Dahlia laughed, a bit breathless, tinkling delightfully in London’s ear.
“What?”
“For kicking you off in the first place.”
“London. I think it was a joint decision.”
“Yeah, but I really want to blame that guy for something.”
Dahlia hummed in amusement against their cheek.
“I suppose,” London said on a slight sigh, “I can’t give anyone onChef’s Specialtoo much shit anymore, considering they’re giving me $100,000. Well, minus all the taxes.”
“London.” Dahlia pushed them gently away from her neck, so she could beam at them. “Your nonprofit.”
“Oh yeah.” London found themself beaming right back. “I’ve had some ideas. God, I have so much to tell you.”
Dahlia blinked, her eyes suddenly misty.
“I can’t wait,” she whispered.
“Dahlia.” London shook their head, still smiling. “You are so tall right now.” They ran a thumb over her cheek. “It feels funny.”
Dahlia released another puff of laughter, release and relief and joy wrapped together in the small, wonderful sound.
“I know,” she said, sounding so much more like herself. “I can’t believe you walk around like this all the time. I feel drunk with power.”
And then, as if to prove it, she wrapped both of her legs around London’s hips, pulling them as close as they could possibly be, and kissed them so hard and deep that London couldn’t even control the growl that came out of their chest.
Their brain blanked, all the pressure and excitement of the day wiped away, replaced with nothing but white heat and pleasure, spirals of comfort and contentment radiating into their limbs. Their heart beat, steady and solid in their chest,yes, yes, yeswith each thud.
Dahlia tore her mouth away, but London wasn’t letting her get away this time. They hugged her tighter, moved their lips to her earlobe, sucked it into their mouth through their teeth.
“London.” She dropped her legs from their waist. “I hate to stop this, but . . . the food’s getting cold. And if I worked so frantically on all of this without it getting eaten, I’ll cry.” She pushed lightly against their stomach.
“Fiiiine.”
London admitted defeat and stepped back.
Dahlia hopped down from the counter. And stumbled.
“Whoa there.” London grabbed her elbow.
Dahlia put a hand to her head, hunched over, not moving or responding for a troubling number of seconds.
“Dahlia. You okay?”
She straightened.
“Sorry. Got dizzy. It is . . . possible that before I flew here yesterday, I might have driven a U-Haul from Maryland to Massachusetts. And watching that finale almost gave me a panic attack. I am, maybe, just a tiny bit, running on fumes. But I’ll just shut up now, becauseyou, you probably had to get to set today at like, what, five a.m.? And then cook three whole courses and—”
London stepped in front of her, holding her shoulders. “Dahlia. Breathe.”
“Yeah.” And she did. “I’m good now.”
London kissed her once more, softly, on the lips.
“So”—they ran a hand into her hair again—“we’re going to start with the barbecue, but then you’re going to tell me much more about this whole U-Haul thing.”
