London picked up another lemon.
It matched the color of the tank top Dahlia had worn yesterday perfectly.
She was wearing a raspberry-colored sweatshirt and floral-patterned shorts today. The sleeves of her sweatshirt had been pushed up her forearms when she reached back to grab London’s hand, but the fabric had still brushed their arm for a second, soft and comforting. Her hair was up in that ridiculous bun. She’d put it up right before she started taking notes during Audra’s demonstration. An escaped ribbon of it had fallen over her eyes when she’d leaned over to examine London’s thumb. London had wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.
Oh god.
London wanted Dahlia Woodson.
They sliced a third lemon, for no good reason at all.
They had wanted her, probably, from the moment they first saw her, but the last twenty minutes had really slapped them across the face with it, and this was dumb. London couldn’t remember the last time they had wanted someone real, someone beyond thirst traps on the internet, and now they were in lust with this woman who stood less than ten feet away from them, who they might not ever see again if they were kicked off today anyway, who was recently divorced, from a dude probably, who was a distraction they did not need.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
London hadn’t dated since they first came out as nonbinary three years ago. Dating while nonbinary felt confusing and intimidating, even though they knew there had to be some dating apps out there with trans-friendly options available. Right? Right. But they still felt so messy inside, most of the time, and on a related note, London hated halibut.
They cooked it anyway. Grudgingly.
Once the hour was up, the cameras turned off for a brief break, and Dahlia turned around.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
London felt a surprising urge to grunt at her again. God, they were a jerk.
“Sure,” they said.
She stepped toward them. “It was the rib cage, right?”
They nodded, feeling their cheeks flush.
Dahlia held out her palm, traced a white line that ran right near her left thumb. “The first time I tried to gut a fish.” She smiled. “Tricky bastards.”
London wanted to lift that hand and run their tongue along that scar. And then move to that mouth, smiling and red and full, her lips the same color as her sweatshirt, the teeth behind them blinding.
They swallowed.
“Yeah. It was a pretty big mistake, though.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter if your food’s still good. And it looks great.”
She nodded at London’s plate. She was lying. It did not look great. Her face looked great.
“Thanks. For, you know.” London lifted their bandaged hand. Although they didn’t know why they were still talking. They wished for this conversation to end, desperately, so they could return to stewing about the other contestants and not talking to anyone ever except maybe Cath and Ahmed and definitely only thinking about food and food only.
“Oh, of course.” Dahlia smiled again. And then that old woman, Barbara, was at her side, chattering in her ear, and Dahlia turned away, and London let out a breath.
Judging began shortly afterward, and god, but judging was boring. London admired the judges’ ability to continually eat cold food, but their feet started to go numb after so much standing around and waiting. The only upside was watching Dahlia’s dish get judged, how glowing the reviews were. And even though London couldn’t see her face as Sai and Audra and even Tanner complimented her, they watched her hands behind her back, squeezing each other until they were white.
And they could see, too, as she walked away from the Golden Circle, how she was trying to school her features and act calm, but the corner of her raspberry-colored mouth kept twitching, her eyes bright.
She caught their eye as she rounded the corner to her station. London should have grunted at her again, probably—they understood this immediately a second later—but they were an idiot. They smiled at her.
And her face exploded. Like when she had tasted the tortilla chips for the first time in the bar, but better. Jesus, those teeth.
And then she faced forward again, and London bottled it inside of them, that smile.
The judges’ reviews of London’s dish were not as stellar, but to their surprise, they weren’t awful, either. When it came time for winners and losers, London was solidly in the middle of the pack. They had never felt more grateful to be mediocre.
The judges always called the top three contestants to the Golden Circle first, before choosing the bottom three. Dahlia, Khari, and Ayesha were the top three today, but it wasn’t really a question. Dahlia won.