He had not entered it before. The entry required a brick and mortar address or a permanent fixed location, and Boots & Roots was still, for one more season, a truck.
"Valor has an exhibition slot. A Community Spirit entry. It's a newer category, added three years ago to bring regional attention to smaller markets and food economies. It has never been filled by anyone from this county." She paused. "We're filling it this year. Valor's entry will be a partnership entry." Another pause, deliberate as everything she did. "The two of you will represent this market, this rally, and this town."
"The two of us?" Finn started.
"Partners?" Ivy said at the same moment.
"You share a market space," Mrs. Patel said, with the serenity of a woman who had anticipated this objection and found it unpersuasive. "You are, as of two days ago, known quantities to approximately two point three million people who are nowwatching what happens next. The committee agrees. The slot is yours."
Finn looked at the projector screen. He looked at the budget deficit. He looked at the follower graph with its startling vertical line.
He could feel Ivy not looking at him.
"There's a prize," Mrs. Patel clicked one more time. "The exhibition winner is eligible for the State Harvest Prize. A separate fund administered by the regional agricultural board." She let them read the number. "It does not go to the Cook-Off winner. It goes specifically to the Community Spirit entry, if the judges determine the entry represents genuine regional food culture and community investment."
The number on the screen was specific and real. A real kitchen. Four walls. A sign over the door. He looked at the number for a long time.
"The State Cook-Off is broadcast. Judged in public, in front of a regional panel, with full media coverage. The visibility from a win at this level—" Mrs. Patel clicked to the final slide, which showed the Cook-Off's media reach numbers, "— would be of a different order than a viral market clip."
Ivy's coffee cup was on the table in front of her. She was looking at the screen with an expression Finn recognized, because it was probably close to his own. The expression of someone doing the math and knowing it would change her life.
"We don't have the same food," Ivy said finally. "My truck is?—"
"A dessert concept built around seasonal produce," Mrs. Patel said, smooth and immediate. "His truck is the produce. The exhibition requires a complete food story: field to table, start to finish. You are, between the two of you, exactly that." She closed the laptop. "The entry deadline is in three weeks. I would suggest that you begin immediately."
Finn looked at Ivy. Ivy looked at Finn.
She had a pen tucked behind her ear that she probably didn't know was there, and she was chewing the inside of her cheek, and she was looking at him like she was trying to figure out what she was dealing with before she committed.
He looked back at the screen. At the number.
Three years. He had been building toward this for three years.
He turned back to Mrs. Patel. She didn't wait for either of them to agree. It was a foregone conclusion.
"I'll have the paperwork ready by noon."
CHAPTER NINE
Ivy called Eva from the bottom of the community center steps, before she'd reached the parking lot, before she'd fully processed what had just happened in that room.
Eva picked up on the first ring.
"I KNEW IT!" Eva said after Ivy dished all the details. "I knew it the second I saw the clip. Mrs. Patel has been scheming since?—"
"How do you know Mrs. Patel?"
"Everyone knows Mrs. Patel. Her husband set me and Fran up."
"You never told me that."
"You've been gone for a while. Looks like Mrs. Patel is the matchmaker now."
"Finn and I aren't dating. We're just partnering up."
"Sure. For now." A brief sound of movement, as if Eva was repositioning. "What are you going to do?"
"It's real money, Eva. Even better exposure for my platform."
