, how Cass was going to play Charlie on set and ensure she’d be chosen to host the network’s next-up show, Bake My Day.

  As she ran across the sand back toward the car, Cass tried to focus on the instructions Charlie had given. “My assistant, Sydney, is amazing,” her sister had said. “She rolls with any recipes I give her. You won’t need to bake today, but I’ve left tomorrow’s recipe for you in my kitchen at the apartment—and will e-mail the file with the rest of the recipes to you and to Sydney, so you’ll have those all laid out. You know my friend Priya in makeup—I told her about the swap. Figured it was important for you to have an ally.” Then, Charlie had frowned. “Austin makes my life—which is now your life—miserable just for fun. Ignore him as much as you can, and stay in your lane. I believe in you.”

  Back at the car Cass shoved her damp, sandy feet into her running shoes and started the car. Her nerves were kicking in now. She was an accomplished pastry chef in her own right—but the way she baked was nowhere near as polished as Charlie’s method. She barely ever measured at the bakery now, while Charlie approached every recipe with laser-focused precision. In part, it was the difference in their culinary training—Cass had gone to business school rather than culinary school and had been home-taught baking skills by her parents—but it also spoke to the difference in their ambitions. Charlie wanted to hit the big time; Cass was happiest on her home turf.

  Suddenly, the idea of playing her sister’s part seemed foolish. What if she screwed up, and everyone realized she wasn’t, in fact, the illustrious chef Charlie Goodwin?