by Maggie Knox
“Hey. Hey there, Cass.” Jake held her at arm’s length, looking at her worriedly. “Is this not okay?”
She wiped at her eyes, embarrassed and frustrated at her inability to just stay in the moment and not get emotional. Jake gently rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “This is more than okay,” she said.
Now he looked confused. “And you’re upset because . . . ?”
This was it. Tell him now, Charlie.
“Is it because of Brett?”
Charlie shook her head. “No, this has nothing to do with Brett.”
“Then what’s wrong? Please, tell me, Cass.”
Tell him.
Tell him, Charlie.
“Nothing’s wrong, Jake. I’m . . . I’m just really happy, for the first time in a long time. And that scares the crap out of me.”
His face lit up. Then he kissed her again, before saying, “I’m really happy, too. And for what it’s worth, I’m also scared out of my mind.”
“You are?” Her throat constricted. This was wrong, and yet . . . she just couldn’t stop. It felt like the first real thing that had happened to her in a long time. Yes, she knew her time in Starlight Peak—and with Jake—would have an inevitable end, and soon. But Charlie wasn’t ready to face that yet, as unfair as that might have been.
“We can be scared together. Deal?”
“Just . . . don’t let me go, okay?” Charlie’s voice was a whisper, her mind swirling with the seismic shift of the evening.
Jake pulled her back to him and wrapped his arms around her, starting to spin them around in another slow dance. She closed her eyes again and gave herself over to the moment. “I’ve got you, Cass Goodwin. I’ve got you.”
19
Cass
Wednesday: 3 Days Until Christmas . . .
Los Angeles
Cass couldn’t count now how many times she had taken out her phone to call her sister and tell her the awful news: the Bake My Day job was being given to Austin, and there had never been anything either of them could have done about it. But she couldn’t stand the idea of breaking her sister’s heart. Not yet. For the past twelve hours she had been wracking her brain, trying to think of a way to fix things for Charlie.
But there was no way to fix this. She could hear Sasha’s voice in her head. Please don’t make us regret giving you the host job over Charlie. And then Austin’s snide response: Well, then good thing it wasn’t up to you, Sasha.
It was over for Charlie. Still, that morning Cass had risen early as usual and started to dress for work. It was supposed to be what Sasha referred to as an “easy day”—a little B-roll, some production stills and teaser videos for the promo of the finale of the holiday baking marathon, and a team meeting. “Charlie, let’s have a chat, just you and I—tomorrow afternoon?” Sasha had said to Cass the night before as she prepared to leave the set. Cass had known that would be the moment Sasha delivered the terrible news.
Which was why this morning Cass had decided not to go in to work. She had left a voicemail for Sasha, when she knew she wouldn’t be in yet, telling her she was sick.
Now, Cass stood at the door of the Hive café, which was, just like last time, not yet open. As she waited for the barista to arrive, another text from Priya came in, the third one this morning.
I’m REALLY worried now. Are you really sick? CALL ME.
Cass was in the middle of typing, Yes, I really am, I’ll call later, when her phone rang.
“Oh my God, you answered! Cass, what the hell? Charlie would never call in sick!”
Priya sounded angry, and she had reason to be. Cass opened her mouth to try to explain, but nothing came out. How could she tell Priya that her sister’s television career was over, about everything she’d overheard the day before? Where to even begin . . .
The barista had arrived. Cass looked through the café window as customers began flowing in, forming a quick line. “I’m not okay,” she finally managed.
“Obviously not! Cass, you are in trouble here—which means Charlie is in trouble! I’ve never seen Sasha like this—probably because Charlie has never, ever not shown up to work.” Priya lowered her voice, then must have covered the phone because all Cass could hear were muffled words. A moment later, Priya was back, but she was whispering now. “That was Sasha. You’re sure you can’t come in?”
It was the right thing to do. Go back on set, show up at work even if Cass knew the network had no intention of giving Charlie the job she deserved, finish what she had started.
Except, was it the right thing? What would Charlie do, if she knew what Cass knew?
Cass squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Is Sasha still nearby? Could you pass the phone to her, please?”
“Cass, what are you—”
“I’m Charlie. Make sure to tell her it is Charlie on the line.”
A moment later, Sasha was on the line. “What’s going on? Is it the head injury? Austin has been telling me constantly this week that you’re not up to working and I should be sending you home, but we really need—”
“No! It’s not that. It’s true what I’ve been telling you all week, that my head injury is not even remotely the issue here. Doesn’t it strike you as strange, how obsessed Austin is about it, about sending me home? Getting me out of the way? Except he can’t really shine when I’m not around. Manipulation, sabotage, and undermining are his only tricks. And still, the network is more compelled by him, they see him as being more of an expert and more in control. More of a ‘real chef.’ ” Cass paused, drawing in a quick breath. “Did it ever occur to anyone that the reason no one sees me as a real chef is because I’m dressed like a doll every day? That no one thinks I’m in control because I’m supposed to be the nice one, the sweet one—while he gets to be himself? It’s wrong, Sasha. And I appreciate that you know that—I heard you telling him so yesterday. But you aren’t planning to go to bat for me, even though you know I am the most qualified candidate for Bake My Day, because I’m an accomplished chef with an excellent reputation, and I don’t constantly rely on making other people look bad to get ahead.”
“Charlie, please come in. We can talk about this. Maybe there’s another show I can get you an audition for.”
“I’m done. I’m not coming in today because I don’t want to, not because I’m sick. You can shoot your B-roll and take your production stills of your next big star. And, you can all see how well Bake My Day goes with Austin at the helm. I want no part of it. Goodbye, Sasha.”
She hung up the phone and stood, heart racing. Her sister had told her to come here and keep her job secure, and she had just done the opposite. Because she knew what her sister didn’t: the job had never really been hers. Cass also knew, deep in her heart, that the things she had just said to Sasha were exactly the things Charlie would have said, if she had been here. She put her phone away and walked into the café.
“One latte and one Americano please,” Cass said, once she got to the front of the line, adding, “double for both.”
She had done one hard thing today, and now it was time to do another.
* * *
• • •
When Miguel entered the examination room, where Cass was waiting for him, the coffee she’d brought for him had long since gone cold. Cass jumped to her feet, holding it up, and realized Miguel’s expression looked anything but pleased to see her. She tossed the cold, useless coffee into a trashcan.
“Good morning,” he said, stiff and formal. He was wearing his scrubs and looked like he belonged on Grey’s Anatomy, somehow handsomer than ever. She struggled to focus. “You’ve finally decided to deal with your concussion symptoms? I can book a CT, most likely this morning, let me just call down to—”
“Miguel. I’m not here about my concussion. I don’t have a concussion.”
“Charlie. Please. You need to sto
p denying this and deal with what’s really happening.”
“You’re absolutely right, Miguel.”
“Okay, so I’m going to book that CT.” He glanced down at her chart. “There’s been a mistake, though. This chart says Cassandra Goodwin, not Charlotte. Isn’t that your sister’s name? I can’t book you a scan without—”
“No,” Cass said. “That’s definitely my chart. I’m Cassandra.”
Miguel looked up, puzzled. “So, is Charlie a stage name?”
“No. Miguel, there’s something I have to tell you. I’m not Charlie. I’m Cass.”
It felt good to say it, and it felt terrible to say it—like she was a bottle of soda, shaken up, and now finally someone was releasing the top. Miguel’s expression had gone from one of deep concern to one of alarmed confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I have a twin. She’s me and I’m . . . her.” Cass shook her head. “This is not coming out right. I’m Cass is what I’m trying to say.”
“This is worse than I thought,” he said. “Sit down, okay? I’m going to go get—”
“Miguel. I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion because I’m not Charlie. I’m her identical twin sister, Cass. The day Charlie got her concussion and came here to see you and get treated, she also called me for help.” She paused to take a breath. “You’re right that the concussion was serious. Charlie lost her sense of taste and smell, and she didn’t think she could do her job properly. So, she called me. She asked if I would switch places with her until Sweet and Salty wrapped for the season. I came to L.A. and . . . pretended to be her.”
She could see a slow dawning across his face. The old Cass, the one who had arrived in L.A. just a week earlier, would have turned tail and run away at this point, damn the consequences. But you are not the old Cass anymore. You can’t be, if you want to ever have a chance at being happy in life.
Cass took a deep breath. “It wasn’t Charlie you met that day at the Hive. It was me, Cass. It wasn’t Charlie who invited you to come visit the set, it was me. It was me you had dinner with at Fabrizio’s, me you took surfing, me who met your family, me who . . . who is standing here in front of you telling you that even though it was all a lie, the feelings I have for you are very real. And it’s me, Cass Goodwin, not Charlie who is—” She stepped toward him, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him.
Was it a good sign that he didn’t pull away? That he kissed her back, and appeared to be as completely lost in the kiss as she was? She stopped thinking about anything after a moment except how good it always felt to kiss him. She pulled away and tried to memorize his face, the way he made her feel. He slowly opened his eyes.
“Char—Cass. I just . . .” He stepped back and dropped his arms, which had been holding her tight just moments before. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I know. I understand. I’m not asking for forgiveness. I know you can’t. I know it was a violation of trust and that after starting out like this we can’t be together, but I needed you to know the truth before I drove back to Starlight Peak. I care about you, Miguel. This has been one of the most intense weeks of my life, and you helped me get through it. You made it amazing. I really needed to thank you in person for that. And to tell you how sorry I am that we didn’t have the kind of start that meant we could actually be something.”
He didn’t say anything. She knew there was really only one option—to say goodbye so he didn’t have to.
“Goodbye, Miguel,” she said in a wavering voice. Then she did the only thing that was left to do: she turned and walked out of the room.
* * *
• • •
The Prius crawled through L.A. traffic, but for once instead of feeling frustrated by the gridlock, Cass felt nostalgic for it. As she slowly passed each now-familiar place—the Hive, Fabrizio’s—her heart ached even more. Before this week, the only place she had created any meaningful memories in was Starlight Peak. But in a short time all that had changed. She had proven that running a bakery was not the only thing she was capable of. That the safe world of her hometown was not the only place she could thrive in. Was it really possible she was going to return home and go back to being the person she had been before? Would all of these memories soon fade into nothing?
The sign for Forever Ink came into view. And before Cass fully registered what she was doing, she had pulled over in front of the tattoo parlor.
Forever. She sat in the car, staring up at the word. She couldn’t stay here and become a new person altogether; she had to go home to Starlight Peak. But she could do something that would remind her about what she really wanted from life: Adventure. Authenticity. True love.
Cass pushed open the door before she could change her mind. Jason was sitting at the front counter. “Hey, there, Cass,” he said. “Need a touch-up on that tat? You’re in luck, I’m free right now, just had a cancellation.”
“Perfect. And, no. I’ve actually decided I want something more permanent.”
Jason smiled. “That happens a lot with temporary tattoos. Once you get a taste, you know you want to be inked for life. So, what’ll it be? Any thoughts on design?”
The old Cass would have taken ages to decide on exactly what to have permanently etched onto her skin—and then probably would have lost her nerve. But this Cass already knew what she wanted. “A constellation of stars,” she said. “The Gemini constellation.” Jason already had his phone out, typing her words into the search bar.
“Nice,” he said. “I’ve done constellations before, like this.” He grabbed a pen and pad and started to sketch, then passed the sheet to her: it was beautiful, an array of stars linked by thick black lines. “But maybe you want something a little smaller, less conspicuous?”
“No. That drawing is exactly right.” Cass held out her wrist. “Right there, where the temporary one is. I want to go for it. Right now.”
Cass’s heart was pounding as she followed Jason to the chair—but she wasn’t afraid. She was the captain of her own ship, the master of her own fate. Soon she would have a constellation of stars on her wrist to remind her of home, as well as her twin, Charlie. But also, that there was a whole universe out there and Cass didn’t have to stay stuck in one place forever, waiting for her life to begin.
20
Charlie
Wednesday: 3 Days Until Christmas . . .
Starlight Peak
The weather in Starlight Peak had become increasingly wintery the past few days. Its residents left deep footprints in the thick layer of snow that blanketed the town, as they scurried about doing last-minute Christmas shopping. Charlie walked as quickly as she could from the bakery to the Honey Pot—one of her favorite shops in town—because the cold had reached bone-chilling temperatures today. She used her gloved hand to turn the shop’s door handle, a series of bells announcing her arrival. The warming smells of cinnamon and honey filled the space, and Charlie inhaled deeply—she would never take her sense of smell or taste for granted again.
After a pleasant conversation with the shop’s owner, and a mug of the Honey Pot’s “Christmas Cheer” (hot apple cider sweetened with local wildflower honey and mulling spices), Charlie was soon on her way again, her Christmas shopping list checked off. Traipsing down snow-covered sidewalks, Charlie walked more cautiously now, as she didn’t want to slip with the gift bags—and the breakable wares—in her arms. She was so focused on her footing that her eyes were downcast as she arrived back at the bakery, causing her to bump right into a woman who had reached for the door at the same moment.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Charlie said, as she tried to regain her balance.
“No, I’m sorry!” The woman set her hands onto Charlie’s shoulders to try and steady her. “I had my nose buried in my phone and didn’t see you. Totally my fault.”
The woman, who looked a touch younger than Charlie, wasn’t someone she recognized from Starlig
ht Peak. She had the look of a city dweller—sleek black coat with leather trim on the pockets, a soft camel-colored cashmere scarf knotted around her neck, her dark hair glossy and pin straight to her shoulders, her makeup impeccable.
“Nice boots,” Charlie said. The woman glanced down at her high-heeled boots, which looked out of place for the weather.
“Thanks,” she replied. “Not the best in the snow it turns out, but surprisingly comfortable.”
There was a pause as the two women smiled at each other. Then the stranger said, “Don’t let me keep you. Those bags look heavy.”
“Not too heavy, but definitely delicate. And this is my stop, so no worries.”
“I’m headed inside, too,” the woman said. “I hear this is the place for sugar cookies.”
“It sure is,” Charlie replied.
Walter appeared from the back and, seeing Charlie, gave a quick wave. “Just finishing up the dishes,” he said. “Need any help?”
“I got it. Thanks, Walter.” Charlie placed the bags down and removed her outerwear. The woman faced the front window, admiring the gingerbread house.
“This is stunning,” she said, bending slightly to look through the small but ornately decorated windows, which had tiny candles, glowing with miniature LED lights as the flames. “Who made this?”
“Um, my . . . I did. With some help from my assistant, Walter.”
“Well, I’m impressed. This must have taken a lot of work.”
Charlie nodded, knowing precisely how time consuming it was, having made similar gingerbread houses with Cass and their parents over the years. Some of her best memories had taken place in this bakery, and she continued to be surprised at how often and acutely she’d felt the pull of home recently. Charlie now thought of L.A. as her home, but these past few days in Starlight Peak reminded her that most of her history existed in this snowy, charming little town.
“I love these isomalt icicles and snowflakes. That’s not easy to do.”