“This is weird, right? That we are going to like, be on TV. That this is real. All I can think about is onions, which is so dumb because everyone else is probably thinking about, you know, veal and foie gras or whatever. Although I’m also thinking about how I’m probably going to trip over someone’s feet the first time we all run into the pantry. And how I will likely forget how to cook as soon as the timer starts.” She paused to laugh a little at herself. “A veritable parade of positive thinking, right here.”

Dahlia pointed to her head. Attempted a charming smile.

Strawberry Blonde Hair blinked.

“Cool, okay, so, great. Good talk. Bye.”

Dahlia was beginning to pivot around their shoulder right as a pale hand landed on Dahlia’s arm.

“This way, honey.”

Oh, thank the goddesses above. Producer Janet was saving Dahlia from herself. Although maybe it was actually too late for that.

As they walked away, to her shock, she actually thought she heard Strawberry Blonde Hair say goodbye.

Dahlia tried to take it all in, as Janet led her through the curving maze of cooking stations that took up the majority of the floor space in the cavernous set. But mainly all she could focus on was how much she liked the bright red frames of Janet’s glasses, and the small pulse of warmth that had pushed into her pounding heart when Janet called her honey.

They stopped at the very front of the semi-circle of stations, all the way to the right.

“Here you go, Miss Woodson. This is you.”

And with a reassuring smile, Janet whirled away to direct the next contestant.

Here were all the details Dahlia had seen on TV for the last seven seasons of Chef’s Special: the deep greens and golds and sparkling turquoise scattered throughout the set in pops of colored glass. How the dark wood of the walls and the floor contrasted against those lighter hues.

She had always thought the set resembled an old Scottish castle on the moors, only recently paid a visit by Queer Eye. Cozy and strong all at once, its foundations invoking a sense of time and honor—and here and there, some playful splashes of dazzle.

Dahlia stared down at the shining, stainless steel countertop of her station. Her station. Remembering the blank look on Strawberry Blonde’s face a few minutes ago, as she made a fool of herself within minutes of stepping onto set, she resisted the urge to lean over and smack her forehead against that stainless steel a few times.

Instead, she closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose, like that yoga class she went to once a year ago had taught her.