The Holiday Swap

by Maggie Knox

  “Seriously?” Miguel’s face lit up, making him look, if possible, even more handsome. “I’d love that, Charlie. Tomorrow is my day off. Would that work? Too soon?”

  “Tomorrow is great. I’ll put your name on the list.” As she gave him the address of the studio, Cass hoped there was such a list. “When you get to security, show photo ID and they’ll let you into the viewing area.”

  “Wow. Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do. You were so great the other day at the hospital.” Again, she assumed this was the truth. She couldn’t imagine Miguel’s bedside manner being anything but amazing.

  Miguel bit his lip for a moment, and Cass wondered if she had misread things. “I hate to ask this . . .” he started. “But she’d absolutely kill me if I didn’t include her. Would I be able to bring a guest?”

  Of course. He had a girlfriend. A guy this cute and nice couldn’t be single, especially in this town. “Sure.” Cass managed to keep her smile in place. “The more the merrier. What’s her name so I can put it on the list?”

  “Jacintha Rodriguez.” Same last name. A wife, not a girlfriend. “See you tomorrow, Charlie. Looking forward to it!”

  “I am, too,” Cass said, trying to hide how crestfallen she was. “Bye, Miguel.” It was for the best, she told herself as she took off down the sidewalk at a fast clip. Her life was already complicated enough—and Miguel Rodriguez was certainly not part of the plan.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sydney put the beat-up piece of paper down on the countertop and looked up at Cass. The look of confusion on her assistant’s face did not bode well. “I trust you and everything, but—I thought we were doing eggnog cupcakes. I was waiting all night for you to e-mail me the recipe for today, and the file with everything for the rest of the week. Normally you aren’t so . . . on the fly.” Sydney frowned. “Sorry. Maybe you still aren’t feeling well . . .”

  “No!” Cass said, a little too loudly. “I’m perfectly fine.

  Sydney looked down at the recipe again. “It’s just that normally I’ve done most of the prep before you even get here. And this is a complicated recipe. Are you sure about this, Charlie?”

  “I feel good about this one. I’m trying something new. Spontaneity.”

  “And the other recipes?”

  “I’ll definitely send those later.” As Cass rushed off down the hall to wardrobe, where she had been due fifteen minutes ago, she sent another text to Charlie. Hey, hope things are going well! Still waiting for that recipe file, can you please send when you get a chance? Her feet were covered with Band-Aids from yesterday’s heels, and she cringed at the idea of the uncomfortable outfit and footwear she would have to wear again today. But she could endure whatever was thrown her way. It was only eight more days.

  * * *

  • • •

  Once Cass was dressed—this time in an emerald-green, strapless dress with a full skirt that was fancier than anything Cass had ever worn, and glittery gold stilettos—she headed back on set to see how Sydney was doing with the display cupcakes.

  “The cupcakes came out beautifully, but this won’t set,” Sydney told her.

  Cass swallowed hard as she glanced at the still too-liquid gelée that was to be cut out into small circles and stacked neatly between the mandarin-vanilla cake and champagne buttercream layers. It was a lovely shade of orange-red, but nowhere near the wobbly but firm stage it needed to be. It hadn’t set properly the night before, either, but she had been sure the powers of the on-set blast chiller were going to solve this problem. “It’s okay,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “It’s supposed to be a challenge for the contestants. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  Sydney looked like she had something to say about that, but instead took the tray of Aperol gelée and put it back into the blast chiller.

  Over at his cooking area, Austin’s assistant appeared to have finished his prep already. An impressive concoction rested atop the workstation. Cass couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a simple chocolate ganache tart, just with a complicated design. Her dessert was far more interesting and complex in flavor—especially when she added the small segments of candied blood orange and the prosecco foam as decorations—and she had to get points for originality. Maybe it was all going to be worth it. Austin was busy making notes, but then he seemed to sense Cass watching him and looked up.

  “Oh hey. Morning, Charlie. How are you feeling?” He put his pen down and walked toward her, his concern feigned.

  “What do you want, Austin?”

  He ignored her. “What do we have here?” He picked up her messy draft recipe sheet, and it was all she could do to keep from tearing it out of his hands. It looked like the demented scribblings of a person who was out of her league, which was precisely what it was. “Inspired by the flavors of an Aperol Spritz?” He glanced at her over the top of the paper. “But you’re a teetotaler, Char. Have you ever tried an Aperol Spritz?”

  Right. “I’m not, actually. I just don’t drink often. And this particular cocktail is pretty light, especially if you cut back on the prosecco and up the soda water.”

  “You don’t need to explain it to me, Charlie.”

  “Well, I would never make something I haven’t tasted, Austin,” Cass said, but she was distracted by Sydney, who was taking the gelée out of the blast chiller. She felt a sliver of panic when she saw it still hadn’t set enough for the cupcake cutouts. “As pleasant as this has been, Austin, I need to get back to it.”

  “Looks like you do,” Austin replied, smirking as he took in the pan of gelée.

  Cass quickly walked over to Sydney, who was staring at the pan in her hands with dismay.

  “Don’t worry about it, Sydney. We’ll get it fixed,” she said. Inside she was collapsing, but she dug deep to find her confidence. “I’ll be right back. Just need to grab something from the supply room.”

  In the back room she searched the shelves for gelatin. She’d used a fruit pectin in the recipe, thinking a mostly plant-based cupcake would be in line with the tastes of the L.A. crowd—but that had clearly been the wrong call.

  When she found the box of gelatin she was looking for, she went back out to her prep station. She and Sydney worked quickly. With moments to spare, and thanks to the blast chiller and some prayers, the gelée set beautifully, the small circle cutouts were perfect additions to the cupcake. The rush of adrenaline Cass experienced as she placed the first cutout—seeing the beautiful reddish-orange hue of the gelée poking out from under the buttercream—gave her a dawning sense of what Charlie probably felt daily on the show. It was stressful, yes—but it was also thrilling.

  Now Sasha had arrived, and she was calling out orders. She paused at Cass’s station, just as Sydney was helping her plate the cupcakes and adding the dollop of prosecco foam and candied orange to the tops. “Those look interesting.”

  “Aperol Spritz cupcakes,” Cass said, letting her shoulders relax slightly for the first time that morning. She felt wrung out, but quite pleased with the final result.

  Sasha took the spoon Sydney handed her, which held a tiny sliver of the cupcake, a speck of candied orange and prosecco foam on top. Cass held her breath as Sasha popped the piece of cupcake into her mouth, watching Charlie’s boss’s face carefully.

  Sasha nodded before handing the spoon back to Sydney. “That takes me right back to Venice,” Sasha said. “I could eat that every day. Well done, Charlie.” She started to head over to Austin’s station, and Cass was pleased to see the small frown he now sported, but then Sasha stopped and did an about-face. In a whisper she said, “Oh, almost forgot . . . Did you bring that stuff for me?”

  “Uh . . . I’m sorry, what ‘stuff’?”

  “Remember yesterday? I asked about your skin, and you promised you’d bring me some of your family’s starter.” She stepped closer
and lowered her voice. “You know I like to keep my personal life out of the workplace, but my ex is going to be at the gala this weekend with his new trophy wife. I need to look ten years younger. I need that bread mask.”

  Had Sasha actually been serious about that? Looking at her sister’s boss now, she could see she had been dead serious. And now it looked as though Cass had screwed up. Yet again.

  “Right! I’m so sorry. I’ll bring it tomorrow, I promise.” Cass picked up the pen on her workstation and wrote down starter on the back of her hand; it was a reflex. This was how she remembered details at the bakery—if she put them on paper, inevitably she would misplace it—and often her entire forearm was covered in short-form scribbles. Walter always teased her that it looked like she was trying to write a recipe book on her arm, and one day she would turn the bread dough blue with her inky hands. She smiled at the memory, but Sasha and Sydney were staring at her hand, eyes wide and horrified.

  “What did you just do?” Sasha asked.

  That shaky feeling returned. Of course Cass couldn’t have pen marks on her hand when they started taping.

  “I’ll just, uh, wash it off.”

  “Make it fast, Charlie. We’re about to start.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The audience—which Cass now realized was much smaller than it looked like on television—chuckled uncomfortably as the contestants who had been assigned Cass’s Aperol Spritz cupcakes recipe challenge brought forth their offerings.

  “I feel like I’m on Nailed It,” one of them—a woman with platinum hair and a small nose ring—moaned to another contestant. “I forgot to add orange zest to the cupcakes, so I had to redo them. Then I could not get the gelée to set in time. It’s a disaster. I know I’m going to be sent home today.”

  Cass tried to remain calm, but her heart pounded with her own anxiety. She may have switched to gelatin for the second attempt at the gelée, but she’d been so rattled by her exchange with Sasha she’d forgotten to change the recipe before Sydney had entered it into the tablets the contestants used. Sydney had been doing a hundred tasks at once and hadn’t caught the mistake when she entered the ingredients.

  And now Cass had to play judge, comparing the contestants’ soggy cupcakes to the version she and Sydney had plated up, which looked gorgeous on display.

  “Well,” Cass said, her lacquered lips forced into a wide smile. “Let’s see if these taste better than they look, shall we?”

  “Indeed,” Austin replied, making a funny face as he took a first bite. “Hmm, interesting. I think the effort was good, but frankly, the entire thing is a bit of a hot mess.” This comment felt directed at her, not the contestant, but Cass was determined not to show how rattled she was. “Quite literally,” Austin added, grimacing as he pointed his gold-tone fork at the piped buttercream, which was melting into the too-soft gelée, the whole thing making a soupy orange disaster on the plate.

  Ignoring Austin’s snideness, Cass lifted her fork and took a bite of the cupcake.

  “I think you’ve made a good effort here,” Cass forced herself to say to the stricken-looking contestant. “But unfortunately having to redo the cupcakes that late in the game meant you didn’t have enough time to cool them,” Cass continued, feeling awful for the contestant, who was close to tears. She felt responsible for these terrible cupcakes; it was her screwup that had caused the contestants to use pectin and not the needed gelatin. “And the texture of the gelée is, well, a touch soft . . .”

  Beside her, Austin burst out laughing, interrupting Cass. “Soft!” he exclaimed, laughing harder.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to Sasha and the camera operator, though he didn’t look sorry at all. “Let’s do that take again. One for the blooper reel, right?” The audience laughed along with him, enjoying his maverick ways. Meanwhile, Cass felt like a stooge and a total failure.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Tomorrow will be a better day,” Sydney said while cleaning up the day’s mess. Cass apologized yet again and Sydney shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Charlie. Just, send me the recipe file and I’ll make sure we’re all organized for this week?”

  “Right,” Cass said. “Of course. For sure.” But as she walked away and checked her phone, there was still nothing from her sister. She dialed the number of the bakery, but the line was busy—not a surprise, considering what a frenetic time of year it was. She tapped out another text—Hi! I really need those recipes. Can you please send them??—and headed for the door, hoping against hope that her sister would come through for her, but had a terrible feeling that she was on her own.

  6

  Charlie

  Wednesday: 10 Days Until Christmas . . .

  Starlight Peak

  After the burned bread incident, the rest of the previous day had flown by without a hitch. Charlie had an overwhelming number of orders to fill—Starlight Bread aside, basic sourdough loaves were a staple on most dinner tables in Starlight Peak, too—and it felt like the bakery’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing. With Walter taking orders and assisting with the dough, they had managed to double the sourdough loaf count that morning to make up for what she’d burned the day before, all without a visit from the fire department. But in order to be ready for the Christmas Eve party, they also had to bake a certain number of Starlight loaves each day. And because of Charlie’s screwup and the need to double the plain sourdough, they were now a day behind.

  She had one other problem: in yesterday’s chaos she’d managed to misplace her phone. Charlie had searched everywhere, but it seemed her phone had plain disappeared. She’d been planning to text back and forth with Cass and find out how her sister was faring in L.A., and now was riding a thin edge of panic as she kept pushing worst-case scenarios out of her mind. The bakery’s landline was now the only way to try and connect with her sister, but the phone had been ringing nonstop with holiday orders. Finding time to try and connect with Cass when she wasn’t on set and when Charlie had a free moment had proven impossible.

  The bakery was finally closed for the day. Every surface was spotless, and the sourdough was prepped and ready to proof overnight. Charlie wanted nothing more than to drag herself upstairs and sleep for days. Then the bakery’s phone rang.

  Charlie jumped, hoping it was Cass. If there was one thing—aside from a good night’s sleep—that would make her feel better, it would be to hear her sister’s voice and to know that everything had gone smoothly with Cass’s first two days on set. Plus, she was sure Cass wanted an update on the bakery. Not only was this the busiest time of year, Woodburn Breads was Cass’s Sweet & Salty. Charlie wanted to make sure Cass knew she would not let her down.

  “Hey, Cass,” she said automatically, pressing the handpiece to her ear and stretching the cord so she could bend down to scratch Gateau under the chin. She had found the stash of kibble, but the cat had become accustomed to the bits of ham Charlie had been feeding her, and was back for another morsel.

  “Hello?” A female voice—not Cass’s—replied, her tone confused. “Cass, is that you?”

  “Oh, sorry. Yes. It’s me. Cass.” Why was she finding it so difficult to remember she was pretending to be her sister? Probably the concussion, but still. She was used to being much more in control of things.

  “I know you’re closed, but I had an order to make and thought I’d take a chance. And look at that, there you are.” The woman still hadn’t identified herself, and Charlie realized she should probably recognize the voice.

  “Here I am,” Charlie replied, forcing a smile onto her face and hopefully into her voice. “How can I help you?”

  “Actually . . . First, I wanted to tell you I hope you didn’t think I was eavesdropping the other night. At the house.” Charlie still had no clue who this was, or what she was referring to. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but I was walking the girls and you we
re a touch . . . Well, you know how sound can carry around here. That was quite a grand gesture on Brett’s part!” The woman paused and waited for her to respond, but Charlie didn’t know what to say.

  “Uh . . . you bet. Can you just spell your name for me so I’m sure I’ve got it right?”

  There was a peal of laughter. “It’s Sharon Marston, Cass!”

  Charlie frowned. Sharon had been a year ahead of the twins in school and had married some pro hockey player and left town a few years earlier. Charlie had always viewed her as mostly harmless, though she had been known as a gossip in high school.

  “Oh. Hi, Sharon. So what can I get for you?” Charlie prepared to write the order on the notepad beside the phone, which operated as the bakery’s main order database. It was ridiculous to still be taking orders this way—on a landline, with a pen and notepad. If the rumor really was true about Makewell’s wanting to move in, Woodburn Breads needed to step things up. She made a mental note to give this more thought later.

  “I’d like two loaves of sourdough. And, of course, you’ve put me down for a Starlight loaf on Christmas Eve?”

  “Of course,” Charlie said.

  Sharon cleared her throat. “Speaking of sourdough . . . Do you have any tips for me on feeding a starter? I’m trying to start my own.”

  Charlie felt there was something odd about this phone call, but she had too much to do to try and figure out what it was. “Well—there are tons of food blogs on the Internet. Give it a quick google, okay? And I’ll have your order ready for tomorrow.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Sharon said, sounding disappointed.

  Charlie hung up with Sharon and immediately called her sister, but it went to voicemail. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d had nothing to eat since the morning rush had ended. Food held no appeal, not when she couldn’t smell or taste it, but she had to eat. She’d grab a date square and take a walk—some fresh air might help clear her head. Charlie put on her coat and hat, remembering her gloves at the last minute when she glanced out the bakery’s window and saw it was snowing gently.