Page 7 of Deep Fried Devotion
"What happened?"
"Peter was brilliant at the creative side, terrible at the business side. He made promises to investors we couldn't keep, took shortcuts with suppliers I didn't know about." Soren's voice grew quieter. "When it all collapsed, I lost everything. My reputation, my savings, my trust in partnerships."
"Rose used to say that food tastes better when you talk to it while you cook," Birdie explained, ladling batter into her prep bowl. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but—"
"It's not ridiculous." Soren's interruption surprised them both. "Consistent stirring patterns and verbal engagement maintain focus, which affects technical execution. There's legitimate science behind the concept."
Birdie blinked in amazement. "You just transformed my grandmother's magical thinking into a research study."
"Maybe your grandmother understood kitchen chemistry better than she realized."
The fairgrounds officially opened at nine, but the real excitement this morning would be the Guilford Fair Paradeat ten o'clock. The parade would travel from the Town Green through downtown Guilford and end up right here at the fairgrounds, bringing crowds of families who'd follow the parade route to spend the day at the fair.
"Have you ever seen the parade?" Birdie asked as she arranged her warming trays.
"I don't typically attend community events," Soren replied, then paused. "Though I suppose I'm attending one now."
"It's different when you're working it instead of just watching," she said. "More fun, actually. You get to be part of what makes people happy."
His expression shifted, like he was considering this idea for the first time.
Before Birdie could pursue that thought, the thunder of small feet on gravel announced their first audience of the day. A group of children pressed eager faces against both trucks, leaving nose prints on the windows as they peered at the prep work.
"Are you making impossible food too?" a little girl with crooked pigtails asked him breathlessly.
"We're making magic," Birdie confirmed, which earned her a look from Soren and delighted squeals from the children.
"What's the most impossible thing you can fry?" a boy challenged.
Birdie and Soren exchanged glances. Yesterday they'd been competitors fighting for the same territory. Today, faced with an audience expecting miracles, they seemed to share the same thought.
"We haven't figured that out yet," Birdie said slowly.
"But we're working on it," Soren added, and the children cheered.
The morning flew by in a blur of early customers grabbing breakfast before the parade. Families wanted quick treats they could eat while walking, and both trucks worked smoothly tomeet demand. When Birdie ran out of napkins, Soren passed her a stack without being asked. When his prep station got busy, she helped portion his sphere fillings while he managed the fryer.
"You two work together like you've been doing this for years," observed a regular customer, which made them both pause in sudden awareness of how naturally they'd fallen into rhythm.
"We're just being neighborly," Birdie said hastily.
"Very neighborly," the customer agreed with a knowing wink.
At nine-thirty, they could hear the distant sound of the parade assembling—the drum line practicing, horses whinnying, the excited chatter of participants gathering near the Town Green. The fair crowd was building too, early arrivals staking out good spots along the parade route that ended at the fairgrounds.
"Here they come!" someone shouted, and suddenly the entire fair seemed to pause as everyone turned toward the entrance.
The Guilford Fair Parade came streaming through the gates in a riot of color and sound—marching bands, vintage fire trucks, local businesses on decorated floats, children's groups waving from convertibles. The parade made a loop through the fairgrounds before participants dispersed, leaving behind hundreds of families ready to explore.
"And now the real day begins," Birdie said, checking her supplies one more time.
"Indeed," Soren agreed, but when she glanced at him, he was watching the lingering parade atmosphere with wonder.
The post-parade rush hit them like a happy hurricane. Families poured past their corner, drawn by the enticing smells and colorful displays. Children dragged parents toward Birdie's whimsical creations while teenagers gravitated toward Soren's more sophisticated offerings.
"I need four bubble gum bites and two cotton candy clouds," called a father juggling a toddler and an overstuffed diaper bag.
"Coming up!" Birdie dropped batter into oil and reached for her timer, only to realize she'd forgotten to set it during the rush.
