Page 22 of Deep Fried Devotion
"And if you stay here, build something with me, and it doesn't work out—what then? Are you any worse off than you were Friday morning?"
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because Friday morning I didn't know what I was missing. Now I do."
The admission hung between them, raw and honest. Birdie felt tears prick her eyes, but she blinked them back. This wasn't the time for crying—it was the time for clarity.
"So we both have decisions to make," she said finally.
"Yeah. We do."
Mrs. Plum materialized beside them with her uncanny timing, carrying what appeared to be a thermos of coffee and two paper cups.
"Thought you two might need some fortification," she said, pouring coffee that smelled like it could wake the dead. "Big day tomorrow."
"Mrs. Plum," Birdie started, "we haven't made any decisions yet—"
"Oh, honey, I'm not worried about your decisions. I'm worried about your courage." She handed them each a cup and fixed them with her sharp gaze. "In my experience, people usually know what they want. They just get scared of wanting it."
"What if what we want isn't practical?" Soren asked.
"What if it is, and you're just telling yourselves it isn't because taking risks is terrifying?" Mrs. Plum countered."Sometimes the most practical thing you can do is trust your instincts."
She walked away, leaving them with coffee that was somehow exactly the right temperature and words that felt like a challenge.
"She has a point," Birdie said after a moment.
"About trusting instincts?"
"About being scared of what we want." She took a sip of coffee, gathering her courage. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"When Jennie offered us regular vendor status today, my first thought wasn't about the money or the stability. It was about getting to work with you year-round. About building something together that could grow into something amazing."
Soren's cup paused halfway to his lips. "Really?"
"Really. And then you mentioned Peter's call, and I realized I'd been making assumptions about what you wanted without actually asking you."
"What kind of assumptions?"
"That you'd want the same things I do. That what we built this weekend was the beginning of something bigger, not just a fun experiment." She met his eyes across the narrow space between their trucks. "So I'm asking now—what do you actually want, Soren? Not what's practical or safe or expected. What do you want?"
The question hung in the evening air between them. Around them, the fairgrounds were settling into quiet, other vendors finishing their own packing routines, the carnival rides powering down for the night.
"I want..." Soren started, then stopped. "This is going to sound crazy."
"Try me."
"I want to wake up tomorrow and not have to choose between my career and my heart. I want to build something impossible with you that turns out to be completely possible. I want to teach people that molecular gastronomy isn't pretentious—it's just another way to create joy." His voice gained strength as he spoke. "I want Mrs. Plum to keep meddling in our business, and I want to argue with you about music choices, and I want to spend the next fifty years making people smile with food they never thought could exist."
Birdie was afraid to hope. "That does sound crazy."
"Completely insane."
"Good thing I like crazy." She set down her coffee and stepped closer to him. "Soren, what if Peter's opportunity isn't the only path to everything you want professionally? What if there's another way?"
