Page 9 of The Holiday Swap

“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. TheSweet and SaltyChristmas 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’lltake 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 onSweet & 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 afew 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 thesurfer 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 accident 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-taughtbaking 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?

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