Also, while you may have found in other communities that Makewell’s moves in and takes over the lion’s share of the market, I am sure you will not find that in Starlight Peak.
You may think you know every single aspect of your market, but you don’t know my town, and you certainly don’t know my bakery.
Cass paused for a moment, then typed one last line.
Basically what I’m saying is: you can take your offer and shove it. I will not be entertaining offers from you of any kind, and I certainly will not be working for you as a consultant.
Sincerely,
CASSANDRA GOODWIN
PRESIDENT AND CEO
WOODBURN BREADS
She thought for a moment, then added a postscript:
By the way, I recently suffered a head injury and have been dealing with the aftereffects of a concussion. What you tasted yesterday is not an accurate representation of the signature recipe that is Starlight loaf.
Cass stopped typing, her anger now spent. It had felt good in the moment, but she knew this was not the type of e-mail you actually sent. This was the kind of e-mail you saved in your Drafts folder to think about for a few hours, before editing out the parts that said “shove it.”
Her hand shook slightly as she moved the mouse to ‘x’ away the e-mail. She waited for the “Save this message as a draft?” pop-up. But there was none.
“Oh, damn it.” The draft mailbox was empty. However, there the e-mail was, in her Sent Items folder. The message had been sent, a nasty Reply All to Sarah at Makewell’s and some of the other executives copied on the e-mail. Plus, now that she was looking at it more closely, she noticed her parents’ e-mail addresses had also been cc’d.
“Oh no.” An e-mail containing the phrase, “You can take your offer and shove it,” had been sent out far and wide. Then she realized something, and she looked back at the e-mail.
The thing was, it didn’t feel all bad. In fact, it felt kind of great. She stood and stared at the screen. What did she care what anyone at Makewell’s thought of her? She’d meant what she’d written, hadn’t she? She would protect her family’s legacy and those recipes however she could. And she did want Sarah to take her offer and shove it. Cass snapped the laptop shut and strode from the room.
There were many things in her life—and in Charlie’s life—she had no control over right now. But it didn’t have to stay that way. She pulled on some clothes and went downstairs.
“Hey, Walter?”
“Morning, Cass.”
“Would you mind holding down the fort here? I have to figure out how we’re going to solve the problem of the sourdough starter, which is upstairs looking dire. Can you see how those dried strips from the freezer are doing now?”
“I’ve got them going, but you know it will still be a few days until we can bake with them. And Christmas is—”
“I know. Christmas is in two days. I promise, I’ll think of something. And Charlie will be here at some point this morning to help out with everything else.”
“Okay,” Walter said, but he didn’t sound okay at all. Cass swallowed her guilt as she walked out the door. The bakery was her life—but she had another life she had to attend to: her personal life.
* * *
? ? ?
Outside, Cass walked quickly along the sidewalk.
“Morning, Charlie,” said Mark Anderson, an old acquaintance from high school who ran a karate dojo down the street from the bakery.
“Morning, Mark,” Cass replied. “But it’s Cass, actually.”
She knew why Mark had mistaken her for Charlie, though: because she seemed more confident, more sure of herself than usual. She was not going to allow this to change. She was finished with pretending to be her sister and knew it was time for them to finally grow up and never switch places again—but she also knew that she was going to be forever changed by the past week, and not just because of her new tattoo.
She had to be. Or she was never going to have the life she knew was possible.
* * *
? ? ?
Brett was still in his pajamas when he answered the door of the house he had purchased for them just a week ago. As she had approached it Cass had realized something: it was not the perfect house for her. But it was the perfect house for Brett, and she hoped he planned to keep it.
His hair was rumpled and he looked confused when he saw her. “Cass? What are you doing here?” Then he looked closely at her. For a moment she felt nervous—but then realized she had nothing to be nervous about. For the first time in a long while she wasn’t going to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.