Right now, South Grant's health doesn't allow her to eat cumin barbecue.
This time, no matter how much she pleaded, Nathan Foster didn't agree to it.
In the end, he brought her a bowl of plain porridge and some greens.
South Grant was just short of holding a steamed cornbread, otherwise, it was like a scene of sorrow.
As she held the bowl, she hummed, "Holding a cornbread in my hand; there's not a drop of oil in the dish..."
At first, Nathan Foster didn't hear what she was singing. When he leaned in closer, he finally heard, and couldn't help but burst into laughter.
"Hurry and eat, for now, you can only have light food."
"Then remember you owe me a cumin barbecue."
"Okay."
"Take me when I recover."
"Okay."
"I want lamb specially flown in from the prairie."
"Okay."
Amid Nathan Foster's continuous agreements, South Grant finished the bowl of porridge in her hand.
As night fell, Nathan Foster watched her fall asleep and quietly gazed at her serene sleeping face.
