Page 13 of Deep Fried Devotion
"What happened? Why is it so busy?"
"Social media," he said, passing her a spatula like a relay baton. "Someone posted videos of us working together yesterday. We're apparently 'viral' now. I've had people driving here from three towns over asking for the 'impossible food duo.'"
Birdie stared at the crowd, then at Soren, who looked like he'd been through a culinary war zone. "You've been handling both trucks alone?"
"Badly," he admitted. "I can manage the technical aspects, but I don't have your... people skills. I think I've accidentally insulted at least twelve customers by being too clinical about bubble gum bites."
Despite everything, Birdie laughed. "Show me what you need."
They fell into their rhythm immediately, but this time it felt different—more urgent, more necessary. Soren had kept both operations running, but barely. Her warmers were nearly empty, his sphere fillings were running low, and they had orders backed up.
"Behind you," she said, sliding past him with a tray of fresh bubble gum bites.
"Order up—four cola balls, two pickle caviar," he replied, and she realized he'd learned her system while she was gone.
They worked in synchronized chaos, rebuilding their supplies while serving the crowd that had gathered because of their unexpected internet fame. Every few minutes, someone would hold up a phone to record them, which should have felt intrusive but somehow just felt special.
"Are you really the couple from the videos?" asked a teenage girl, filming them with obvious delight.
Birdie and Soren exchanged glances, and then he quickly looked away, flushing in embarrassment.
"We're... figuring it out," Birdie said finally.
"That's so cute!" the girl squealed, and bounced away to show her friends.
The rush finally began to ease as the fair approached closing time. Families were heading toward the exits, parents carryingsleepy children and bags of prizes. The carnival rides were winding down, their music fading to nothing.
It was during this quieter moment that Mrs. Plum appeared with a thermos of coffee and the satisfied expression of someone whose plans were coming together.
"I see you made it back, dear," she said to Birdie. "And just in time—there's a food blogger here asking about the 'viral sensation.'"
Birdie's stomach dropped. "A food blogger?"
"Nate Banks from Connecticut Eats. He's been waiting to meet you both." Mrs. Plum said. "I may have mentioned that you'd developed some new collaborative techniques."
"Mrs. Plum," Soren said warningly, "we haven't developed any new techniques."
"Well, you'd better think of something quickly. He's coming this way."
Birdie looked at Soren, who looked back at her with the expression of someone facing an unexpected final exam. They'd been apart for six hours, and now they had to perform their partnership for a professional food critic.
"Any ideas?" she whispered.
"Several," he said. "But they all require techniques we haven't tested."
"Since when has that stopped us?"
The blogger—a thin, sharp-eyed man with expensive clothes—approached their corner with the assessing gaze of someone used to being the most important person in any room.
"Evening," he said. "Nate Banks, Connecticut Eats. You two must be the viral sensation everyone's talking about."
"That would be us," Birdie said, finding her voice. "I'm Birdie, this is Soren."
"Gotta say, the videos are pretty impressive. You guys work together like you've been doing this for years, not days. What's the secret?"
Soren stepped slightly closer to her. "We found out our styles complement each other."
"Mind showing me what all the fuss is about?"
