Page 25 of Deep Fried Devotion
The drive to Guilford felt different than it had just four days ago. Then, she'd been nervous about proving herself at her first major fair. Now, she was driving toward the next chapter of a story she was writing with someone who understood her dreams as clearly as his own.
The fairgrounds looked strange in their post-event quiet—empty fields where families had picnicked, silent spaces where carnival music had played, the ghost outlines of vendor booths marked only by flattened grass. But their corner still held traces of magic. String lights hung forgotten between two posts, and someone had left a hand-painted sign reading "Impossible Treats" propped against a fence post.
Soren's truck was already there, parked in their old spot. But he wasn't inside—he was standing in the middle of their corner space, holding what appeared to be a measuring tape and making notes in a small notebook.
"What are you doing?" Birdie called, climbing out of her car with her arms full of planning materials.
"Measuring." He looked up with a smile that transformed his entire face. "I had an idea during the drive back from New York."
"What kind of idea?"
"The kind that involves calling Jennie and asking if the town would be interested in a more permanent installation."
Birdie stared at him. "Permanent how?"
"What if instead of just booking us for festivals, they let us set up a semi-permanent location here? Summer through fall, maybe expanding to year-round if it works." Soren's words came faster as his excitement built. "We could serve the regular fair crowd, but also become a destination. People driving out from New Haven, from Hartford, specifically to try our impossible food."
"Like a restaurant, but outdoors?"
"Like a restaurant that happens to be made of food trucks. We keep the mobility for special events, but we also have a home base where people know they can find us."
The vision crystallized in Birdie's mind—their corner transformed into something magical and permanent, with seating areas and maybe a small stage for local musicians, fairy lights strung between trees, families making weekend trips just to experience what they'd created together.
"It's brilliant," she breathed. "It's completely insane and absolutely brilliant."
"I was hoping you'd say that." Soren tucked his measuring tape into his pocket and walked over to where she stood surrounded by her planning materials. "What's all this?"
"Business plans, menu concepts, logo sketches. I may have gotten a little carried away." She gestured at the papers scattered across her car's hood. "Oh, and Nate called. Food Network wants to fast-track our show."
"Fast-track how?"
"Filming starts next week if we're in."
Soren's eyebrows shot up. "Next week? As in, seven days from now?"
"Apparently we're going to be America's sweethearts whether we're ready or not."
For a moment, Soren looked like someone had handed him a complex equation to solve in his head. Then his expression shifted to something between amazement and determination.
"Well then," he said, reaching for her hand, "I guess we'd better make sure we're ready."
They spread her planning materials across his truck's tailgate, using it as an impromptu conference table. What followed was two hours of creative collaboration that reminded Birdie why she'd fallen in love with him in the first place. Where she saw whimsical possibilities, he found practical applications.Where he identified potential problems, she discovered creative solutions.
"If we're going to be on television, we need signature items that photograph well," Soren said, sketching molecular diagrams next to her doodles of rainbow-colored treats.
"And that tell our story," Birdie added. "Food that shows how different approaches can create something neither of us could make alone."
"What about a dessert that looks like a regular donut but tastes like childhood memories? We could inject different flavor spheres that burst on the tongue—birthday cake, summer camp s'mores, grandmother's apple pie."
"Memory donuts," Birdie said, the concept crystallizing. "Each bite takes you somewhere different."
"Exactly. It's whimsical enough to be your concept, technical enough to showcase molecular gastronomy, and nostalgic enough to make people cry on television."
They worked until the sun began to set, transforming her scattered ideas into something that looked like an actual business plan. By the time they packed up, they had menu concepts, pricing strategies, a rough timeline for expansion, and three pages of notes about a permanent installation that could turn their corner into a destination.
"There's one more thing," Soren said as they loaded her materials back into her car.
"What's that?"
