by Maggie Knox
Cass sat up and rubbed her eyes as the heartache of the day before came rushing back: The fight with Charlie. Her final conversation with Miguel. The kiss. She collapsed back onto her pillow as she thought about the way Miguel had held her in his arms and kissed her back with so much passion she was sure he felt the same way about her as she did about him.
But then she had left him behind.
And that had been that.
* * *
• • •
After getting her tattoo, she had driven home to Starlight Peak without stopping, putting the Taylor Swift holiday album that had been her favorite since she was a teenager on repeat. She had been desperate to see her sister, but that hadn’t turned out the way she had hoped it would. First, she had run into Jake Greenman outside the bakery—relieved to see a friendly, familiar face. But it quickly became clear that she had offended him in some way, simply by saying a casual hello and asking how he was. Their strange and awkward encounter had left Cass unsettled, and it obviously had something to do with Charlie . . . but she had no clue what was going on. And then, she and Charlie had had anything but a happy reunion. I trusted you, Cass. The worst idea I’ve ever had, clearly.
Cass knew she had taken matters into her own hands by saying the things she had said to Sasha. But did Charlie really want to be walked all over like that? This was not the Charlie she thought she knew like the back of her hand.
Cass walked into her small kitchen and filled the coffeemaker she had there for the rare occasions she was not down in the bakery first thing. Then she checked the starter, which she had brought upstairs with her the night before, wrapped in one of their grandmother’s tea cozies and placed in the warmest area of the apartment. She’d fed it before bed and it had looked okay—but now it was frothy again rather than bubbly, with a watery layer on top. “Damn it,” she muttered, carrying it to the sink to pour away the foul-smelling liquid. “I trusted you, too, Charlie.”
As Cass waited for the coffee to brew, she began to feel more frustrated. It wasn’t just the starter Charlie had messed up. She had said something to Cass about moving the ordering process online, which was yet another thing Cass was going to need to figure out how to fix now that she was home. And she had allowed Sarah Rosen from Makewell’s into the bakery! Cass hadn’t exactly done a great job of keeping Charlie’s life in order in L.A.—but it seemed Charlie had done an even worse job of holding down the fort in Starlight Peak.
The bakery’s laptop was sitting on the kitchen table. Cass hadn’t had a chance to check the bakery e-mail all week, assuming—perhaps wrongly—that Charlie was handling everything. She toggled the mouse pad, and when she saw her face appear on-screen, quickly turned off the camera. It was a program she didn’t recognize called Live.Li. She clicked a tab called “past videos” and watched a few of Charlie and Walter cheekily giving baking tutorials—one of them a how-to on how to create the bakery’s signature lemon squares. What was Charlie thinking? It was a recipe that had been in her family for decades, and Charlie thought it was somehow okay to just share it with the world like that? Cass gritted her teeth and watched another video about the sourdough starter, and then another that seemed to have nothing in it. She fast-forwarded until she saw Walter, Charlie, and Brett.
Her sister’s voice was angry, almost unrecognizable. Cass watched, aghast, as her sister laid into her ex-boyfriend. Why was this recorded? As her sister went on to say some unflattering things about the town, Cass’s heart sank even more.
“Charlie, no,” Cass whispered.
She searched for a way to delete the video but couldn’t find one. So she quickly exited the program and sat still. She had asked her sister to deal with Brett—but she understood now that it had been wrong for the twins to think they could solve each other’s problems. Cass needed to deal with all this herself.
Cass opened the bakery’s e-mail account, thinking she could write to Brett and try to set things straight in a way that would provide their relationship with proper, irrevocable closure. Charlie had been rough on him, yes—but with some distance, Cass could now see how toxic his behavior had been. He had been disrespectful of her wishes and refused to take no for an answer—which worked fine in business dealings but was an unacceptable way to deal with another human being. As she contemplated what to write, the new e-mail messages downloaded. One in particular caught her eye: it was from Sarah Rosen. The subject line was “Enlisting Your Consulting Services?”
Dear Cass and family,
I so enjoyed my visit to Woodburn Breads, and cannot stop thinking about those plum cardamom linzer cookies! They were truly epic—and I’ve tasted a lot of baked goods.
Cass, I know it might seem like we are at cross-purposes here: you run a family bakery, I run a national bakery chain. But the truth is, with someone like you on board, and with a location like the one your family owns and runs Woodburn Breads out of, we could create something incredibly special, something that would bring both Makewell’s and your family’s bakery to a whole new level.
I’d love to meet up and talk with you about the attached offer. Makewell’s would like to buy the Woodburn Breads building, as well as the rights to some of your recipes. As you can see from the attached, this is an incredibly lucrative deal. Some might even call it life-changing! I ask that you please consider it, with this in mind: you would still be a part of the bakery. I have included a clause to hire you as a consultant, which means you would be on salary to continue to help us develop recipes for the chain, which would be a part of our Signature Heritage line, all inspired by Woodburn Breads. This is a way for your bakery to live on in a changing world—rather than being shuttered when Makewell’s moves in and takes over 60 percent of the market share, which is what happens each time a Makewell’s moves into a neighborhood. (Attached are the numbers to support this.)
Please note that if you say no to this offer, we will still be creating our signature line, inspired by the baked goods I tried recently at Woodburn—they just won’t have your family bakery’s name attached to them. You can’t patent flavor combinations, and plum and cardamom is a winning one. :)
I’m looking forward to hearing from you! My cell phone number and direct line are below.
Best regards,
Sarah Rosen
President and CEO
Makewell’s Bakeries “Famous because we’re that good!”
P.S. Thanks for the Starlight loaf, but it didn’t quite work for me. A bit dry. The other stuff was bang on, though!
Cass stared at the screen. This is a way for your bakery to live on in a changing world. Seriously? And all those faux-friendly exclamation marks and smiley faces? At this point, Cass’s blood was near boiling. She had never felt so angry, or so betrayed. Without thinking, she hit reply on the e-mail, and typed a response, her fingers flying across the keys as she let the words flow.
Dear Sarah,
For your information, you are not welcome at Woodburn Breads, nor is anyone from Makewell’s, which has taken recipes from other bakeries around this country and turned them into tasteless, uninspired tripe. We may not have patented any of our recipes, but I have it in writing now that you plan to steal them, which is not a great PR look for Makewell’s. Rest assured you will not be hearing the last of me if you attempt to co-opt any of our recipes, which have been passed down through generations and is an authentic representation of quality baked goods which cannot be mass produced.
Also, while you may have found in other communities that Makewell’s moves in and takes over the lion’s share of the market, I am sure you will not find that in Starlight Peak.
You may think you know every single aspect of your market, but you don’t know my town, and you certainly don’t know my bakery.
Cass paused for a moment, then typed one last line.
Basically what I’m saying is: you can take your offer and shove it. I will
not be entertaining offers from you of any kind, and I certainly will not be working for you as a consultant.
Sincerely,
CASSANDRA GOODWIN
PRESIDENT AND CEO
WOODBURN BREADS
She thought for a moment, then added a postscript:
By the way, I recently suffered a head injury and have been dealing with the aftereffects of a concussion. What you tasted yesterday is not an accurate representation of the signature recipe that is Starlight loaf.
Cass stopped typing, her anger now spent. It had felt good in the moment, but she knew this was not the type of e-mail you actually sent. This was the kind of e-mail you saved in your Drafts folder to think about for a few hours, before editing out the parts that said “shove it.”
Her hand shook slightly as she moved the mouse to ‘x’ away the e-mail. She waited for the “Save this message as a draft?” pop-up. But there was none.
“Oh, damn it.” The draft mailbox was empty. However, there the e-mail was, in her Sent Items folder. The message had been sent, a nasty Reply All to Sarah at Makewell’s and some of the other executives copied on the e-mail. Plus, now that she was looking at it more closely, she noticed her parents’ e-mail addresses had also been cc’d.
“Oh no.” An e-mail containing the phrase, “You can take your offer and shove it,” had been sent out far and wide. Then she realized something, and she looked back at the e-mail.
The thing was, it didn’t feel all bad. In fact, it felt kind of great. She stood and stared at the screen. What did she care what anyone at Makewell’s thought of her? She’d meant what she’d written, hadn’t she? She would protect her family’s legacy and those recipes however she could. And she did want Sarah to take her offer and shove it. Cass snapped the laptop shut and strode from the room.
There were many things in her life—and in Charlie’s life—she had no control over right now. But it didn’t have to stay that way. She pulled on some clothes and went downstairs.
“Hey, Walter?”
“Morning, Cass.”
“Would you mind holding down the fort here? I have to figure out how we’re going to solve the problem of the sourdough starter, which is upstairs looking dire. Can you see how those dried strips from the freezer are doing now?”
“I’ve got them going, but you know it will still be a few days until we can bake with them. And Christmas is—”
“I know. Christmas is in two days. I promise, I’ll think of something. And Charlie will be here at some point this morning to help out with everything else.”
“Okay,” Walter said, but he didn’t sound okay at all. Cass swallowed her guilt as she walked out the door. The bakery was her life—but she had another life she had to attend to: her personal life.
* * *
• • •
Outside, Cass walked quickly along the sidewalk.
“Morning, Charlie,” said Mark Anderson, an old acquaintance from high school who ran a karate dojo down the street from the bakery.
“Morning, Mark,” Cass replied. “But it’s Cass, actually.”
She knew why Mark had mistaken her for Charlie, though: because she seemed more confident, more sure of herself than usual. She was not going to allow this to change. She was finished with pretending to be her sister and knew it was time for them to finally grow up and never switch places again—but she also knew that she was going to be forever changed by the past week, and not just because of her new tattoo.
She had to be. Or she was never going to have the life she knew was possible.
* * *
• • •
Brett was still in his pajamas when he answered the door of the house he had purchased for them just a week ago. As she had approached it Cass had realized something: it was not the perfect house for her. But it was the perfect house for Brett, and she hoped he planned to keep it.
His hair was rumpled and he looked confused when he saw her. “Cass? What are you doing here?” Then he looked closely at her. For a moment she felt nervous—but then realized she had nothing to be nervous about. For the first time in a long while she wasn’t going to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
“You look . . .” he began, running a hand through his messy hair. “More like yourself. More like the Cass I know.” Of course Brett knew her, had an inner sense that it was really her again. Things had gone bad between them recently—but he had still been her first love, and an important part of her life.
“Brett, can I come in? There are some things you need to know.”
When she got inside, she explained that she and Charlie had switched places, that it had been her sister, not Cass, who had shouted at him the other day. “But it doesn’t change anything. We aren’t right for each other. We’ve outgrown each other, we have different values. It’s time to stop holding on to the past like this, and move on.”
Brett was silent at first. “I get it,” he said, surprising her. “Look, maybe it wasn’t you giving me a talking to the other day, but I needed it. It was a wake-up call. Walking away from the bakery that day, finally letting myself picture a life without you? It was what I needed. I realized something in that moment: I was clinging to the past. And I was ignoring what you wanted. I was trying to keep you because I was doing what I always do in my life: trying to keep up appearances. When I realized it was really over— Well, the thing is . . . Cass, I felt relieved, not sad.”
“Oh, Brett.”
He stepped closer to her but for once didn’t try to kiss her or touch her, or call her a pet name. “But you know what else I’m relieved about?” he continued. “That it wasn’t really you the other day. Because what would break my heart would be to not have you in my life at all, Cassandra Goodwin. You don’t spend more than a decade with someone and then forget them, just like that.”
“No,” Cass said, her eyes shining with tears now. “You certainly don’t.”
“So . . .” He stepped back again and held out his hand. “Friends? Shake on it?”
Cass laughed. “This is not a real estate deal!”
She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him for a hug. He did the same. It wasn’t like it was with Miguel; no sparks flew, and she felt no urge to stay there forever. But it felt good, it felt right. And it felt final.
Eventually, she pulled away. “Speaking of real estate, we need to talk . . .”
* * *
• • •
By the time Cass left Brett, the sun was high in the sky and struggling to shine through the thick blanket of snow clouds gathering over the town. They looked swollen, ready to unload. But Cass had seen enough of these mountain snowstorms to know she still had a bit of time. She headed along Main, then turned onto Cornelia Street, which was where Sharon lived. Cass rang Sharon’s doorbell.
“Cass, what are you doing here?” Sharon said, her tone icy. Cass wondered how many bridges Charlie had burned while she was away.
“Do you mind if I come in for a minute?” she asked.
It didn’t take long to tell the tale of the swap, but Sharon didn’t appear moved.
“I can’t believe you two are still doing stuff like this,” Sharon said. “I wish our high school friends were here to witness this. Some things never change, I guess.”
Cass was sure they never had any friends in common but pushed along to more important things. “We’ve learned our lesson this time. And I’m sorry if there were any misunderstandings while I was gone. But please know, Charlie and I have had a lot going on this past little while. I hear you have, too. That’s kind of why I’m here. Apparently, you’re starting a dog biscuit business? And you’ve got a plan to bake dog biscuits using sourdough? I was over at Brett’s just now, and he told me word on the street is you’ve even got your own starter.”
Sharon’s expression changed from guarded to proud. Sh
e jumped up from the table and opened her fridge, revealing trays and trays of dog biscuits. “I am. The company is called Top Dog, and now that I’ve got my own starter going, let me tell you, the biscuits are going to get even better than they already are. I’m sure Jake told you his Bonnie already loves my Turmeric Treats.”
Cass grimaced. “Turmeric treats?”
“Oh right. Jake wouldn’t have told you, he would have told Charlie. You know he and Charlie are a thing, right?” Sharon dropped the tray on the counter and gasped. “Oh my God, does he know that you’re Cass, and Charlie is Charlie, and . . . oh my God.”
Cass was momentarily speechless. Well, that explained the bizarre interaction she’d had with Jake outside the bakery. But now wasn’t the time to unpack any of this, so she refocused on Sharon. “Sharon, you know how you said earlier that some things never change? How you suggested it was a touch immature of my sister and me to still be swapping places when we’re twenty-eight years old. Well . . . perhaps the same goes for you.” Uttering difficult truths like this had not been her style—until recently. It felt good. “We’re not in high school anymore, Sharon. Spreading rumors around town might not be the best use of your time—especially if you’re trying to start a business.”
For a moment, she thought Sharon was going to fire back an angry retort. Instead, she returned to the table and sat across from Cass. “You know, you’re right. All I wanted was to fit in when I came back—and I guess that feeling of needing to fit in really did remind me of high school. So, I started behaving that way again. But it’s not what I want. What I want is to belong here, the way you do. What I want is . . .” But she shook her head and didn’t finish. Maybe Sharon didn’t have it all sorted out, either—something Cass could definitely relate to.
“I have a favor to ask, which is why I’m here,” Cass said. “There’s something wrong with the starter at Woodburn, and it’s a terrible time of year for this to be happening. It’s too late to get some of the backup starter we keep frozen and in dried strips going because it takes a few days. I know things have been odd between us—well, between you and Charlie. But is there any chance you’d be willing to share some of your starter and help save Christmas in Starlight Peak?”