“I will.”
“And make sure you get the cinnamon bread at Dollywood.”
Dahlia rolled her eyes. “I know. For the tenth time.”
London hesitated.
“Dahlia?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t get a dog while I’m gone.”
Dahlia laughed and shoved them out the door.
“Go!”
The door clicked closed behind them.
Dahlia walked to the window, to make sure London made it down the steep stairs of their building safely to the street. They turned when they reached the sidewalk, squinted up into the slowly lightening sky, and waved at her, three floors up. Dahlia waved back, a little flutter in her stomach at the silly sweetness of it. She watched them step into their ride, waited as the car drove away down their tree-lined city street Dahlia loved so much. The street that had felt like home, from almost the first moment Dahlia saw it.
And then, a different flutter landed in her stomach at the knowledge that she had the place completely to herself for the next twenty-four hours, until Hank arrived tomorrow. She turned and walked straight into the office, determined to do what she had said and get some work done.
The office used to be London’s old roommate Eddy’s room. He had moved out when Dahlia had moved in, which she had felt horrible about. London assured her Eddy was trying to move in with his own girlfriend anyway. Dahlia hadn’t felt too bad about it for long, though. It had been a relief to return to as-loud-as-Dahlia-wanted sex, wherever and whenever they wanted to have it.
She dug her toes into the high-pile rug she’d placed in the center of the office. She hadn’t brought many things with her to Nashville from New Bedford, but she was glad she’d brought this, a little bit of good from her old life to mingle with the new.
Her eyes drifted to a photo on the desk while the computer loaded. It was of London’s family on the set of Chef’s Special, soon after London had been pronounced the winner. Glitter was still falling from the ceiling. Julie was clinging to London’s arms, with Charlotte, Jackie, and Sara leaning in close by and smiling wide.
London’s dad was in the photo too, at the very edge, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
Dahlia was excited for many things this weekend: having alone time today, introducing Hank to her new home. But she was also intrigued to attend Sunday supper at the Parkers’。 London had assured her she didn’t have to go while they were in New York, especially since Hank was visiting. But Dahlia wanted to. She loved Sunday suppers; Sunday suppers were loud and happy and fun. Plus, she was convinced Hank and Julie were going to hit it off immediately.
But she also maybe had a secret mission this weekend. She just wanted to make sure. That London’s dad would still use the right words, even when London wasn’t around.
Tom Parker had chosen the right side of London’s ultimatum upon returning to Nashville. The Chef’s Special finale had apparently been the wake-up call he needed, and he was working on atonement. Things were still awkward, at times, but London was feeling good about it, so Dahlia tried to be supportive. Meaning, she smiled at their dad now when they were all together. Sometimes.
But if he showed his true colors without the pressure of London being in the same room, Dahlia was prepared to awaken the lioness.
When the computer loaded, Dahlia opened the draft of her review of the new barbecue place in Germantown. She read approximately two sentences before her brain went pppfffffttt. No thank you.
Dahlia pushed back from the chair. New plan.
Sustenance first.
She padded into the kitchen over the hardwood floors. She knew they had a decent amount of assorted leftover veggies, and London got the prettiest local eggs each week from the co-op. And, she remembered as she opened the fridge, London had picked up that fresh bacon this week, too.
Damn. This was going to be a good frittata.
Dahlia heaved the cast iron skillet onto the stove.
She wondered if London was at the airport yet. If they were listening to music and letting themself relax.
Her heart felt back to normal as she assembled ingredients. She was especially looking forward, she realized, to cooking by herself this weekend. Dahlia loved cooking with London. But she had missed this, too.
She put on some music, already starting to sway her hips to it as she worked. She studied the food in front of her. Started to plan her building blocks.
There was something essential missing, though.
Dahlia opened the fridge again and rummaged through the vegetable drawer. Ah, there. All the way in the back. She grabbed the onion and brought it over to the cutting board, its papery skin already starting to unravel.