Page 6 of Deep Fried Devotion
For the sweet girl with the bubble gum treats. Don't forget to eat real food! - Martha from the quilting booth
Another note dangled from a thermos:Heard you and that young man had a rough start yesterday. Coffee fixes everything. - The Ladies Auxiliary
The third made her burst into delighted laughter:Saw you helping each other. Keep it up! - Mrs. Plum (and the entire knitting circle)
"The entire knitting circle?" Soren's voice carried bewildered amusement.
Birdie spun around to discover him standing beside his truck, staring at an identical collection of food containers. His dark hair stuck up at angles that suggested he'd either wrestled with his pillow all night or raked his fingers through it repeatedly. His usually pristine chef's coat showed telltale wrinkles.
"Looks like we've been adopted by the town mothers," Birdie grinned, lifting foil to reveal homemade cinnamon rolls that belonged in a magazine spread. "Have you ever experienced anything like this?"
"Never." Soren picked up a note from his own pile, reading aloud with fascination. "This one says, 'Young man, you need more color in your life. Try the banana bread. - Florence.' Who's Florence?"
"Florence Hendricks from the preserves booth. She's been perfecting banana bread for this fair since 1987." Birdie popped the lid off the coffee thermos and inhaled the rich aroma. "They've decided to take care of us."
For a moment, Soren looked almost uncertain. "Why would strangers do that?"
The question emerged softer than his usual controlled tone, and Birdie glimpsed the uncertainty he kept hidden beneath his professional exterior.
"Because that's what people do when they care about you," she said simply.
Soren studied the containers like they might contain dangerous chemicals rather than breakfast. "I don't typically accept charity."
"It's not charity. It's community." Birdie unscrewed the thermos lid and poured steaming coffee into two paper cupsfrom her supplies. "Besides, when did you last taste homemade cinnamon rolls?"
"I don't consume sugar for breakfast."
"You fry energy drinks for a living."
"That's different. That's... controlled sugar delivery."
Birdie handed him a coffee cup and broke off a piece of cinnamon roll dripping with cream cheese frosting. "Try it. For scientific purposes."
Soren accepted the cup but regarded the pastry like it might spontaneously combust. "I maintain a very specific nutritional protocol."
"One bite won't kill you."
"You lack sufficient data to support that hypothesis."
"Soren." She held the cinnamon roll closer, near enough to catch his clean scent. "Trust me."
Their eyes met over the offered treat, and the busy morning sounds of vendors preparing faded into background noise. He had beautiful eyes, she realized—deep brown with gold flecks that caught the early light.
"Fine," he said, accepting the roll like she'd offered him a dare. "But if this disrupts my blood sugar balance, I'm holding you responsible."
He bit into the pastry with extreme caution, chewed thoughtfully, and then—miracle of miracles—his rigid shoulders relaxed.
"The cinnamon-to-sugar ratio demonstrates mathematical precision."
"Florence will be thrilled to hear her baking demonstrates mathematical precision," Birdie laughed, enchanted by his serious analysis of breakfast pastry.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Soren's mouth—the first genuine smile she'd seen from him. "Please don't tell her I said that. Tell her it’s really good."
They spent the next hour setting up their stations while sharing their unexpected breakfast bounty. Birdie discovered that Soren harbored a secret weakness for strong, black coffee and that he actually listened—really listened—when she explained her grandmother's philosophy about cooking with love.
"You're really good at this," Birdie said, watching him precisely measure ingredients. "Have you always worked alone?"
Soren's hands stilled. "Not always. I had a partner once. A restaurant in Brooklyn." He resumed measuring, but his movements were more controlled. "Peter Lautner. We met in culinary school, had this grand vision of revolutionizing molecular gastronomy for everyday diners."
