The Holiday Swap

by Maggie Knox

  “I’m always early, too.” Charlie glanced at the bottle he had handed her—a Barolo from Italy—but she wasn’t familiar with it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a glass of wine. Alcohol just didn’t agree with her, so she generally avoided it.

  Jake hung up his coat on the hook by the door. “Gran thought that was your favorite. Did I get that wrong?”

  “No, you got it right. It will be delicious, and it’s perfect for pasta night. Thank you for bringing this.”

  “My pleasure,” Jake said. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms etched with muscle. “So, why don’t you put me to work, Chef?”

  Charlie tossed him one of her dad’s aprons. “Put that on and let’s head upstairs. You’re on gnocchi, okay? Potatoes are almost ready to come out of the oven.”

  Jake tied the apron around his waist, and Charlie tried to cover her snicker because even though her dad wasn’t a small guy, the apron looked about two sizes too small for the burly firefighter.

  “I make this look good, right?” Jake asked, spinning around once. Charlie burst out laughing, and then started up the stairs, Jake a step behind her.

  * * *

  • • •

  Charlie had been prepared to walk Jake step-by-step through a pasta-making lesson, but he wasn’t a novice. “I’ve made gnocchi a few times, actually,” Jake had said, picking up the ricer and expertly squeezing the oven-soft potato through it. “Back in Colorado.” He paused for a moment and something heavy hung in the air, but then it was gone. Charlie wondered if she’d imagined it.

  As they worked elbow to elbow, creating the little pillows of potato dough and the truffle Parmesan cream sauce, Jake told her about how everyone at the firehouse had been complaining they’d gained weight since he’d arrived and taken over as head cook. Charlie could believe it—he definitely knew his way around the kitchen.

  After dinner Jake topped up their wine and they moved over to the couch. There was an easy rapport between them—moving in sync while they cooked, easy conversation during dinner, and lively banter as they cleaned up afterward.

  There was a natural pause as they sipped their wine. In the quiet, Charlie felt a swell of guilt at misleading Jake. Her hands stilled on her wineglass.

  “So, this has been amazing but I still have to proof the dough for early tomorrow. And I’ve been fighting this headache all day. I’ve probably had enough wine.”

  Jake put his glass down as well. “Want a neck rub?”

  Yes, Jake. Yes, I do.

  “Um, sure? If you don’t mind?”

  Jack put a cushion on the floor. “Have a seat,” he said, shifting so she could sit between his knees.

  “Oh my God, that feels amazing.” Charlie groaned as Jake’s strong fingers massaged the tight muscles of her neck and shoulders. “Let me guess, along with being a firefighter, expert gnocchi maker, cat rescuer, and photographer, you’re also a trained massage therapist?”

  Jake chuckled. “I like using my hands. What can I say?”

  Now they were so close she could smell a wisp of a campfire, same as she had the day before. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

  Immediately his hands stopped. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No, not even close. This is incredible. Please don’t stop.”

  “You know, I love how you aren’t afraid to enjoy things, to ask for what you want,” Jake said. “Maybe that sounds weird, but . . .” He paused and Charlie waited. “Let’s just say I’m not used to it. I admire it, honestly, and I’m really glad we’re friends.”

  “Thanks,” Charlie said, but she felt instantly ill. I’m really glad we’re friends. Exactly. He was a friend. And, more specifically, Cass’s friend. She put her hands on his to stop them, then shifted away from the couch. “I hate to cut things short, Jake, but I really need to get that dough proofed.”

  Charlie picked up the pillow and as she did, her fingers hit something with a hard edge. Kneeling, she peered under the couch. Her phone. “Finally! I’ve been looking for you!” Charlie exclaimed. She tried to turn it on, but it was dead. “It must have fallen that first day, when I was sleeping and almost burned the bakery down.”

  “ ‘That first day’?” Jake asked, now standing. “I thought you said you took Gateau out for a walk?”

  “Yeah, right. I was walking Gateau,” Charlie murmured, trying to keep her stories straight and searching for her charging cable so she didn’t have to look him in the eye. She found it in the side pocket of her overnight bag and plugged in the phone.

  Their evening together was over, and even as she told herself it was for the best, she felt as deflated as a batch of over-proofed sourdough.

  “Anyway, I should probably get going, so . . .” Jake said, hands in his pockets.

  Precisely at the same moment Charlie said, “Sorry. I just . . .”

  They both stopped speaking, exchanging warm smiles.

  It was then Charlie realized this was not what she wanted. She wanted him to stay. He had said a moment before that she was good at asking for what she wanted, and this—spending more time with Jake—was what she wanted. “Hey, listen. I could use a hand. What do you think about learning how to proof dough?”

  * * *

  • • •

  Downstairs in the bakery Jake and Charlie donned fresh aprons and set themselves up at the expansive countertop. Jake had flour on his face—on his nose—and Charlie smiled as she handed him a tea towel to wipe it off.

  “Did I get it?” he asked, bending slightly so she could better see his nose, which had a slight slant to the right (he told her it had been broken more than once thanks to his rugby-playing days). He had, but she still reached up and gently rubbed nonexistent flour away, just so she could touch him. Jake’s deep green eyes held hers, and the corners of his mouth twitched as he smiled. For a moment they stayed like that—Charlie on her toes, to reach Jake’s nose, and Jake smiling at her—and then Charlie let out the breath she’d been holding and said, “Got it. Flour free.”

  “Thanks.” Jake cleared his throat, then looked at the pans of blondies Charlie had made earlier. “I don’t know how you keep from eating this stuff all day long. That would be my downfall.”

  “Oh, I forgot dessert,” Charlie said. “I’m happy to slice these up.”

  “I’m good,” Jake replied. “Still full from dinner.” He lifted his camera from the nearby table. “Can I take a couple of shots while you’re setting up? The lighting in here is perfect right now, with the twinkle lights.” Charlie opened her mouth to say she didn’t feel up to having her picture taken, but Jake had already snapped a photo.

  “Action shot,” he said.

  “This is happening whether I want it to or not, right?” Charlie said, sighing dramatically but with a smile.

  “I’ll stop if you want me to,” Jake said, bringing his camera down.

  Charlie, feeling silly for her trepidation, replied, “No, it’s totally fine. This is for the bakery. All good.”

  So Jake took a few photos while Charlie pulled out the ingredients for the sourdough. She tried to relax and focus on the prepping ahead of her, though she remained acutely aware of Jake and his camera.

  “I know you’re making it seem like I’m doing you a favor helping out tonight, but I’ve always been curious about Woodburn Bread’s famous sourdough. And I’m not the only one. Just today, actually, Sharon was talking about the starter when I picked up Bonnie’s diet biscuits. I mentioned I was taking some photos of the bakery.” Jake put his camera down, rubbed his hands together. “So, go ahead. Teach me.”

  “Wait— Why does Sharon Marston want our sourdough recipe?” Charlie asked.

  “I think she wants to expand her dog biscuit line,” Jake replied.

  “I didn’t realize that.” What Charlie meant was that she didn’t realize Sharon made dog biscuits
, but she figured Cass probably would. And it suddenly clicked why Sharon was asking her about starter when she’d called the bakery—she was trying to get the Woodburn family recipe to use as her own. Charlie wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or irritated.

  “I might need to get you to sign a nondisclosure agreement.” Charlie gave Jake a pointed glance.

  “No need. Your secrets are safe with me,” Jake replied, putting a hand to his chest.

  She tried not to think about all the secrets she could tell him as she took the family’s sourdough starter down from its shelf. She lifted the cheesecloth and took a sniff. “Ah. Perfect. Bubbling away and ready to bake. It’s the one thing I haven’t messed up yet—” She caught herself. “Uh, over the past few busy days. Okay, so for the bread we make every day I use up nearly all of this starter.”

  “But then what? You’ll have nothing left for the next day.”

  “That’s the cool thing. We feed it and it replenishes itself. Like a little daily miracle.”

  “What do you feed it?”

  “A slurry of flour and water, nothing special.” She dumped all but a cup of the starter into the industrial stand-mixer’s bowl. “Why don’t you go ahead and feed it? To replace what we’ve just used, about four cups of flour and a cup and a half of water should do it.” Charlie handed Jake a set of measuring cups.

  While he fed the starter, she added water into the stand-mixer’s bowl, along with several fat pinches of table salt, explaining what she was doing. “And now we add the flour, form it into a dough, and leave it to rise. I’ll shape it into loaves in the morning.”

  “That’s it? Here I thought you were going to let me in on some incredible alchemy, but it’s just flour . . . and water . . . and a little salt.”

  “Don’t you think that’s magic in and of itself?” she said, reaching for a whisk and handing it to him. “That something so simple can yield something so great?” Charlie poured the measured flour into the bowl. Though she no longer made the family’s sourdough regularly, her hands knew precisely what to do. How much of each ingredient to use, which she measured out of habit, though she didn’t need to. Nothing on set was like this—the desserts and confections she made required such precision. But this was something she had done for most of her life, and she felt nostalgic being back at it.

  “It does seem magical,” Jake said, and she got the feeling he wasn’t talking about bread anymore.

  “Okay, start mixing,” she said. “If it’s too sticky add more flour, and if it’s too dry, add more water.”

  “I have a confession,” Jake said, as he whisked the starter.

  “Oh yeah?” Charlie checked the starter’s consistency.

  “I used to spend time here, in Starlight Peak, during the summers. And coming to the bakery was always one of the first things I wanted to do when I arrived. I’d beg Gran and she’d be, like, think I can stop the car first?” Jake laughed at the memory. “I’m sure neither of you would remember me, though. I was shy, and pretty dorky and scrawny back then.”

  “You? Dorky and scrawny? I find that hard to believe.”

  “I had laser eye surgery a few years ago, but when I was a kid I wore these awful pop-bottle glasses. It was depressing.” Jake grimaced and Charlie laughed. She couldn’t imagine Jake as anything other than the gorgeous, tall, fit guy he was now.

  “The first time I came in, Charlie was working behind the counter with your mom, and you and your dad were decorating cookies. You were the first identical twins I’d ever seen, and I thought you were the coolest, prettiest girls in the world. I only knew who was who because of the names on your aprons.”

  In a flash, Charlie pictured it: a quiet redhead with glasses, shyly ordering a treat at the counter. “Eclairs!” she exclaimed. “That was your favorite, right? You always ordered an eclair.”

  “Yup. That was me.”

  “I remember you,” Charlie said breathlessly. It was the most wonderful thing to have discovered this shared experience from their past. Jake wasn’t a complete stranger after all.

  They were facing each other now, only a foot or so apart. And before she considered what might happen next, Jake closed the space between them. He put his hands on either side of her face and stared into her eyes for just a moment before their lips met—gentle and tentative at first, but then Charlie pressed closer to him. As the kiss deepened, Charlie’s senses were flooded. She closed her eyes, light-headed with the feel of him . . . the taste of him. She could taste Jake: dark berries from the wine; a richness from the black truffles in the pasta sauce. She could smell him, too: the hint of a spicy aftershave and the lingering smell of campfire, which she’d noticed the day before. All of it was a revelation. And it was almost too much for her to take in.

  Charlie pulled away and breathed in deeply, trying to stop the spinning in her head. Jake pressed his lips to her forehead. They stayed like that, both of them slightly out of breath, and then Charlie tilted her chin up and found Jake’s lips again. I could do this all night long . . .

  It had been a while since Charlie had kissed someone who made her feel this way. For that matter, had she ever been with someone who made her feel like this? Like a thousand stars had exploded inside her head; like her body had been filled with warm honey.

  “I really like you, Cass,” Jake whispered, his hands gentle on her upper arms. Charlie wondered if he could feel her quivering under his touch. “I mean, I’ve always liked you, but as a friend, you know? I don’t know what’s changed . . . but something has.”

  Charlie nodded, not trusting herself to speak yet.

  “The other night, at the pub,” Jake continued, “it was like I was seeing you for the first time. Amazing how you can just sort of . . . wake up to it all at once.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Jake smiled down at her. “To be clear, I’m not really seeing you as only a friend now.”

  She laughed. “I’m getting that.”

  “Good.”

  “I like you, too,” Charlie said. And she did. Way too much, in fact. It was wonderful to know he felt the same. But what was she doing, complicating her sister’s life by starting something with Jake?

  “But . . .” Jake pulled back slightly to look at her, though he still held her arms in his warm hands. “Is this too much? Too soon? After you and Brett . . .”

  How could she possibly explain the real issue? It wasn’t about Brett, though Charlie had promised her sister she would handle that situation. No, the problem was that she was not Cass, but rather the twin sister Jake remembered serving him at the bakery when they were kids. Suddenly she was so tired of lying to him that she almost broke right then and there.

  She blinked back tears. “Jake, I’m not—” Charlie began, but she couldn’t continue. Jake tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face until their eyes met.

  “What?” Jake asked, his fingers carefully brushing away her tears. “Talk to me, please. Why are you so upset?”

  She had to do it. Tell him everything and hope that he’d forgive her. But just then the front door of the bakery swung open, the bell ringing with the movement. Shocked by the realization that she’d forgotten to relock the door when Jake had come over, Charlie was startled and turned her head toward the doorway, prepared to tell the customer they’d have to come back in the morning.

  It wasn’t a customer. It was Brett.

  He was staring openmouthed at Charlie and Jake; quite aware he’d interrupted an intimate moment. It took him a second to compose himself, but then he cleared his throat and set the paper bag in his hands down on the table by the door. “I was worried about you, so I brought you some soup.”

  Charlie didn’t know what to say. It’s not what it looks like? Except it was exactly what it looked like. Jake had taken a step away from Charlie, and now he stood at a slight distance with his arms cross
ed, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

  “Anyway, you look like you’re in good hands,” Brett said, pressing his lips together as he glanced at Jake. “But I’ll leave this for you anyway.” He gestured at the paper bag on the counter and then shut the door behind him. She and Jake watched as Brett walked away, neither of them speaking.

  “Like I said the other night, we broke up,” Charlie finally said, weakly, as Jake took off his apron. “I know it doesn’t seem that way, but we did. I would never . . . It’s over between us.”

  “I don’t want to make anything more complicated for you, Cass.”

  “I know. And I’ll admit the timing is not ideal.” Charlie wanted to tell him that regardless of everything that just happened. She also believed they had a chance at something special.

  But that would be a lie to add to the pile of lies she’d already told him. Jake had no idea who she really was, or how complicated her life was.

  Charlie had to end this. And now that she had her sense of taste and smell back, the conviction that had been niggling at her all day came to the forefront: she needed to go back to L.A. Charlie had already done enough damage to her sister’s life here in Starlight Peak. She refused to blow up Jake’s life, too.

  “I’m so sorry,” Charlie finally said, wishing there was any other way than this. “We did just break up. You were right to ask me earlier if it’s too soon. I think it might be. I . . . didn’t mean to let things get carried away tonight.”

  Jake pulled on his coat. Charlie watched helplessly as he zipped it up, knowing he was seconds away from walking out the door—and out of her life.

  “It was my mistake,” Jake said, in a stiff voice Charlie didn’t recognize. It stung. “I misjudged the situation. But thanks again for dinner, Cass.”

  Charlie didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream at him not to go, but she resisted both urges. “You’re welcome,” she said, quietly. And thank you, Jake. For so many things. For waking me up. For really seeing me—even if you had no idea who you were really seeing. But she couldn’t say any of that, of course. There was nothing left to say.