Page 10 of Deep Fried Devotion
"Thank you," she said, brushing dust off her apron and trying to ignore the way her heart was racing.
"Anytime," he replied, and his tone made her look up sharply.
The crowd dispersed as Petunia was led away to rejoin her fellow racers, but Birdie noticed several people casting speculative glances in their direction. Including Mrs. Plum, who was standing near the ring toss game with a smile that could have lit up the entire fairground.
"We're never going to live this down," Birdie said.
"Probably not," Soren agreed. "Though I have to admit, it was effective advertising. I think half the fair just decided they need to try our food."
He was right. For the next hour, they had a steady stream of customers, many of whom made cheerful comments about "the pig incident" and how nice it was to see young people looking out for each other.
"You two are just precious," said one elderly woman as she purchased a bubble gum bite. "Been married long?"
"We're not—" Birdie started.
"Business partners," Soren finished smoothly, handing over the woman's order.
"Business partners," the woman repeated with a knowing wink. "Of course you are, dear."
As the afternoon wore on, Birdie found herself hyperaware of every interaction with Soren. The way he automatically handed her ingredients before she asked for them. How he'd started humming along—quietly and probably unconsciously—to her playlist. The fact that he'd begun timing his prep work to create natural conversation breaks when they weren't busy with customers.
"You know," she said during one of those quiet moments, "yesterday I thought you hated my music."
"I don't hate it," Soren replied, arranging his sphere fillings with characteristic precision. "It's just... very enthusiastic."
"Enthusiastic?"
"Optimistic. Joyful. Everything is about love and happiness and believing in magic."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Soren paused in his work, considering this. "It's not bad. It's just not something I'm used to."
"What kind of music do you usually listen to?"
"Classical, mostly. Some jazz. Instrumental music that helps me concentrate."
Birdie tried to picture Soren listening to Mozart while creating his fried goods and found the image surprisinglyappealing. "Would you mind if I played something different? Just for a little while?"
"You don't have to change your music for me."
"I want to." She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her playlists until she found what she was looking for. "How about this?"
The opening notes of a jazz piano trio drifted from her speakers, mellow and sophisticated but still undeniably romantic.
Soren's hands stilled in their work. "This is beautiful. What is it?"
"Bill Evans Trio. 'Autumn Leaves.' It's one of my grandmother's favorites. She used to play it when she cooked Sunday dinner."
"Your grandmother liked jazz?"
"She said it was cooking music. Complex enough to keep your mind engaged, but smooth enough not to interfere with your hands." Birdie smiled at the memory. "She taught me that different foods need different soundtracks."
"What's the soundtrack for your fried treats?"
"I don't know yet," she admitted. "I think we're still writing it."
When Soren passed her ingredients, their fingers would brush and linger. When she reached across him for supplies, she became aware of the clean scent of his soap mixed with vanilla and coffee.
