Page 5 of The Holiday Swap

Charlie gingerly got off the gurney, gathering her things so they could leave the moment she got her discharge papers. “Priya, I need what happened here to be kept between us.”

“Okay... sure. But Sasha has to know, because you won’t be on set.”

“Oh, I’m going to be on set,” Charlie said, pulling out her phone.

“Dr.Miguel said no screens, Charlie.” Priya tried to pull the phone out of her hand, but Charlie hung on.

“He’s a physician assistant. And no one can know about the concussion. I’m serious.No one.”

Priya frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s going on in that beautiful and concussed head of yours, Charlie?”

A plan had formulated in Charlie’s mind the moment Miguel told her she had to rest, and she realized that even if she disobeyed those orders she was still in trouble because of her loss of smell and taste. She could never perfect the recipes, let alone properly judge the contestants’ creations in this state, which she prayed was temporary. If she tried to do her job like this, Charlie would fail—and she would lose theBake My Dayhosting job to Austin. She hadn’t worked this hard to have it all evaporate because of a bump on her head.

“I’ll explain everything, but first I need to make a phone call.”

2

Cass

Monday: 12 Days to Christmas...

Starlight Peak

Cass Goodwin stood at the bakery’s counter, looking at the proofing baskets lined up, trying to calm her rising anxiety—the dough needed her to relax. If she let her emotions surface, the dough, and all of today’s progress, would be ruined. She knew it sounded superstitious and maybe even silly. But Cass had been doing this her entire life; she knew what worked and what didn’t. And making sourdough while upsetneverworked.

Walter Demetre, the high school student who worked part time at the bakery, had set up for proofing before he left for the day. The proofing baskets were on the butcher block countertops, lined with linen. Nearby, on the flour-dusted granite counter, the dough waswaiting for Cass to perform a series of stretches and pulls before gently shaping it into balls, and placing those in the baskets overnight. The dough balls would eventually be studded with rum-soaked raisins, candied citrus peel, orange zest, and sliced almonds, then baked, becoming the sourdough-based Starlight Bread her family’s bakery was known for at this time of year. But first she had work to do. She lifted the first ball of dough and tested the texture: at the first pull, it separated. She shook her head and placed it back on the counter.

The bakery was now closed for the day even if Cass’s work wasn’t done, but the lights in the display her family had put in the window for as long as she could remember, and generations before that, still twinkled in the night. Despite her distracted mood, the cutout models of gingerbread men and gingerbread houses still made her smile as Cass passed them on her way to lock the front door. She paused to check that the handmade gingerbread house she did every year was still intact, then glanced out past the festive display to the main street of Starlight Peak: the deep blue of the gloaming sparkled with the Christmas lights that outlined storefronts, wound around streetlamps and spangled front porches. Every business had decorated its storefront for the season, while urns filled with greenery and oversize Christmas ornaments had been placed every few feet at the edges of the sidewalks by the town’s enthusiastic decoration committee. Delicate flurries fell onto the marzipan-thick layer of snow that already coated the town, leaving a soft cushion that looked like icing sugar. The whole effect reminded Cass of a snow globe, and she paused to reflect on how beautiful it was.

The ringing phone interrupted her thoughts.

“Hi, honey, it’s me, just—”

Cass laughed. “I know, Dad, just checking up on me. I told you, I’m fine. Everything here is fine. You should be enjoying your anniversary trip with Mom.”

Her parents, Thomas and Helen Goodwin, had taken over Woodburn Breads bakery from Helen’s grandfather almost three decades earlier, and had been working nearly 365 days a year ever since. Cass had been trying to convince them to retire and enjoy the life they had worked so hard for, but they were stubborn. Plus, they loved the bakery—a sentiment Cass shared with her parents. So, Cass had finally taken matters into her own hands this year, consulting with her twin sister, Charlie, and chosen the perfect anniversary trip for her parents—one they would never be able to say no to: whale-watching in Cabo. Cass’s grand plan was to run the bakery so well, especially during the hectic holiday season, that her parents would realize she was ready to take over the business.

“Oh, we are, kiddo!” her father said. “Having a great time. But we’re still your parents, and you know how your mom worries.” Cass smiled. Her dad was the worrier. “This time of year is so hectic, and I don’t have to tell you how finicky that dough can be.”

“Dad, please don’t worry. I’m fine, and so is the dough.” This was a lie, but Cass worked hard to keep the strain out of her voice.

Once she’d finally reassured her parents that the bakery wasn’t collapsing in their absence, Cass returned her attention to the dough. She had to pull herself together. Starlight Bread was important, as much a part of the town’s heritage as the decorated Christmas tree in the town square, the nightly caroling sessions, and the Starlight Eve party held in the square the night before Christmas. That was when every household got their Starlight Bread order. It was tradition. And it meant a huge amount of the time-consuming bread needed to be baked, in addition to the bakery’s regular holiday offerings.

As Cass gathered her thoughts, Sharon Marston trotted past with her two standard poodles, out for their nightly walk. Sharon slowed and peered through the bakery window, waving gaily at Cass. Cass halfheartedly waved back, then picked up one of the balls of dough. Sharon walked her dogs frequently throughout the day because she said they were energetic and needed a lot of exercise. But it was no secret the recent divorcée—she had left town after high school in the arms of a dashing but apparently philandering hockey player—liked to be out and about so she’d be the first to know what was going on. Sharon’s presence was a reminder that Starlight Peak was actually alotlike a snow globe: all of them trapped inside the glass dome.

Cass looked down and realized she’d overworked this one. Her agitated hands had turned what should have been a loosebouleinto a tightly packed ball. It would never rise properly now. She sighed and dropped the ball into the trash bin beside the counter, then began again, forcing herself to be gentler this time. Carefully, she stretched and formed the dough without overworking it, then placed it into its proofing basket. Cass had done this hundreds of times, and knew the result depended on patience. On calm. On letting the dough rise for as long as it needed to, even ifsheneeded it to rise faster. Woodburn Breads had always managed to pull off the yearly feat of producing enough of its traditional loaves for every family in town to receive one at the Starlight Eve party—even the year the family’s sourdough starter, which had been passed through three generations, went a little too sour and her parents needed to start a new one from the dried strips of it theykept in the freezer. But this year was different, and not just because Cass was on her own.

“Focus, Cass, focus,” she told herself. Her black cat, Gateau, took this as an invitation to play and began winding himself between her legs as she moved between counters, tripping her.

“Gateau!” Cass’s voice was loud and stern in the empty bakery. It revealed the truth about how she was really feeling: nervous. Because once she was finished getting theseboulesinto the proofing bowls, Cass had to handle something that had been hanging over her head for a month now. Something that was making her want to skip town altogether, even during her favorite time of year. It didn’t help that earlier that day she had developed a nagging headache. Cass dropped a second ball of dough into its basket. She was about to start the third ball when a tap at the window startled her.

It was Faye Christie, one of her favorite customers, with her grandson, Jake. Jake had moved from Colorado to Starlight Peak when Faye broke her ankle, back in September, and taken a job with the fire department as the newest firefighter.

She wiped her floury hands on her apron and went to unlock the door. A rush of cold air greeted her as she ushered Jake and Faye into the warmth of the bakery.

“Hey, Cass,” Jake said, taking off his toque to shake away the fine dusting of snow and flashing her an apologetic smile. “Gran had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon and I told her we’d missed the boat and we’d have to go somewhere else, but...”

Faye, who was eighty-seven and had barely slowed down in recent years, even when she’d broken her ankle, interrupted her grandson, “And I said, you know as well as I do Cassie will be in there, working away, like she always is and she’d probably welcomea little break.” She raised an eyebrow. “I thinkyoushould be on that Cabo holiday, not your parents.”

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