by Maggie Knox
“You have a good memory, you’re an incredible baker, and you’re quick on your feet,” her sister had said when Cass briefly mentioned her apprehension at the gas station. “Plus, we’re identical. No one on set will have any reason to think anything is up.”
She drove the rest of the way to her sister’s apartment in traffic that was already starting to thicken, even though it was still early morning. One thing she knew for sure was that there was no turning back now.
* * *
• • •
The Sweet & Salty set was in Hollywood, and earlier that morning Cass’s phone had shown it was a twenty-five-minute drive from Charlie’s Santa Monica apartment. But Cass, who had been living in a town where you could walk just about anywhere within fifteen minutes, was unprepared for the relentless buildup of traffic. It was only when she was bumper to bumper that she remembered one of Charlie’s most important instruction: give yourself an hour to get to the set, especially in rush hour.
Now Cass was late as she raced through the revolving door and came to a stop in front of a security desk.
Here goes. First chance to pretend to be Charlie. No problem. Cass glanced at the security guard’s name tag and said, “Good morning, Eddie,” as if she had been greeting him every day for the past year. But he just looked at her blankly, and Cass realized this guy clearly had no clue who she was.
“ID, please,” the security guard said. “Holly, Jolly Christmas” was playing in the lobby. It made Cass homesick for Starlight Peak. At this time of day back home she and Walter would be getting the loaves in the oven, the bakery filled with mouthwatering smells and the windows steamed from the heat of the ovens. The local radio station would be playing nothing but Christmas music.
“Oh . . . um . . .” Oh no. She had left the identification card back at Charlie’s apartment. “Silly me. I changed purses, and um, I don’t have it. I mean, I have it but not on me.” She tried to rein in her nerves. You are Charlie. You are Charlie . . . “I work on Sweet and Salty. I’m Charlie Goodwin, one of the host-judges. You must have seen me?”
“Lady, I have no clue what Sweet and Salty is. The only show I watch is football. And whatever Netflix show my wife is currently obsessed with. So, identification, please.”
“I can’t go home and get it. I’m already late! Can you just call someone? Someone on the set?” Cass thought fast. “Priya! Ask for Priya Basu.”
The guard sighed and picked up the phone.
Cass drummed her fingers across the counter nervously.
Soon she heard the click-clack of high heels and a woman appeared. She was tall, with a sleek black-haired bob and dressed in a cream pantsuit. Sasha Torres. Cass recognized her from photos on Charlie’s Instagram page and struggled to remember what Charlie had instructed her to say. Sasha gave her a concerned frown. “I had to see this for myself, because I clearly remember telling you to take today off,” she said, her tone clipped with irritation. “You look terrible, Charlie.”
“Oh, well . . .” I barely slept last night? I had a long drive? I’m not actually my glamorous sister? Cass was drawing a blank. She attempted a shrug and a rueful smile—and felt a moment of indignation on behalf of her sister, who clearly worked in an environment where casual insults about her appearance were fair game.
Sasha Torres, according to Charlie, was tough but fair—and apparently had an enviable shoe collection. Although when Cass glanced down at Sasha’s shoes—mile high and electric blue—she didn’t feel a hint of envy, only wonder. How on earth did people walk in those things? Sasha now had her arms crossed and looked none too pleased. Think, Cass.
“I went to the hospital,” she said, as her sister’s words came back to her. “They checked me over. All good!”
Sasha’s expression lost a fraction of its irritated skepticism. “What exactly did they say?”
Cass was quickly realizing she’d have to wing it. Charlie had given her far too much information for her to retain it all. Back home, her days were predictable. It wasn’t going to be like that here.
“It was nothing more than a bump on the head,” Cass said. “Honestly, it’s not serious. I was just a little dazed yesterday from all the chaos after the accident, but I promise you, I’m fine to be working.”
Sasha stepped closer and held Cass’s gaze in a terrifyingly intense way. Cass held her breath, tried to keep her face neutral. “You look . . . different.”
How did Charlie live like this, with her appearance constantly under scrutiny? “It’s a new skin treatment I’m trying,” Cass replied quickly. “It’s . . . supposed to be skin-brightening.”
Sasha stepped back a foot and nodded with approval. “I’d like the name of the cream.”
“Sure thing.”
Sasha continued staring at Cass expectantly until the silence between them became awkward, and Cass realized Sasha was expecting the name of the fictitious skin-care product right that moment. Wing it, Cass. She said the first thing that came to mind.
“Sourdough.”
“Sorry?” Sasha asked.
“It’s sourdough starter. From my family’s bakery back home. I . . . started putting it on my skin once a week as a mask. I know how weird this sounds, but it really works.” Cass tried not to wince as she heard the feeble explanation leave her mouth.
“Sourdough starter, from your family’s bakery?” Sasha gave her a look like she had lost it, which was fair enough. Cass was blowing this.
“Yep. It’s, uh, full of nutrients, and probiotics and basically all the things expensive over-the-counter creams say they have in them. I started using it a few weeks ago, maybe? Anyway, guess it all just kicked in. Last night.”
Sasha blinked a few times. “This is a revelation,” she finally said.
“Well, you know I like to experiment in the kitchen. So, I recently decided to combine my two loaves—er, I mean, loves.” She laughed nervously. “And here we are.” Cass shrugged, forced a grin.
“Well, now I have to try this miracle treatment for myself. Will you bring me some?”
“Happy to!” Sasha is great, Charlie had said, as long as you work hard, and always give her what she asks for.
“Can you bring it tomorrow? I have a thing this weekend, and I need to look perfect.”
“You already look perfect. Honestly.” This was the truth.
Sasha waved a hand dismissively, though she looked pleased at Cass’s comment. “The bread mask, Charlie. Don’t forget. Now, let’s go. You’re late.”
Sasha started walking, and Cass had to run a couple of steps to catch up.
“Sydney is working on your prep,” Sasha continued, not breaking her stride. “Although she’s still waiting for you to send the file with the recipes for the rest of the week. And Priya is doing Austin’s makeup, but she’s probably ready for you now.”
“Okay. Great. Can’t wait to meet her!”
Cass realized too late what she’d said, but luckily Sasha was still slightly ahead of her, moving with shocking speed in her teetering heels. The soles of Cass’s canvas running shoes, still gritty with sand from her earlier beach visit, slapped against the floor as she tried to keep up.
* * *
• • •
Cass attempted to sit still and straight in the chair, trying—and failing—to follow Priya’s directions: “Close your eyes . . . Now keep them half open . . . There you go, open them super wide for me . . .” Priya riffled through the myriad powders and creams and brushes on the makeup counter. She rattled off the products as she went, talking about things Cass had barely heard of, let alone used: primer, highlighter, contour, setting spray, lip stain.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Priya said, lowering her voice to not be overheard. “You have gorgeous skin, Cass. Charlie spends every day in full makeup, so she has these little breakouts that drive us both crazy. Our skin really does need to breath
e.” More swishing with brushes, more blending with a little pink teardrop-shaped sponge. Priya stepped back to look at her work, then came at Cass’s face with the brush again.
“But the camera is a cruel beast. No choice but to apply the heavy-duty spackle or you’ll look shiny and uneven on-screen. And no one wants that.” She spoke of shiny, uneven skin like it was a fate worse than death. That made Cass smile, until Priya told her to please keep her mouth “relaxed,” whatever that meant.
Priya cleaned up the mascara mess, then reapplied it to Cass’s lashes while she dutifully stayed as still as possible. “Okay. Close your eyes again. Do. Not. Move. Just a few more seconds. Now, before you open them, you need to know it’s shocking seeing yourself in on-set makeup for the first time. Remember, the camera loves it.”
“ ‘For the first time’?” said a male voice. And all of a sudden there were two strong hands on her shoulders. Cass’s eyes flew open. Reflected back at her in the mirror was a man casually rubbing her shoulders as if he did it all the time. He had an inquisitive grin and, for a moment, Cass felt her pulse quicken. He was seriously good-looking—more gorgeous in person, if that was even possible. But then she reminded herself that this handsome but “salty” character could not be trusted. Besides, she hadn’t asked for a shoulder massage. Watch out for . . .
“Austin!” Priya said, covering her alarm quickly. She caught Cass’s eye in the mirror, and Cass knew she should just let Priya handle this one. “What are you doing back here?”
“Really? I’m back for a second powder. You know how shiny my nose gets just before the camera rolls.” Cass stiffened her shoulders, hoping Austin would get the picture, but he just rubbed harder. “You’re super tense today, Charlie.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Cass said through gritted teeth. It bothered her that Austin clearly felt he could treat her sister however he wanted, touch her whenever he wanted. She had imagined Charlie on set in L.A. as someone who was completely confident and in charge—Austin’s brash, towering presence was really messing with that.
“But I can wait until you’re done with Charlie, who looks like she needs more work than usual this morning.” He smirked and dropped his hands, and Cass felt an angry flush move up her neck and into her cheeks. Austin held her gaze in the mirror. “You feeling better after yesterday, Char? How’s the noggin?”
Cass opened her mouth to speak, but Priya jumped in. “Why don’t you sit in the other chair, Austin? Don’t want you to overexert yourself. Your nose is getting shinier by the second, and powder can only do so much.”
Austin kept his eyes on Cass, watching her face as closely as Sasha had in the lobby earlier. Then his gaze swept over the rest of her, and he smiled approvingly. Wardrobe had put her in a ruby-red jumpsuit with a tie neck, and Cass, already uncomfortable with the jumpsuit’s revealing neckline, crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at him.
“Good work, Priya. Charlie made you work for it today.” Cass glowered at him, but he kept his cocksure smile pasted on, even though he had just passively insulted her. “Anyway, I’ll come back when I can be the center of attention.” He sauntered from the room, leaving behind the too-strong scent of his aftershave.
Priya rolled her eyes. “What a pompous jerk,” she muttered.
“ ‘Pompous’ ” is one word for it.” Cass’s eyes stayed on the now-empty doorway. “Is that what he’s going to be wearing? Those chef’s whites?”
“Yep. He wears the same thing every episode.”
Cass looked down at herself. “Why am I in this, and he’s in that?”
Priya picked up a small canister with a label that read “Stardust” and brushed some of the powder onto Cass’s shoulders. “Because you’re the star of the show,” she said, smiling at Cass.
Cass frowned at her reflection. “Yeah, but so is he.” She knew she looked good, but what she did not look like was a chef. “And, baking is messy.” Cass thought about her usual outfit: yoga pants, a T-shirt, and her favorite white apron with “Woodburn Breads” embroidered in navy blue on the front pocket. She had seven exact replicas of this uniform—one for every day of the week—along with a pair of plastic clogs that were hideously unfashionable but quite comfortable for the hours she spent on her feet.
“Oh, you’re not doing much actual baking, hon. Mostly you supervise the contestants and testing, and then judge their desserts.” She stared at Cass in the mirror, pursing her lips. “You’ve watched the show, right? Didn’t Charlie run through this with you?”
“Yes, I’ve watched the show.” Cass replied. Their voices were mere whispers now. And it was true; Cass had watched every episode. But, somehow, she’d never noticed that while Austin got to play the role of serious pastry chef in his whites, Charlie was . . . well, what Cass saw when she looked in the mirror made her feel like little more than a pretty prop. But she didn’t have time to worry about that now. She had to focus on playing Charlie convincingly, even in the most revealing, uncomfortable outfit she had ever worn.
“You’re going to be okay, Cass. Charlie believes in you—and therefore, so do I.”
Priya had finished sparkling up every bit of her exposed skin. Cass stood. “You’re right. It’s all going to be fine. I can do this.”
“That’s the spirit,” Priya said. Cass was about to leave the room, when Priya called out, “Wait!” She opened a drawer below the makeup counter, revealing a cache of bracelets and baubles. “I almost forgot. Your wrist. We need to cover up the space where Charlie’s tattoo would be.” She selected a wide gold cuff bracelet. With it on, Cass felt even less chef-like. She wore no jewelry when she baked, not even the tiny diamond stud earrings her parents had given the twins when they turned eighteen.
Cass took a deep breath and held herself tall as she walked out of the room. But Priya stopped her yet again, the pair of glossy black heels Wardrobe had picked out for her in hand. “Don’t forget these.” Cass frowned at the shoes, longing for her comfortable and familiar clogs, or at least wishing she could stay in the flip-flops Wardrobe had given her.
With a sigh Cass took the heels from Priya, who whispered, “Good luck,” before going back into the room to clean up. She slid on the shoes, which pinched and felt awful, and tried to take a few steps, stumbling as she did. Okay, Cass. You can do this.
She could. She had to. For Charlie. For herself—to prove she was more than just Cass Goodwin from Starlight Peak, with her whole life all laid out.
With new resolve, Cass teetered off down the hall toward the set. Halfway there, Austin appeared, on his way to Priya to get his shiny-nose touch-up. He paused as they met in the hall and she slowed down, too.
“Hey,” he said, tilting his head, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you sure you’re alright? You seem a bit unsteady. Anything I can do to help?”
“No thanks,” Cass said firmly, speeding up with considerable effort in the stilt-like shoes.
* * *
• • •
As Cass walked onto the set, which was smaller than it looked on television and crowded with large cameras, people bustling around wearing headsets, and taped markers on the floor that she had no clue how to decipher, she squinted at the too-bright lights.
For a few moments she was paralyzed by the chaos around her—camera grips and assistants running to and fro, instructions being barked from every corner, bright lights lending it all a surreal feel—and struck by the entirely new sensation of stage fright. But then she thought about her sister, and stood still for a moment, remembering everything she knew so well about her other half. She channeled Charlie’s self-assuredness as she casually walked toward the large island in the center of the studio as though she did this every day. All was fine until Cass’s heel caught a wire, sending her careening forward. She would have fallen, but suddenly Austin was there beside her. He caught her, then grinned. “Falling for me now, are you, Char?”
Cass forced a laugh and kept her tone nonchalant. “You wish.”
“Ninety seconds, folks,” a woman in a headset announced.
“Where is everyone?” Cass asked Austin, because the audience seats and the contestants’ baking stations were empty.
Austin gave her a curious look. “What are you talking about?”
Right. Charlie had explained that the twelve days of Christmas baking marathon contest wasn’t “live to air.” Segments of it were taped in front of a live studio audience, but there was some wiggle room if things went off the rails since the shows actually aired the next day. “Never mind,” she said.
Priya arrived just then, with a lipstick and tiny brush in hand. “Quick refresh,” she said to Cass, who obligingly let Priya touch up her lips. Priya winked, then as she was leaving whispered, “Relax. You look terrified.”
She was terrified. Her heart felt like hummingbird wings inside her chest. But she forced her shoulders down and back, and reminded herself she was Charlie Goodwin—reality television star and kick-ass pastry chef. You. Can. Do. This.
“Mikes going hot in three . . . two . . .”
Cass looked into the camera in front of her, and smiled warmly. Austin, standing beside her, didn’t seem as tall or intimidating anymore, now that Cass—already five-seven—was a good three inches taller in her heels.
“I’m Austin Nash . . .” he said, his voice smooth and assured.
“And I’m Charlie Goodwin . . .” she chimed in, then waited a beat for Austin.
“And together, we’re Sweet and Salty.” They said it in unison. Then Cass continued, feeling her confidence build as she read the teleprompter, “Welcome to day two of Sweet and Salty’s Twelve Days to Christmas Countdown—”
“Okay, stop. Stop.” It was Sasha, who sighed with irritation. For a moment, Cass couldn’t figure out what she’d done wrong. She put a hand to her brow, trying to shield her eyes from the bright lights.
