London, who was an audio engineer. Dahlia didn’t even really know what that meant, but she was pretty sure you could win an Oscar for it, which was more interesting than anything she had ever done. London from Nashville.
London, who was a better cook than her.
London, who had the realest chance of all of them, probably, of winning. London, who wanted to do good in this world, who volunteered their time doing farm labor just because, who wanted to make things better for queer kids. London, who came out to an entire table of strangers on their very first night in town.
London Parker was talented and brave and just irritatingly cute, and Dahlia could envision it now, crystal clear even as her head swam with blurry regrets. London, a few weeks from now, holding one of those ginormous replica checks in their hands. They were smiling for the cameras while confetti rained down on their strawberry hair. Sai Patel handed them a trophy, sparkling under the studio lights, and shook their hand with pride.
And Dahlia . . . She couldn’t see herself. Was she there? Somewhere on the sidelines? Or was she in Maryland, begging for her old job back, figuring out which bills she could pay that month?
Or maybe she was simply a blank space, an empty canvas, atoms floating aimlessly across the landscape, each one trying to forget that foolish time she went to LA on a hope and a prayer, each one hopelessly trying to erase the memories of a person who wanted her to believe she could have it all.
CHAPTER NINE
London knew it. They’d screwed it up. They never should have invited Dahlia to crash that wedding.
She was being super weird today, in a way that was different from her other subdued moods. When they saw her in the morning at craft services before filming started, they’d asked how the rest of her weekend had gone, and she’d said, “Oh, good. Fine. Good. Yeah, you know, totally fine.” And then she had forced a smile that looked like she had just tasted something gross but was trying to be polite about it.
She didn’t ask how London’s Sunday was. Which was fine, because their only answer would have been staring at my phone wondering if I could text you again.
Throughout the entire day of filming, through another Face-Off—London had been paired with Jacob, and they’d kicked that guy’s ass—and another Ingredient Innovation, Dahlia kept looking at them. And then looking quickly away when London made eye contact. And then she’d look at them again, until the feel of Dahlia’s eyeballs made London paranoid there was something on their face. She was . . . twitchy.
London should have let it go. But for some reason, they found themself waiting for her to get out of the solo interview set at the end of the day. They didn’t know if another attempt at normal conversation would work at this point, so they got desperate.
“Ay, mate.” They jumped into step with her as she exited the set and walked toward the studio door. “Jammy day, eh?”
Dahlia stopped, so London did, too. She turned and stared at them.
“Uh . . .” London scratched at their neck. “How no yeez and me go, uh—”
“London,” Dahlia interrupted. “What the hell are you doing?”
London frowned. “My finest Tanner Tavish impression, obviously.”
Dahlia stared at them a moment more. And then, finally, hallelujah, she started laughing.
London pushed open the studio door.
“Tanner Tavish does not use whatever words you were just saying,” Dahlia said, following.
“I know. And that’s why I think he’s full of shit.”
“What do you mean?”
“That dude is not from Scotland,” London said.
Dahlia laughed again. “And how do you know that?”
“His accent is all wonky. I doubt his name is even Tanner Tavish. I think his whole”—London waved their hand—“thing is an act.”
“So you’re an expert on Scottish people?”
London shrugged, stuffing their hands in their pockets as they walked toward the hotel. “Nah. Just an expert on eejits. And Tanner Tavish is most definitely one of those.”
Dahlia shook her head, smiling. “He’s a pretty hot eejit, though.”
London frowned again. “He’s not that hot.”
Dahlia crossed her arms over her chest as they walked. London was feeling surprisingly grumpy about this pretty hot comment, but at least Dahlia was talking to them again.
“Do you think they always knew they wanted to be chefs? Tanner and Audra and Sai?”
London shrugged. “Maybe. Sai definitely; I watched a documentary about him a while ago.”