They felt they should say something, give something in return for this small gift.
“The chips are very good.”
Although they couldn’t stop themself from adding: “The guac is just fine, though. I could make better.”
Dahlia’s smile grew, just a fraction. “I bet you could.”
London glanced at her, unsure whether she was making fun of them or giving them a compliment. Her eyes looked genuine. They were a shade of brown that was right smack in between the darkness of her hair and the tan of her skin, making her face, in general, a perfect palette.
Just a pure bourbon observation.
“Can I ask what you would do?” Dahlia asked, looking at them. “If you won?”
Finally, an easy question.
“I would use the money to start a nonprofit. For LGBTQ kids, back in Tennessee.”
“You’re from Tennessee?”
London nodded. “Nashville.”
Dahlia smiled again, but she looked down at the table as she did it. She readjusted her dress, dragged the purple material back up over her shoulder. London ignored the tiny spark of loss that dragged under their skin.
“Hank has always wanted to go to Nashville. He loves country music. Named himself after Hank Williams.”
London watched her pick up a chip, place it on its edge on the tabletop. She held it there with her fingertips, making no move to bring it to her mouth.
“That’s really noble,” she said. “The nonprofit thing.”
“I mean, I have no idea how to actually start a nonprofit,” London said automatically, embarrassed. Because Jesus, they didn’t want to be seen as noble. That felt gross. “But . . . yeah, I’d like to try.”
“That’s great.”
London had never seen a sadder tableau than Dahlia Woodson staring at that chip, unmoving.
“Hank should go,” they said, deciding suddenly to make a real effort. At not being a jerk. At drawing Dahlia back out from wherever she had disappeared in the last five minutes. “To Nashville. It’s a great place.”
“Yeah,” she said, half-heartedly.
“What would you do with the money if you won?” London asked.
If it was possible, Dahlia became even more still.
“I have a lot of debt,” she said finally, shrugging. “It turns out divorce is expensive. And I have student loans, and . . . ” She trailed off. “I don’t know. Some money would be nice.”
Wait. This woman was divorced? She couldn’t be much older than London, and they were only twenty-six.
Maybe London, in fact, knew very little about Dahlia Woodson.
“Anyway, I should probably go. Sorry for interrupting you.”
Dahlia stood abruptly, draining the last of her bourbon as she went, leaning down to grab her bag. She dropped some bills on the table and then paused, fiddling with the strap of the bag.
“So, this is embarrassing,” she said, not meeting their eye. “But I’m not one hundred percent sure. It’s London, right? There were so many new people to meet today, and I was nervous, and—”
“Yeah. It’s London.” And then they added, dumbly, like they were reciting roll call in school, “London Parker.”
She smiled, just a little.
“I’m Dahlia.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Oh. Right. Okay. Sorry again. See you tomorrow, London Parker.”
London felt strange after she left, a little lonely, maybe, even though they had come here to be alone. They chugged the rest of their bourbon before paying their tab, not caring to linger in this bar any longer, too close to the knowledge of how much they liked the sound of Dahlia’s voice saying their name.
CHAPTER THREE
Janet’s hand landed on Dahlia’s shoulder the next morning, five minutes after the cameras turned off for a break.
“Dahlia, honey,” she said. “Time for your first interview.”
The frames of Janet’s glasses were purple today. She smiled reassuringly.
Dahlia took a breath. She had just lived through her first Face-Off challenge, where each contestant squared off against another to complete a basic culinary task. The winners of each Face-Off gained advantages for later challenges.
Dahlia had lost her Face-Off. To Lizzie, of all people. Which sucked. It sucked real hard.
And she had a slight bourbon headache.
Still, she hadn’t fallen on her face so far today.
And she hadn’t made a further fool of herself in front of London Parker. Dahlia was determined to look like less of an idiot in front of them from this moment forward.