Love & Other Disasters
Anita Kelly
About the Author
Originally from a small town in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, Anita Kelly currently makes their home in the Pacific Northwest, the perfect setting for wandering the woods, drinking too much tea, and dreaming of stories. A librarian by day, they write romance that celebrates queer love in all its infinite possibilities. They hope you get to pet a dog today.
To learn more about Anita and their books, visit anitakellywrites.com, or follow Anita on Twitter @daffodilly and Instagram @anitakellywrites.
Praise for Love & Other Disasters:
‘Kelly will whet your appetite from the first page, capping off the wonderful feast with the absolute sweetest of happy-ever-afters. A delectable queer romance’ Kirkus
‘Kelly’s sweet debut novel turns up the heat . . . the characters spark with chemistry. The heartwarming result will leave readers eager for more from Kelly’
Publisher’s Weekly
‘Anita Kelly has the perfect recipe for romance’ Ruby Barrett
‘Sweet and sexy and wholly delicious. I’m head over heels for these two delightful disasters’ Rachel Lynn Solomon ‘This story is both fantastically fun and crack your heart wide open vulnerable. I can’t wait to buy it for everyone I’ve ever met’ Rosie Danan ‘With only one book, Anita Kelly has landed among my all-time favorite authors’
Meryl Wilsner
About the Book
Recently divorced Dahlia Woodson is ready to reinvent herself and she’s found the perfect opportunity: the hit cooking competition show Chef’s Special. Falling flat on her face on the first day is admittedly not the best start, but Dahlia isn’t going to let it mess up her focus.
London Parker is also there to win. As the first non-binary contestant on Chef’s Special, they have a lot to prove, and they have enough on their mind without being distracted by the pretty contestant who crashed into them on Day One and hasn’t really stopped talking since.
After filming a few episodes, Dahlia and London grow closer and things get a little steamy as they spend more time together outside of the show.
Suddenly winning isn’t as important as either of them thought, but when their relationship starts to feel the heat both in and out of the kitchen, Dahlia and London realise that love doesn’t always follow a recipe.
For Meryl & Rosie
CHAPTER ONE
Dahlia Woodson might have been shit at marriage, but she could dice an onion like a goddamn professional.
The first even slices, the cross hatching. The comfort in how logical and perfect it was. Dahlia had put in the work, onion after onion, until she could create consistent knife cuts every time. Until she trusted her hand, her knife, without having to think about it at all: fast and efficient and right.
When Dahlia stepped onto the set of Chef’s Special in Burbank, California, on a Tuesday morning in late July, she thought about onions.
She certainly couldn’t focus on the mahogany floor under her feet, how it positively gleamed. Or how high the ceilings were, far higher than she had imagined, than seemed necessary. Like some sort of sports stadium. For food nerds.
And the lights—sweet holy Moses.
It felt like walking into an airport terminal after a long cross-country flight: everything too fast, too loud, too full of new.
Except the set of Chef’s Special wasn’t new, not exactly. Dahlia had seen it before, back home on her TV set. But it was different in person. More overwhelming, more surreal.
She approached the soaring wooden archway that marked the rear edge of the set. It was majestic and unmistakable, like the doorway of a cathedral, if a kitchen could be a church.
She shuffled around it, staring in awe, dazzled by the shining lights above. And a second later, smacked herself right into a solid wall of person.
A person who released a displeased grunt at Dahlia’s face implanting into their chest.
Dahlia bounced back a step, a rubber ball of embarrassment, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Blinking up, she watched as the other contestant ran a freckled hand through their strawberry hair. It was buzz cut on the sides, longer on top, and when their hand released, a flop of it fell back over their right eyebrow.
Dahlia cleared five feet, but barely. And this person was tall. That eyebrow hovered what felt like a full floor above her.
But it was cute, the strawberry hair. It made Dahlia think of leaves changing color in the fall, and Anne of Green Gables, and sunsets reflected off of still water. They hadn’t moved since her face met their chest, and the nearness of another body felt grounding somehow, like when your eyes lock onto someone in Arrivals you recognize, the cacophony of the airport finally settling around you.