“Oh, yeah, you know, the dog I’m going to get while you’re away. I’ve decided to name him Max.”
“I hate you,” London mumbled, searching around the room for their nice shoes.
Dahlia stretched her arms above her head and grinned before finally shifting the covers away.
“Stay in bed.” London frowned. “It’s still the crack of dawn.”
“Nah.” Dahlia pulled a ratty Belmont sweatshirt over her head. Being that it used to belong to London, it was huge on her. She supposed it still belonged to London. Technically. But it was her favorite. “I’m up now. Maybe I can finish my review for theSourceof that new barbecue place after you leave. It’s always easier for me to write in the morning. And then I’ll have plenty of time later to finish editing my latest video and get it posted before I get ready for Hank.”
Dahlia swung her hair into a bun and went into the bathroom to wash her face.
“Always hustlin’,” London said. They zipped up their suitcase.
“The millennial dream, baby.”
London leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, looking at her.
“And maybe you’ll post another entry on the website too?”
Dahlia blushed slightly as she brushed her teeth. But she nodded.
Her restaurant reviews for theNashville Sourcewere challenging and thrilling. Her YouTube videos were more work than she had anticipated, but they were rewarding and fun. It was a lot more enjoyable, she’d learned, being on camera without judges and a team of producers watching. She liked sharing cooking tips, the recipes that had helped her find herself again. Connecting with people through food—but in her own way this time, without a ticking clock.
Dahlia’s website, though, she had waited to launch until last week. When the finale finally aired, and all the secrets of season eight were finally revealed. Because she’d had to hide what the title of her first post was going to be. She’d written it weeks ago.
The Recipe That Got My (Not So) Sorry Ass Kicked Off Chef’s Special.
It was about divorce, and hard work, and taking chances, and surprises. And soup.
Hank said it made him cry. Which didn’t count for much, considering the things her brother shed tears for, but Dahlia had still appreciated it.
It was exciting, getting paid to write for theSource. But writing her personal stories and recipes on her website was what she was proudest of. It was vulnerable, and scary.
ButChef’s Specialhad taught her she could do vulnerable, scary things.
When Dahlia wasn’t writing or creating videos, she had a part-time office job at Vanderbilt University, where Julie worked too. That was what actually paid Dahlia’s bills. But Dahlia liked it, the office job, the hustling on the side. Maybe the hustles would turn full-time, someday. Her YouTube channel was already more successful than she had even hoped for. But for now it turned out she loved having a bunch of eggs in a bunch of different baskets, this chaotic life she and London had fallen into. She felt challenged, creative. Stable, but wonderfully alive.
It helped, of course. Knowing that London would be at her side, no matter what she wanted to try next. London had been different from David from the start, but Dahlia was committed to being different this time, too. More honest. Admitting earlier when she wasn’t sure about something. When she was insecure. When she was scared.
But the truth was, she didn’t feel scared very often these days.
Most of the time, she was too busy simply feeling excited.
Most of the time, she let herself feel proud.
London rolled their suitcase out of the bedroom, Dahlia following close behind.
“You have everything?”
London sighed and nodded, calling a rideshare on their phone. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
“Aw, come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll get to see Sai again. Oh! You should ask him for nonprofit advice! Doesn’t he have, like, ten?”
“Yeah, and I’m sure he has a hundred assistants to deal with all the boring stuff I’m dealing with now.”
Work on the nonprofit, tentatively called Camp CookOut, had been slow going and complicated, and it included an amount of paperwork that left London disgruntled. But Dahlia had full faith they’d make it happen, and that it would be incredible.
“Ask him anyway,” she insisted.
