Page 27 of Deep Fried Devotion
"Oh dear," Birdie breathed, watching the scene unfold. Jake was gesticulating with the passion of someone making his case to a jury, while Maria stood with her arms crossed, both of them radiating a fury that came from unresolved feelings dressed up as professional disagreements.
"Jennie asked if you two might have any advice," Mrs. Plum said with the innocent tone of someone whose matchmaking schemes had reached legendary status throughout Connecticut's fair circuit. "Seems word has spread about your expertise in helping food truck partnerships find their footing."
Birdie exchanged glances with Soren. Over the past year, they'd somehow become the couple other vendors came to for relationship advice, despite the fact that they were still figuring out their own partnership daily.
"I suppose we should go help," Soren said, though his expression suggested he'd rather spend the morning creating molecular confections than mediating between ex-lovers.
"Absolutely," Birdie agreed, already mentally preparing for the delicate conversation ahead.
They spent the next hour mediating between Jake and Maria, translating hurt feelings into practical solutions and suggesting collaboration strategies that had worked for them. By ten o'clock, the former couple had agreed to share the corner space and test a fusion concept combining grilled cheese techniques with empanada fillings.
"Think it'll work?" Birdie asked as they walked back to their own setup, hand in hand out of habit.
"If they can get past the drama long enough to realize they're perfect for each other, yes," Soren replied, squeezing her fingers. "Reminds me of a certain pair of food truck vendors who had their own rocky start."
"We were never that dramatic," Birdie laughed, remembering their own tense first morning when neither of them had been willing to give up their corner spot.
"No, we just stood there glaring at each other while Mrs. Plum plotted our entire relationship."
The fair officially opened with the same horn blast that had marked their beginning, and within minutes they were surrounded by familiar faces and new customers drawn by their reputation. The rhythm they'd developed felt effortless now—Birdie handling the creative presentation and customer interaction while Soren managed the technical execution and quality control, but with an ease that came from a year of learning each other's rhythms.
"Six deep-fried rainbows, four music bites, and something spectacular for my daughter's sweet sixteen," ordered a regular customer whose family had been following their fair circuit all summer.
"Something spectacular," Birdie mused, glancing at Soren with the shared anticipation of people about to unveil a surprise.They'd spent the morning perfecting their latest creation—deep-fried birthday wishes made from sugar glass that dissolved on the tongue while releasing edible confetti and tiny crackling sounds.
"Perfect timing," Soren said, already reaching for the specialized ingredients. "We've been working on something magical for occasions exactly like this."
They moved through their routine with the practiced ease of partners who'd learned to anticipate each other's needs, but underneath the professional collaboration ran currents of affection and playfulness that transformed work into performance art. When Soren needed counter space, Birdie created it with a graceful spin that made him smile. When she got caught up chatting with customers, he smoothly managed the timing while adding technical explanations that made her concepts sound even more impressive.
Around noon, a familiar figure approached their booth, and Birdie's stomach fluttered with recognition. Nate Banks looked exactly the same as he had a year ago, though his expensive clothes now showed the wrinkles of someone who'd spent the morning walking through dust and excitement in pursuit of the perfect story.
"The famous Impossible Eats duo," he said with genuine admiration. "I hear you've become the gold standard for food truck partnerships across New England."
"We've had excellent teachers," Birdie replied, gesturing toward the community of vendors who'd supported them through every challenge of the past year.
"I'm actually here on assignment," Nate continued, pulling out his ever-present notepad. "Food Network wants to do a follow-up segment. See how the partnership has evolved, document your continued success. Your original segment has been one of their most popular pieces this year."
Birdie felt Soren shift beside her, the old wariness about media exposure never fully disappearing. They'd learned to handle interviews and publicity, but only on their own terms.
"Same rules as last time," Soren said with friendly firmness. "Focus on the food innovation and business collaboration. Personal life stays private."
"Agreed," Nate nodded eagerly. "Though I have to say, watching you two work together tells its own story. The audience loves seeing genuine partnership in action. There's something magical about the way you anticipate each other's needs."
As Nate set up his equipment, Birdie reflected on how much had changed since their first television appearance. They'd learned to present a united front to the media while protecting the private moments that belonged only to them—like the way Soren left love notes in her ingredient containers, or how she'd started humming his favorite songs while she cooked.
The afternoon brought the usual weekend chaos, but also their new normal—a steady stream of other food truck operators asking for advice about partnerships, collaboration techniques, and conflict resolution. Somehow, without meaning to, they'd become mentors to the community that had first embraced them.
"You realize what's happening, don't you?" Soren said during a brief lull, nodding toward Jake and Maria's booth where the former rivals were laughing together over a shared plate of their fusion creation.
"Mrs. Plum's master plan is working perfectly," Birdie agreed, watching the older woman observe the reconciliation with obvious satisfaction. "She's using us as proof that food truck romance is not only possible but inevitable."
"We've become a small-town legend."
"Could be worse."
"How?"
Birdie gestured toward Mrs. Plum's knitting booth, where the older woman was holding court with a circle of vendors' children, telling what appeared to be an animated story about brave knights and magic food trucks while the parents smiled indulgently.
