“What Charlie does is so cool. And I was wondering if maybe I could talk to her? About the show? I have some career-related questions.”
Charlie smiled. She had been a lot like Walter when she was his age, already focused on her future career as well. “I’m sure she’d be happy to talk with you. But what questions? Maybe I can help?”
Walter turned the gingerbread dough out onto the countertop. “School is sort of frustrating. I don’t exactly blend in, as you know.” He shrugged, and Charlie wondered what he meant. Maybe because he was a seventeen-year-old guy who preferred kneading dough and crafting confections at 5:30 a.m. side-by-side with his boss than spending time with kids his own age, doing typical teenager things. And Charlie had the sense by looking at him, with his lanky and still-scrawny frame, that athletics probably weren’t his strong suit. High school was tough at the best of times, even when you were popular enough.
But she needed to act like Cass, who obviously knew all of this already, so she nodded in agreement. “Sure.”
“I love working here, but sometimes I just want to get out of Starlight Peak, you know? I thought, maybe, I could ask Charlie about internships for these shows?”
“You want to be on television?” Charlie asked, closing up the containers of candy. Walter continued rolling out the dough, his movements efficient and smooth.
“Well . . . maybe.” He smiled, and she noticed he was blushing. “But it’s not just that. Charlie’s such a talented pastry chef.” Suddenly, he looked even more embarrassed. “And so are you, Cass. I mean it. I’ve learned so much from you.”
Charlie laughed. “Don’t worry, I get it. Lemon squares and gingerbread houses aren’t exactly challenging. I get a little bored sometimes, too.” Though she felt that way, she wondered if Cass was content baking the same offerings, week after week.
“But you’re amazing at what you do,” Walter said, so earnestly. “You always tell me the truly talented pastry chef is one who can master the basics and understand the fundamentals rather than all the . . . What is it you call it?”
Charlie had no clue. “Um . . .”
“Razzle-dazzle! That’s what you always say. That those fancy restaurant desserts and the ones on television are just a lot of razzle-dazzle.”
“Right,” Charlie said, her smile fading. Was that really what Cass thought of her work?
“I want to go to culinary school, like Charlie, and I thought that between working here and getting some experience on a show like Sweet and Salty, well, I’d have an easier time getting in?”
“I’d be happy to write you a glowing reference.”
Charlie bent down to check on the lemon squares she’d put in the oven earlier. “I don’t know how anyone lives in Starlight Peak past high school, to be honest.” She froze, realizing her mistake. “I mean, I don’t know how anyone who wants to be a world-class pastry chef lives here forever.”
“But you’re world-class! And you live here not because you have to, but because you want to.”
Charlie considered that. It had been years since she’d left Starlight Peak, and her family always assumed she would be the one to go because her aspirations stretched beyond what the bakery could offer. That meant that Cass, who had never expressed a desire to leave their hometown, would stay and help their parents with Woodburn Breads. But now Charlie wondered if Cass ever felt stifled here. If it really had been as easy for her to stay as it had been for Charlie to leave.
Charlie pushed aside this niggling doubt, and the hint of guilt that came with it, and smiled at Walter. “Listen, I know Charlie would love to talk to you. I promise to hook you two up as soon as the show wraps and we get through the holidays, okay?”
“Thanks, Cass.” Walter was about to go back to his dough rolling when the bakery’s phone rang. “Happy Holidays! Woodburn Breads, Walter speaking.”
A moment later he held out the handset. “It’s for you.”
Charlie slid off her oven mitts, then took the handset from Walter. “Char—Cass speaking.” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, annoyed at her endless mistakes. By the time she finally got the hang of things, it would be time to switch back.
“Cass?” A familiar voice greeted her.
“Hey, Jake.” Her stomach flip-flopped, and she glanced over at Walter, who seemed oblivious to her change in demeanor.
“I hope I’m not calling too early,” he said. Then she heard him muffle the phone on his end while he spoke with someone. “Before I forget, Gran would like to order a dozen lemon squares for her book club. Clearly that’s the priority here this morning . . . at six-thirty a.m.”