Page 14 of Deep Fried Devotion
Birdie felt a jolt of panic and excitement. They had one chance to impress someone who could change everything for both of them. She thought about the wedding she'd just finished prepping—beautiful, traditional, safe. Then she looked at Soren, who was watching her with complete trust despite the situation.
"Remember those root beer float things we did yesterday?" she said. "During the crazy rush?"
Soren's face lit up with understanding. "We could show him how we work together. Walk him through the process."
"You perfected those already?"
"We made them work. But we could do them better now that we're not panicking."
Nate had settled onto a nearby bench, phone out to record. "Is this new?"
"New for us," Birdie said. "We figured it out yesterday when we were slammed and had to improvise."
What followed was twenty minutes of intense collaboration on their signature creation. Soren worked his magic with spherification techniques to create root beer-flavored spheres, while Birdie refined the vanilla cream component and developed an even lighter batter than they'd used yesterday.
They moved around each other in the cramped space with an intimacy that had nothing to do with the professional demonstration they were supposed to be giving. When Soren needed room, Birdie shifted without being asked. When she reached for timing equipment, he was already handing it to her.
"The key is temperature control," Soren explained to Nate as he worked. "The spheres need to maintain their carbonation while the coating crisps."
"And timing," Birdie added, adjusting her oil temperature. "Everything has to come together at exactly the right moment."
"Now," Soren said, and she lowered his spheres into oil heated to exactly the right temperature.
The result was even better than yesterday—golden shells that cracked to reveal bursts of root beer flavor balanced with vanilla cream. The familiar taste of childhood summers elevated into surprising sophistication.
Nate took his first bite in thoughtful silence, then looked up at them with genuine surprise. "Damn. That's really good."
"My grandmother always said food should make people happy," Birdie said.
"How long you two been working together?"
Birdie glanced at Soren, catching a certainty in his face that hadn't been there before.
"Three days," Soren said.
"Seriously? Three days?" Nate's eyebrows shot up. "Most partnerships take months to get this smooth."
"We're fast learners," Birdie said, though it felt like more than learning. It felt like they'd been waiting for each other without knowing it.
"I'd like to feature your story," Nate said decisively. "Competitors turned partners, the personal chemistry behind the professional collaboration."
After Nate left with promises of follow-up interviews and photo shoots, Birdie and Soren found themselves alone in their corner as the fair settled into its nighttime quiet. The last families had headed home, vendors were shutting down their booths, and the carnival lights were being turned off one by one.
"Come on," Soren said, disappearing into his truck. He emerged with a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. "I think we've earned this."
They set up folding chairs outside their trucks, facing the fairgrounds so they could watch the nightly ritual of cleanup and shutdown. Soren poured the wine—a surprisingly good red that he'd apparently been saving.
"To surviving our first viral fame," Birdie said, raising her cup.
"To partnerships," Soren replied, and they clinked plastic cups under the remaining string lights.
The wine was rich and delicious. For the first time since the fair had started, Birdie felt herself truly relax. They sat in companionable silence, watching the last carnival workers secure the rides and other vendors pack up their trucks.
"It’s surprising to me," Soren said, his voice quieter than usual. He stared into his wine cup like it held answers to questions he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. "Because partnerships scare me."
Birdie set down her own cup, recognizing the weight in his tone. This wasn't casual conversation. This was trust being offered like a fragile gift. “Why?”
"Because of Peter," Soren said, his fingers tightening around the plastic cup.
