Page 24 of Meet Me at the Christmas Cottage
“Once at breakfast, and now it’s lunchtime. Would you prefer that I let you cook your own meals?”
Bronte chewed on this for half a second before she said, “No, actually. I prefer my food unburnt and edible.”
Jonah’s eyebrows rose. “Not much of a cook?”
Bronte shrugged as she slid onto one of the barstools. “I eat a lot of takeout.”
“What were you planning on doing while you were here? Walking to town for every meal?”
“Martha had given me some take-home boxes.”
Jonah remembered the takeout boxes he had found in the refrigerator. There had been a burger and an order of fries. “You were going to live off a soggy burger and a box of fries?”
“I would have figured something out.”
Jonah shook his head. “Do you want a grilled cheese?”
“If it’s not too much of an issue.”
Jonah didn’t say anything. He plated the grilled cheese from the skillet and poured a ladle of soup into a bowl.
Bronte’s thanks was almost a whisper.
Jonah made another sandwich and bowl of soup and sat on the stool next to her. He bowed his head and sent up a quick prayer for his food.
“Why do you do that?” Bronte looked at him, eyebrows raised.
“What?”
“Pray. For your food.”
“So I don’t drop dead from unblessed food.”
The shocked look on Bronte’s face had Jonah biting the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out with a laugh. “I’m kidding. People don’t drop dead from unblessed food.”
Bronte visibly sighed.
“At least, I don’t think they do.” He had to keep her on her toes.
Her spoon clattered to her bowl, and she huffed, “Then why do you do it?”
“It’s the simplest way to give thanks to God for providing. We could be stuck in the house without any food. We could be stuck outside. We could have both left and gotten stuck somewhere other than here.”
“It doesn’t really seem like it matters.” Bronte picked her spoon back up and swirled it in her soup.
“I think it does. I don’t think we’re left to chance. God cares about each of His children.”
“I have found that God doesn’t seem to care what happens to me.”
Jonah stilled. “I don’t believe that.”
“Whether you believe it or not, God and I came to the agreement a long time ago that I don’t actually matter.”
“Bronte—”
Bronte held up a hand, cutting him off. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been living with this truth for a long time. Life of a foster kid. Comes with the territory.”
Jonah’s heart hurt for her. He opened his mouth to respond, but Bronte cut him off, changing the subject.
