and sweeter than honey,” quoted Harken.
“Like the words of God — right and good,” added Koji.
Prissie knew they were quoting verses from the Bible, but she didn’t understand. How could food taste like words in a book? “That’s not a flavor.”
Koji lifted his hands again. “Please, Prissie?”
“It’s okay for me?”
“The children of Israel wandering in the wilderness ate nothing but manna and were satisfied — for a while,” Harken reminded.
“But that was in Bible times,” she countered.
“Child, all times are in God’s hands, and this is yours,” the older angel pronounced with infinite patience. “Accept an invitation when it is given, for who can tell if it will ever be extended again?”
Prissie thought there might be a rebuke in his tone, but she found nothing but kindness in Harken’s deep brown eyes. Her heart clenched with a sudden sense of urgency, and she looked down at the proffered food. Was this her once-in-a-lifetime chance to taste manna for herself?
Koji tilted his head to catch her gaze, his eyes sparkling with hope and friendliness. “It tastes good,” he promised. “Trust me.”
Smiling a little uncertainly, she chose a gleaming flake and popped it into her mouth. As an indescribable sweetness spread across her tongue. Prissie’s eyes brightened, and Koji grinned.
12
THE SECRET RECIPE
Thank you for sheltering her.”
“Of course,” Harken replied as he finished binding the warrior’s wound.
Letting the shining raiment fall back into place, the warrior said, “It has been years since the last time the battle raged so close to the center of town. What did they hope to gain from a midday assault?”
“It was dramatic,” the old shopkeeper remarked. “Showy, even.”
“You think so, too?”
Harken snapped shut the lid of a medical kit and took a seat beside his teammate. “It was pointless, but that may have been the point all along.”
The warrior rubbed the side of his face as he thought, but eventually, he voiced their shared concern. “While all our attention was fixed upon Main Street, was something important happening elsewhere?”
Wordlessly, both angels looked to the east.
“I’m detecting a theme here,” Grandma remarked as she placed a plate of sliced starfruit on the table between Koji and Prissie. “Are you fond of stars, young man?”
“Indeed,” he replied seriously.
Grandma Nell picked up the box of star-shaped pasta her granddaughter had brought home. “I haven’t used these since Beau decided he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up. Do you remember that, Prissie?”
“Of course,” she replied, pushing the plate of fruit closer to Koji.
“We’ll have a nice soup with lunch tomorrow,” Grandma announced, turning to check the contents of her vegetable crisper. “Naomi and I will raid the garden this evening.”
As Grandma Nell bustled out onto the back porch where she kept her big stock pot, Koji picked up a piece of fruit and held it up to the light. “I did not realize I was reaching for stars,” he remarked thoughtfully.
“Does it matter?” Prissie returned, nibbling experimentally at the point of her first slice.
“Shimron says that the things we are closest to are the things we usually overlook,” Koji replied. “I must ask him if I should begin observing myself as well as those around me.” He touched his tongue to the starfruit’s greenish-yellow flesh, then popped the whole slice into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savored the new flavor.
Prissie took a larger bite, but decided that she preferred the familiarity of apples to newfangled fruits from faraway lands.
Her grandmother returned hugging a speckled pot with one arm and toting a frozen chicken under the other; she clanked the former onto the counter then clunked the latter into the sink. Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she crossed to the shelf in the corner, which bulged with cookbooks, and picked up the one waiting on top. “I found it, Prissie — your great-grandmother’s recipe book.”
“Really?” she exclaimed, setting aside her half-eaten fruit as Grandma Nell offered a worn book with a pink calico cover.
“It took me long enough to find it, but you still have a little time. Give it a look this afternoon, and you can do a practice pie here while I make Koji’s soup over in your momma’s kitchen. Sound good?”
“Yes!”
Half an hour later found Prissie and Koji on the porch swing. Grandpa Pete’s mother’s recipes were written in pencil, which had faded in spots and smudged in others, so she turned the pages with great care. “Her name was Mae,” Prissie said. “That’s my middle name.”
Koji nodded wisely, but didn’t speak. He was