She stood in the middle of the Golden Circle in front of the judges’ station, which was now graced with a dollar-store CONGRATULATIONS! banner, the metallic colors of each letter glinting under the studio lights.
London could see, even from the back of the set, that Dahlia’s knuckles were white as she held them in front of her, worrying the black tulle of her skirt.
London stuffed their hands in their pockets.
They made their way between the two mega stations, still set up from the finale.
They tried not to smile too hard, but the champagne and adrenaline still in their system were making it difficult.
Dahlia twirled around before they could reach her. She jumped behind the judges’ table, moving plates and utensils.
London stopped when they got there. They looked down at her spread.
London was never going to forget this day.
“You made me barbecue.”
“Stop smiling like that,” Dahlia snapped. “You don’t even know if it’s good.”
London smiled harder. “What a ridiculous statement. Of course I do.” They examined the dishes closer. “You made my favorite sides. How did you know my favorite sides? I don’t think I told you.”
Dahlia plopped herself in Audra Carnegie’s seat and waved an impatient hand.
“Julie comments on all of your posts. I know how to use the internet. It wasn’t hard.”
“And we’re sitting at the judges’ table. That seems bold.”
“I thought . . . ” Dahlia swallowed. “I thought you deserved the best table.” She picked up her glass of white wine and then put it down again without taking a drink.
London glanced at the glass of red placed next to their plate.
“You know, we should really be drinking beer with barbecue, not wine.”
“I don’t know what kind of beer you like, and I’d already bugged Julie about too much stuff ! And . . . I’ve never seen you drink beer!” Dahlia shouted, her voice on the verge of hysterics.
She closed her eyes and took a breath. London almost felt bad. Maybe they were being mean. They were too happy to have any sort of perspective. They loved that she was snapping at them while trying to pull off this nice thing. How had she even pulled this off ? She must have been here ever since the finale finished. She had a streak of barbecue sauce on her cheek. She was so, so pretty. London had missed her so much.
“Are you going to sit down, or what? The food’s getting cold.”
London sat down.
“So I obviously didn’t have a lot of time to marinate or smoke the ribs, although I did start them earlier, back in the kitchen at the hotel, but still, they might not be as good as what you’re used to. And when I asked Julie how you liked the mac ’n’ cheese, she just said, ‘I don’t know dude, it’s mac ’n’ cheese,’ which was really not helpful at all—”
“Dahlia,” London said.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her shoulders suddenly sinking. “I’m so sorry I left. For everything I said. I wish I could . . . I—”
London was at her side immediately.
“You already said sorry,” they said. “With the Rice Krispies treats. Thank you, by the way.”
“Did the package smell bad?” She was still whispering.
“So bad.” London smiled. Dahlia smiled a little then, too, but her eyes were wet at the edges.
“Dahlia, I’m sorry, too.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t—”
“Dahlia. Let us both be sorry. Let’s be very sorry people eating barbecue. Okay?”
She bit her lip, the skin around her eyes creased in concern. London drew a finger down the side of her cheek until it landed on those worried lips.
Automatically, as if she couldn’t help herself, Dahlia opened her mouth and bit down, the grip of her teeth on their fingertips so sharp and gentle at once that London visibly shivered.
Removing their hand, they made themself lean back into their own chair again and look at the food. She had clearly worked hard, and none of it would get eaten if there was any further action of lips and teeth. Their system was already starting to spiral.
“Dahlia, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know that I even deserve this.”
“London,” Dahlia said, sounding exasperated. “Seriously, you won Chef’s Special. Just . . . fucking eat.”
And then she laughed again, at herself. It sounded better this time, more real. London picked up their fork. They were about to dig in to the mac ’n’ cheese, or the potato salad, when they spotted another dish on the table.