Love & Other Disasters(21)

A PA counted down, and the cameras were on.

“I am extremely pleased,” Audra began, “to lead you to your lovely companions for episode five of season eight.”

And she did look pleased. She was wearing a light green and blue flannel over dark jeans. London had never, not once, seen ultrafeminine Audra Carnegie dress like a lesbian before, and they were pleasantly surprised by it.

She spun on her heel and walked toward a rustic barn at the far end of the first field. The contestants followed, dust kicking up beneath their shoes.

Once they arrived, Audra shoved aside the barn door with a dramatic flourish.

“Oh no,” London muttered, their good mood dropping down to the soles of their feet.

“Oh my god,” Dahlia whispered, grinning from ear to ear. As if to counterbalance London’s unease, whatever mood she’d been in when they departed the bus had officially disappeared. “Yes.”

And then she actually clutched London’s arm. Which would have been a much more exciting moment for London had they not been surrounded by the pungent, nefarious aroma of bovines.

“They are so cute.”

Dahlia seemed to realize what she was doing a second later, and quickly dropped her hand from London’s arm, her cheeks flushing slightly. London stared at her.

“Cows are not cute. They are dangerous.”

Slowly, purposefully, Dahlia turned her body to face London fully.

“Dangerous,” she repeated.

“Yes,” London huffed, crossing their arms, trying to ignore how they could still feel the spot on their bicep where Dahlia had touched them, about to explain that cows were of course dangerous, when Sai Patel interrupted them.

“Graham Family Farm has been producing food for the greater Los Angeles area for over three generations, providing produce and dairy products to local restaurants, stores, and food banks. The first thing you need to know is that we will not be doing any cooking challenges here. Today is about education and appreciation of the systems that sustain us.

“We will, however, be gathering some of the ingredients you will use for your next challenge back at the studio. We will also closely observe how seriously you take today and how well you complete the tasks we ask of you, and our observations will factor into our decision during the next Elimination Challenge.

“Your first task today is one that the Graham family and their employees have to complete twice a day, every day, here on the farm: milking a cow.”

Barbara clucked to herself from Dahlia’s other side as the cameras stopped and the judges conferred with a broad-shouldered man in the corner. “Milking a cow was a basic skill where I grew up. Easy peasy.”

London disagreed, just a tad.

“I can’t believe they’re having us do this,” they whispered to Dahlia. “What if someone gets hurt?”

“Um,” Dahlia said, and London knew she was laughing at them, and they did not care. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be in those stall thingies, and we’ll be outside those stall thingies, so I think we’ll be all right.”

“Stanchions,” Barbara supplied.

“Right!” Dahlia’s eyes lit up. “They’ll be in stanchions. It’ll be okay, little buddy.” She patted London patronizingly on the shoulder, her smile stretching practically to her ears.

“They move suddenly sometimes,” London stated. Dahlia was so tiny. “They could crush you.”

“So you’re saying that, in all your time volunteering on Tennessee farms, you’ve never milked a cow.”

“Of course not,” London scoffed. “Seriously, there are machines for this.” A second later, “Wait, have you milked a cow before?” It would track that fish-filleting-master Dahlia would also have mastery of large farm animals. London had learned you never knew what to expect with Dahlia Woodson.

“No.” She shook her head. “But I’m excited to.”

“Good god, why?”

“London,” Dahlia said seriously. “I have not asked much of you, in our less-than-two-week-old friendship, but I must insist that you tell me, right now, exactly what happened in your past between you and the cows.”

“Nope.” London shook their head. “Never.” And that was a promise.

You smoke weed with your cousin Oliver in high school one time . . .

The cameras were rolling again.

“If you’ve ever used even a dab of butter in one of your cooks,” Sai Patel was saying, “you will appreciate the existence of that butter more after today. Gather ’round, please, and pay careful attention as Randy demonstrates the proper technique . . .”

Begrudgingly, London took meticulous notes on washing, stripping, holding, and squeezing teats. Jacob, beside them, snickered every time Randy said teats, and really, this was all a bit much. For anyone, London thought, except for, apparently, Dahlia Woodson.

She raised her hand when Randy asked for questions.

“Do your cows have names?”

Randy gave her a long, serious farmer stare.

“No,” he finally said.

“Well, that’s clearly a lie,” Dahlia muttered, scribbling furiously in her notepad.

“What are you even writing down?” London couldn’t help but ask. Even though they knew.

“Possible cow names. Obviously.”