Dahlia wasn’t delusional. She had been reminding herself, every day, how this could all end any moment. And she knew there were several strong competitors left. London. Cath. And—ugh—Lizzie. God, Dahlia didn’t know if she’d ever truly forgiveChef’s Specialfor airing whatever Lizzie had said about London.
Still. Dahlia could feel her cooking skills sharpening with each challenge. She was in the Top Five.Five. More than halfway to the finish line.
That had to mean something.
It wasn’t completely ridiculous, right? To want to keep fighting?
She remembered what Barbara had whispered into her ear, before Barbara had left the Golden Circle forever that day, that day that was only a few days ago but felt like so much longer:
You deserve more than you think you do. Go and get it all.
Dahlia liked to think that byget it all, Barbara had meant she believed Dahlia could win $100,000.
Even though in her heart of hearts, Dahlia knew Barbara was talking about more than just that.
And right now, thinking about more than just that—actually getting it all—only felt overwhelming.
She hadn’t expected so much of this when she flew to LAX from BWI a month ago. She had always wanted to win the $100,000, there was no question about that. She wanted to hone her cooking skills. And she had had dreams about LA Dahlia, about maybe having some fun adventures on her way to the prize.
She hadn’t expected London.
And she hadn’t expected LA Dahlia to sink into her bones so completely.Actuallyfeeling like a different person, a person she would like to be friends with, maybe. Settling into a dry, overpopulated land, feeling comforted by smoggy skies. Feeling seen by palm trees.
If shedidget kicked off the show . . . Dahlia didn’t know where she’d even go from here now. How she would say goodbye to LA Dahlia.
How she would say goodbye to London.
I do tend to get these things right, after doing this so long.
No.
Dahlia shook her head and finally rolled herself out of bed. She paced the length of the room, past the window, the dresser, the chair in the corner full of dirty clothes. This little, sterile space that almost felt, in its own funny way, like home.
Because Dahlia had been here for so long.
Janet might get a lot right. Maybe she was a really excellent producer.
But she didn’t decide Dahlia’s fate.
No. Dahlia wasn’t going to say goodbye to any of it. God, she had been on the verge of a breakdown all day yesterday and still baked the best cake of her life. She had earned this.
Who cared if the only other member of Team Dahlia was Barbara.
Grandmas were smart as hell.
Dahlia stopped her pacing, a sudden thought hitting her.
There was at least one other member of Team Dahlia, too.
She picked up her phone from the bedside table and dialed the number of the person she missed the most.
“Bay. Bee.Girrrrrrrrrl! How does it feel to be famous?”
“Hank. You almost broke my eardrum.” Dahlia’s voice was scratchy from using it for the first time this morning, but her face broke into a grin.
“Are you at work?” she asked. “Can you talk? And/or scream?”
“Of course I’m at work and of course I can talk. My boss will understand that I’m talking to my very famous baby sister. Someone else can tell people to restart their computers for a while.”
