Page 28 of Deep Fried Devotion
"She could be writing actual fairy tales about us and selling them at the craft booth."
As the day wound toward evening, Birdie and Soren began their familiar closing routine, but this time with the help of their student employees and the easy assistance of neighboring vendors who'd become extended family. The community that had once viewed them as curiosities now treated them as integral parts of the fairgrounds ecosystem.
"Same time next year?" Jennie Patel asked, approaching with her ever-present clipboard and a contract for the following season.
"Wouldn't miss it," Birdie confirmed, signing the document that guaranteed their return to where everything had started.
As the fair settled into evening tranquility, Soren appeared beside her with two plates of their latest creation—deep-fried starlight made from sugar work so delicate it seemed to glow from within, crackling softly with embedded pop rocks that mimicked the sound of distant fireworks.
"Anniversary dinner?" he asked, gesturing toward the picnic table where they'd shared their first tentative conversations and made their decision to build something together.
They sat in the gathering dusk, surrounded by the sounds of vendors closing down for the night and families heading home with sticky fingers and full hearts. The lights of the midway sparkled in the distance, and carnival music drifted on the September breeze like a soundtrack to their memories.
"Do you ever miss it?" Birdie asked, breaking off a piece of edible starlight that dissolved into sweetness and tiny crackling sounds on her tongue. "The simplicity of working alone?"
Soren considered the question, his fork creating patterns in the delicate confection. "Sometimes I miss the illusion of control. But I've never missed being alone."
"Even when I reorganize your spice rack according to color instead of molecular weight?"
"Especially then. It means you're planning to stick around." His smile turned tender. "Besides, I've learned that some chaos makes life more interesting."
Birdie laughed, remembering their early arguments about organization systems and the gradual compromises that had led to their current domestic harmony. "What about you? Do you miss the days when deep-frying bubble gum seemed like the pinnacle of innovation?"
"Never," Birdie said with conviction. "Turns out the impossible gets a lot more possible when you have the right partner."
Mrs. Plum showed up at their table carrying a small wrapped package tied with yarn in rainbow colors.
"I brought you an anniversary gift," she announced, setting the package between them with the satisfaction of someone whose matchmaking had exceeded all expectations.
Birdie unwrapped the gift to reveal a photo album filled with pictures from their year together—moments she didn't even remember being captured. There was Soren teaching her molecular techniques in their shared kitchen, his hands guiding hers as she learned to create perfect spheres. Birdie showing him how to pipe decorative batter, both of them covered in flour and laughing at some shared joke. The final page held a note in Mrs. Plum's careful handwriting:"For two impossible people whomade the impossible possible. Here's to many more adventures in deep-fried devotion."
"Mrs. Plum," Birdie said, tears prickling her eyes, "this is absolutely perfect."
"You two are perfect," the older woman replied with the authority of someone who'd orchestrated their entire love story. "Though I do hope you're planning to make things official soon. I'm not getting any younger, and I have a wedding reception to plan."
Soren made a sound that was half laugh, half choke on his starlight confection. "Wedding reception?"
"Well, certainly. Where else would you hold it but here at the fair? I'm thinking next September, right here in your corner. We could serve impossible wedding cake, and the whole community could—"
"Mrs. Plum," Birdie interrupted, though she was smiling, "don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself?"
She patted Birdie's hand. "Oh, honey, I'm not ahead of anything. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
As Mrs. Plum wandered away, humming what sounded suspiciously like wedding march variations, Birdie and Soren sat in the evening stillness of people who'd learned to appreciate both conversation and silence.
"She's not wrong, you know," Soren said.
"About what?"
"About making things official." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box that looked suspiciously like it might contain jewelry. "I was going to wait until we got home, but this seems like the right place."
Birdie's heart stopped, then started again at double speed. "Soren..."
"Before you panic, it's not exactly what you think. Well, it is what you think, but also something more." He opened the boxto reveal a ring unlike anything she'd ever seen—a band of white gold set with what appeared to be a sphere of trapped lightning, crackling with tiny sparks of light that danced and flickered like captured stars. "Do you remember our first deep-fried lightning creation?"
"The one that made the teenagers go viral," Birdie whispered, staring at the impossible ring that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.
"I had it made by a jeweler who specializes in kinetic pieces. The sphere actually lights up when it moves, like miniature lightning trapped in glass." Soren's voice carried the same excited focus she'd heard when he explained molecular techniques, but underneath it was a vulnerability that made her whole being ache with love. "It's completely impractical, probably fragile, and definitely over-engineered."
