Page 20 of Deep Fried Devotion
"To talk. He's been following my work apparently, saw the social media buzz from this weekend." Soren looked off into the distance. "He wants to meet tomorrow to discuss a potential collaboration."
"What kind of collaboration?"
"He didn't go into details over the phone. Just said he has investors interested in a molecular gastronomy concept, and he thinks my techniques would be perfect for it."
Birdie tried to process this information logically, but her heart was already racing. "In New York?"
"Yeah. Manhattan."
The word hung between them like a barrier. Manhattan meant serious restaurants, big money, a culinary world that made food truck festivals seem like playing in the minor leagues.
"Are you going to meet with him?"
Soren was quiet for a long moment, and in that silence, Birdie heard her answer.
"I think I have to," he said finally. "Even just to hear what he's proposing. I can't make smart decisions without all the information."
The logic was sound, but it felt like he was already halfway out the door. "And if it's a good opportunity?"
"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, messing up his usually perfect styling. "This weekend has been incredible, Birdie. Working with you, being part of this community—it's shown me possibilities I never considered before."
"But?"
"But I spent years building expertise that could open doors I might never get again. If I don't at least explore this, I might always wonder what if."
Birdie understood the logic. She'd felt the same way about the food truck—if she didn't try, she'd never know if her grandmother's dream could have worked. But understanding didn't make it hurt less.
"When would you have to decide?"
"He wants an answer by the end of the week."
A family approached her truck, and Birdie forced herself to smile and take their order, chatting about the bubble gum bitesthey'd heard so much about while her mind processed what Soren had told her. She handed over their food with practiced cheerfulness, but inside she was spinning.
Three days. They'd built something amazing in three days, but was it strong enough to compete with years of culinary training and a chance at the big leagues?
After the family left, she turned back to find Soren watching her with an expression she couldn't read.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I'm thinking..." she paused, trying to find words that wouldn't sound needy or desperate. "I'm thinking you should hear what he has to say. You're right—you need all the information to make a smart choice."
Relief flickered across Soren's face, followed quickly by something that might have been disappointment. Had he wanted her to fight for him? Ask him to stay?
"This doesn't change what happened between us this weekend," he said.
"Doesn't it?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I guess that depends on what Peter's offering, and whether what we've built here is strong enough to survive some uncertainty."
The afternoon crowd picked up, giving them both an excuse to focus on work instead of the weight of unanswered questions hanging between them. But everything felt different now. Where before they'd moved in easy synchronization, now there was a subtle distance—not hostile, but careful, like they were both protecting themselves from investing too deeply in something that might not last.
As the sun started to sink toward the horizon, painting the fairgrounds in golden light that should have felt romantic, Birdie found herself cataloging moments. The way Soren still handedher ingredients before she asked. How he automatically adjusted her music volume when customers approached. The fact that he'd started humming along to her playlist without seeming to realize it.
Were these habits they'd developed as partners, or signs of something deeper? And if Peter's offer was everything Soren had ever wanted professionally, would any of it matter?
"Birdie," Soren said suddenly, his voice soft enough that she had to step closer to hear him.
"Yeah?"
