They knew the way her face looked when she laughed, how her eyes beamed out joy when she tasted something she loved.
She was wearing a cheerfully bright yellow tank top today. But the Dahlia Woodson on set now seemed diminished. Quiet.
Most likely, it had nothing to do with London, or their conversation last night. Even if London had spent more minutes than they cared to admit contemplating whether they actually had been a jerk yesterday. Or thinking about the look on her face when she talked about money, her debt, how they wished, somehow, that they could erase it.
Not that, again, it was any of their business.
Dahlia was probably just quieter today because her nerves were settling down, because she was getting focused. Like London should be doing.
They were wandering through the pantry, waiting for the Ingredient Innovation to finally start, while Janet pulled contestants aside for solo interviews and the judges shot cheesy B-roll for the show’s corporate sponsors. The Ingredient Innovation was the most creatively demanding segment of the show, and London was antsy about it. The judges presented an oddball or lesser-used ingredient, and the contestants had to produce a small plate—usually a side dish or a simple dessert—that featured the ingredient and didn’t taste like garbage. London had always been good at following recipes with precision, at improvising with ingredients they were familiar with, but the element of surprise stressed them out. They knew the Elimination Challenges were the big cooks that really counted, but the judges took into account the skill and creativity shown during the Ingredient Innovations, too, before they made their final decision at the end of each episode. London had to get their head in the game, if they wanted to keep landing on the right side of those final decisions.
And yet—as if the universe was determined to put Dahlia Woodson in the way of London’s focus—there she was, standing stock still in front of the card catalog of spices in the pantry, clutching a tiny notebook to her chest. London watched her for a moment, intently inspecting the card catalog, which had been painted seafoam green before being repurposed to spice storage. It was pretty cool. But there was a lot of cool stuff on this set.
Dahlia was transfixed.
And for some reason, instead of turning and walking the other way, London stepped closer. “Hey,” they said. “You okay?”
Dahlia’s eyes didn’t stray from the card catalog, but she nodded.
“I just,” she whispered, “I just love it so much.”
Something about the way she whispered this was so cute that London knew, with a twinge of helplessness, that they were no longer mad at her, really, for faking cramps.
“Yeah,” they agreed. “Me too.”
They stared together at the card catalog in silence for a minute more.
“I really wanted to beat her,” Dahlia said suddenly.
“Lizzie?” London had felt bad when they saw Dahlia hadn’t won her Face-Off this morning. But the Face-Offs weren’t even that big a deal. Sometimes the advantages were pretty helpful, especially later on in the competition, but they were mainly just dramatics.
Although they had been glad, if they were being honest, that it was Dahlia who had to face off against Lizzie today, and not them. That they had had the good fortune of being paired with Cath. Who had kicked their ass in the Face-Off, assembling her California rolls way faster—London had been too concerned about being neat with them—and punched their arm in victory when the timer buzzed. Their arm was still a little sore, actually, but it had made them laugh.
It was true, though, what they had told Dahlia last night about Lizzie. They just needed some space to get over the meet-and-greet dinner. You couldn’t let transphobes keep you down forever.
“Yeah.” Dahlia nodded, her brow furrowing. “She was soniceto me.” She was still hugging her notebook to her chest. “It was irritating.”
A small smile crept onto London’s face.
“I know what the first secret ingredient is, for the innovation challenge,” Dahlia said a few seconds later, changing subjects abruptly. London was almost getting used to it now, never knowing what Dahlia was going to say next. “I saw a crew member moving some stuff around.”
“Really?” London turned to her. “What is it?”
If Dahlia were a smart competitor, she wouldn’t even be telling them this. But she opened her mouth without hesitation. “Spam.”
“Huh.” London turned back to the spice cabinet, their mind already whirring. “That seems like a bit of a softball. Spam’s easy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
They stood for another few moments in silence, until London started to feel awkward. “All right, I’m going to head back out there.” They motioned behind their shoulder with their thumb. “You just going to stand here staring at this thing until they call us back?”
Dahlia nodded. “Yep.”
London stuck their hands in their pockets and tried to hide another grin. On a whim, they turned back to her once they’d reached the pantry doorway.
“Hey, Dahlia?”
“Yeah?” She finally tore her eyes from the card catalog to look over at them.
