“Nothing caramelizes like cast iron,” Charlie said, putting a hand under the pan until the assistant reset his grip. On the menu today was a cupcake variation of a pineapple upside-down cake with a spiced bourbon sauce to keep it holiday themed, and Charlie knew the cast iron would be best to coax out the fruit’s sticky dark syrup, which was necessary to showcase the dessert’s complexity.
“Thanks, Charlie. Sasha said to grab a few.” Nathan reached up again for another of the cast-iron pans, then turned back to her. “Can I just say? You’re so natural on camera. You’re really funny, too, you know? And the only one to suggest the cast iron instead—”
Charlie wasn’t sure exactly how it happened, but a second later the entire shelving unit—where dozens of pans were stored—was tipping over. There was a moment where Charlie thought she and Nathan would be able to stop the shelf’s trajectory, both of them putting their hands out to try and brace the metal unit. They might have been successful, if not for the pots and pans—unanchored on the shelves—obeying the dictates of gravity. The entire unit toppled toward them. Nathan shouted something she couldn’t hear above the calamitous noise of all that metal hitting the floor. Then Charlie felt a deep, sharp pain in her head before everything went black.
* * *
? ? ?
Charlie opened her eyes slowly. Someone was crying, but she couldn’t figure out who it was because she couldn’t make her eyes focus. She also had the worst headache of her life, and felt nauseated and fuzzy all over. She tried to lift her arm to her head, and then realized she was on the floor. Someone was holding her other hand—the same person who was crying, it seemed. There were a lot of voices adding to the confusion. Charlie let her eyes close, wishing everyone would just stop talking.
“Charlie? Can you hear me? Charlie, babe, open those gorgeous brown eyes of yours.” Priya sounded panicked. Charlie wondered what had happened. “Let’s get these off you.” Charlie opened her eyes and glanced down to see what Priya was doing, which was to remove the swaths of fake holly and branches of snow-crusted cranberries that lay across her skirt. Why was she on the ground, under a blanket of Christmas decorations?
“Priya, stop crying.” As Charlie’s vision improved, the makeup artist’s worried face finally came into view, only a few inches from her own.
“Oh my God! You’re okay. You’re okay.” Priya launched herself onto Charlie and held her in a bear hug. Then she pulled back and gently slapped her on her upper arm. “You scared the heck out of me!”
“Here. Help me up,” Charlie said, grabbing clumsily for her friend’s hands. This headache was like none she’d had before, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. As a relative nondrinker, she had felt pain like this only once before. Charlie and her identical twin sister, Cass （who handled alcohol much better than she did）， had drunk two bottles of champagne the night before Charlie left for L.A. It had been the most miserable drive the next morning, with Charlie having to pull over multiple times on the trip from Starlight Peak to Santa Monica to be sick. She hadn’t touched champagne, or really any alcohol, since that day.
“Stay down a minute longer, Charlie,” a male voice to her right said. She turned to see the show’s medic—whose name was escaping her but who had bandaged up one of the contestants yesterday after she’d flayed her palm with a knife trying to cut a mango. He had a daughter, and a dog with a funny name . . . What is his name?
Charlie was horrified to see all the faces leaning over her. Including Austin, who—unlike the rest of the group—appeared almost pleased. “What happened?” she asked.
Standing by Charlie’s feet, Sasha frowned. She glanced at the medic, who was feeling around Charlie’s scalp. Charlie’s high ponytail had been loosened and some wavy dark blond strands were in her eyes. She tried to brush them away, but the medic told her to stay still.
“You don’t remember?” Sasha asked.
Charlie tried to recall any sort of memory about why she was on the floor in the stockroom. Then she saw Nathan sitting against the wall, a bandage on his forehead and a sling on his arm. He looked worse than she felt. “Is Nathan okay?”
“An entire shelving unit of pots fell onto your head, Charlie! You could have died!” Priya was wringing her hands, her glossy plum-colored nails going around and around. Charlie loved her friend, but she was known for her dramatic flair—both with her makeup brushes and her personality. As claustrophobia crept in, Charlie wished everyone would leave so she could pull herself together in private.