“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 a lot like 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 loose boule into 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 if she needed 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 they kept 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 these boules into 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 welcome a little break.” She raised an eyebrow. “I think you should be on that Cabo holiday, not your parents.”
Cass smiled, already packing up the remaining lemon bars that were Faye’s favorite. The older woman often came to the bakery in the late afternoon, which was a less busy time and sometimes gave Cass a chance to share a coffee and a chat with Faye while Jake ran errands. “You know I can’t leave the bakery at this time of year.”