Page 8 of Deep Fried Devotion
A tap on her shoulder made her turn. Soren held up his own timer, showing thirty seconds remaining.
"How did you—?"
"I've been tracking your timing patterns," he said, as if memorizing her cooking rhythms was normal. "Your bubble gum bites require exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds for optimal texture."
She liked that he'd been paying attention to her work with the same focus he applied to his creations.
"Thank you," she said, meaning it far more than the situation probably warranted.
"Your customers expect consistency," he replied, but his voice held a gentleness that hadn't been there yesterday.
Mrs. Plum materialized during a brief lull, a festive purple ribbon now woven through her silver hair.
"How are you young people getting along?" she asked with the innocent tone of a grandmother who'd never had an innocent thought in her life.
"Wonderfully!" Birdie wiped down her counter. "Soren's been incredibly helpful with the technical side of things."
Mrs. Plum's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. "Has he now?"
"I merely helped with some temperature stuff," Soren interjected from his window, voice still formal but less stiff.
"And I shared my grandmother's trick for keeping batter crispy." Birdie beamed at the older woman. "We make a good team!"
Mrs. Plum smiled "A good team. How nice."
She purchased one item from each truck—"For comparison purposes," she claimed—then settled onto a nearby bench to conduct what appeared to be a very serious taste test. Otherfairgoers noticed her thoughtful chewing and gathered around, curious about her verdict.
"Which one's better?" someone called from the back of the crowd.
Mrs. Plum considered this seriously. "That's like asking if I prefer my grandson's finger paintings or the Mona Lisa. They're both art, just different kinds. Nothing wrong with either one."
She stole a glance at Soren, who was listening to Mrs. Plum's review with genuine interest instead of his usual intensity. He really was nice to look at. Birdie suppressed a sigh. She needed to concentrate on her work and not on the sexy chef next door.
The afternoon continued with an easy rhythm that would have shocked anyone who'd witnessed their territorial standoff the day before. By noon, Soren had stopped flinching when Birdie's music played, and she'd learned to recognize his subtle signals when he needed space to concentrate. More importantly, they'd discovered that their different approaches created something neither could achieve alone.
"You make me think outside the box. I get so caught up in getting the science right, I forget about the fun part."
"Well, your scientific approach makes my crazy ideas actually work," Birdie replied. "Half my experiments fail because I don't understand the chemistry."
They stood facing each other across the narrow space between their trucks, covered in flour and oil splatters, looking like survivors of an enthusiastic food fight. Soren had somehow acquired a streak of pink batter across his cheek, and Birdie's apron bore colorful evidence of every experiment they'd attempted.
"We did it.”
“Yeah, we did.”
The moment stretched between them, loaded with possibilities neither seemed ready to name, until the sharp blast of a horn announced the afternoon entertainment schedule.
"Back to work," Birdie said, though she made no immediate move to step away.
"Back to work," Soren agreed.
As they turned to face the afternoon crowd, Birdie caught sight of Mrs. Plum watching them from her knitting booth with a smile that could have powered every ride on the midway.
Chapter Four
The post-parade rush had finally died down to a manageable crowd when Soren laughed. Birdie nearly dropped her spatula.
It hadn’t been the polite, controlled sound she'd heard a few times before, but a real laugh—rich and completely unguarded. A little girl had just asked if his pickle caviar was "made from real pickles that went to college," and her serious expression had cracked his usual composure wide open.
