“Just to be safe,” Charlie said, clearing her throat. “I will.”
“Bye, Cass.”
“Bye,” Charlie said, wondering where Jake the firefighter had come from.
5
Cass
Wednesday: 10 Days to Christmas . . .
Los Angeles
The sound of an alarm interrupted the dream Cass was having about showing up to the Sweet & Salty set wearing an apron and high heels . . . and nothing else. She opened her eyes and, for a moment, wasn’t sure where she was. The sheets surrounding her were soft and silky, not flannel like the ones she used at home; she rolled to her side and saw a large window overlooking glittering lights in a still-dark city. Los Angeles. Right. She was at Charlie’s place.
She reached for her phone to turn off the alarm and check the time: it was five-thirty in the morning. Nothing from her sister yet, whom she had texted a few times the night before. Cass was going to need to find time today to call the bakery and find out how things were going, and ask when Charlie was going to send the file with the rest of the recipes for the week. She was happy to see a text from her parents in Cabo and smiled when she opened it. She had tried to teach her dad how to take selfies before they left for the trip. But this attempt he had sent featured a huge swath of ocean and the tops of her parents’ heads. We saw dozens of humpbacks on an early morning outing today! Miss you and love you girls. Hope all is well, read the text.
Things are GREAT! Cass typed back. P.S. Try moving the phone down a little next time? ;-） She hit send, then yawned, wishing she could turn the clocks back at least an hour or two.
She had returned home the night before worn out from her first day on set, but still needing to test run the cupcake recipe her sister had left for her on the kitchen island for the next day’s Sweet & Salty Challenge Round—when both she and Austin were required to present a recipe to the contestants. She knew Charlie and Austin weren’t technically in competition, but by the end of the first day it had sure felt that way.
The theme was “Holiday Party” and Charlie’s recipe was for an eggnog-inspired cupcake. Unfortunately, as Cass was measuring out the ingredients, feeling clumsy because nothing was where she expected it to be, she managed to spill a full cup of eggnog onto the handwritten recipe. The thick liquid ran the ink beyond legibility, and Charlie didn’t have enough eggnog in the fridge for Cass to start again. She had almost called her sister in a panic—but had stopped herself. She was a chef, too. She could fix this. She could figure this out. There was no need to upset Charlie, who had enough on her plate running a busy bakery.
She had started going through her sister’s cupboards looking for inspiration and had found dusty bottles of prosecco and Aperol tucked at the back of a cupboard, likely leftover from a holiday gathering Charlie once had. Cass’s favorite cocktail was the Aperol Spritz. The beverage—an Italian aperitif made by mixing bubbly prosecco and the bitter, red-colored liquor Aperol, then adding a twist of orange rind—was her idea of festive, with its lovely red hue and sparkling bubbles. This would be the perfect way to transform a humble cupcake into something that would impress everyone at Sweet & Salty, and outshine Austin.
Cass was used to the bakery’s traditional recipes: lemon and date squares, cinnamon rolls, pies, breads, classic cakes, and birthday cupcakes. She often added her own twist, like a shortbread crust and burnt sugar topping for her lemon squares, and orange zest and maple syrup in her date square crumble. But this was different. It was fun. As she worked late into the night, she kept adding new elements to the recipe to make it even more special. Her recipe waited on a rumpled and stained sheet of paper that was almost as illegible as the one she had spilled eggnog on—but she was sure she’d be able to explain it all to Sydney when she arrived on set. And by then, Charlie’s promised recipe file would have arrived and it would be smooth sailing for the rest of the week.
Cass rooted through Charlie’s cupboards for coffee, remembering as she reached for the canister that she’d used the last of it the day before. With a heavy sigh, Cass plodded toward the shower, which was filled with myriad smoothing, renewing, shine-infusing products. She ignored them all and stuck with shampoo and body wash. She put on some basic face cream—plucked from a cosmetics-crowded medicine cabinet—smoothed on some lip balm, pulled her still-wet hair into a messy bun, dressed in a pair of jeans she’d brought with her and a sweatshirt of Charlie’s, then grabbed the car keys and security pass.