Maysen Jar Box Set Page 26

  “Have you decided who gets a free car?” Molly asked.

  “No.” I slumped onto the desk. Why Jamie had wanted to buy a stranger a car, I had no clue. “How do you pick a stranger and buy them a car? If I walk up to someone and say, ‘Hey you! I want to buy you a car,’ they’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  I sat up. “You will? Really?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, I’ll pick someone.”

  “That would be great. I’m too chicken.”

  “How do you want to pay for it? You’re not going to just hand over a wad of cash, are you?”

  I shook my head. “No, I want to make sure the person gets a car. I was planning on just financing with the dealership. Then once I sell the house, I can pay it back.”

  “Any progress on finding a rental?”

  I sighed. “No. Honestly, I haven’t even looked lately.” I’d been spending so much time at Cole’s house, moving had stalled. But I needed to resume my rental search again.

  Jamie and I had been smart when we’d bought our house so the mortgage wasn’t much, but I could use the money from the equity I’d built up over the years. I still needed to reimburse Cole for what he’d spent on Jamie’s truck and soon I’d have a car payment for a car that I wouldn’t be driving. Since my house sat empty most of the time, downsizing to a smaller apartment made sense.

  Except what I really wanted to do was just live at Cole’s.

  These last two months, it had become home. Most of my clothes were already hanging in his closet, my kitchen appliances had all migrated to his cupboards instead of my own, and his bed was my bed. I doubted I’d even be able to sleep in my old room now.

  “I don’t know why you won’t just move in with Cole,” Molly muttered.

  I sighed. “Because he hasn’t asked.” I wanted him to ask me, not feel pressured because I wanted to offload my house.

  “Asked what?”

  My eyes shot to the door as Cole walked into the office. “Nothing!” I shot Molly a don’t you dare look.

  She rolled her eyes and mouthed, Fine.

  “What are you doing here?” I stood from the desk. “Did you forget something at lunch?”

  He grinned. “I have a surprise for you. Grab your coat and come out front.”

  Molly and I both rushed to the coat hooks by the door, then followed Cole through the kitchen.

  Helen was behind the counter this afternoon—studying, since we didn’t have many customers. When she saw us come through the swinging door on Cole’s heels, she slammed her textbook shut and jogged around the counter to catch up. Judging by the huge smile on her face, she must have been clued into Cole’s surprise.

  As we walked through the restaurant, Cole reached back and took my hand. His huge smile was infectious as he pulled me outside and around the corner of the building.

  My free hand covered my gasp when I spotted the surprise.

  Jamie’s truck—gleaming, midnight blue and accented with polished chrome—was parked in the lot.

  “It’s done?”

  Cole handed me a set of keys. “It’s done. What do you think?”

  “It’s perfect.” I was awestruck that he’d transformed an old yellow heap into this beautiful classic. I grabbed Cole’s face with both hands and yanked it down for a hard, fast kiss. “Thank you.”

  He smiled against my mouth. “You’re welcome. Go check it out.”

  A squeak escaped my lips as I jogged to the driver’s side. I climbed in, filling my lungs with the clean, new smell. My hands stroked the buttery leather of the new cream bench seat before gripping the matching steering wheel. I ran my fingers across the dashboard and down to the new radio. The floor, the door panels, the ceiling—everything was new.

  Cole had even replaced the old plastic visors.

  I flipped one down, surprised when a photo fell onto my lap. It was the one Cole had found months ago. Cole had kept Jamie in his truck. I smiled at the picture and put it back into the visor just as the passenger door opened.

  “Well?” Cole asked.

  “It’s incredible. Thank you.”

  “It was fun.” He ran his hand over the seat, inspecting his work. “And it didn’t take as much work as I’d thought. The engine was in good shape. My buddy at the body shop did a lot. Mostly I just put in new parts.”

  “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. This truck has taken a lot of your evenings lately.”

  He shrugged. “I enjoyed it. It made me realize I need to find a hobby. Something to get my mind off work.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll find another old car and fix it up.”

  “Can I pick the color?”

  He grinned. “Of course.”

  I ran my hands over the steering wheel again. “I pick black.” It was his favorite color.

  Cole climbed into the truck and took out his phone, aiming the camera my way. “There. Now you’ve got your picture for the day.” A picture of me in Jamie’s truck was far better than the selfie I’d attempted this morning. “How about a quick drive?”

  “Where to?”

  He shrugged. “Anywhere.”

  I turned the key and smiled, then I drove us around the block and parked behind the restaurant.

  When Cole gave me a funny look, I just shut off the truck and slid across the bench seat, showing him with my lips how much I appreciated his work on this project.

  By the time we broke apart, I needed more lip balm.

  Not long after Cole went back to work, Molly left the restaurant to run some errands before she had to pick up Kali and Max from daycare. It was just me and Helen for the rest of the afternoon and evening, so while she managed the counter, I was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for my chicken noodle soup.

  It was supposed to get cold tonight and I thought soup would be a hit with the dinner crowd. Plus, it was one of Cole’s favorites. He was coming back here for dinner and I wanted to do something special for him, given all he’d done to fix up Jamie’s truck—which was parked out back.

  Cole had taken my car back to the station so I could drive Jamie’s truck home tonight. As soon as we closed up The Maysen Jar, I was planning on driving around for a bit, listening to Jamie’s favorite country station, then finding a spot to park and cross that item off his list.

  “Hey, Poppy?” Helen poked her head into the kitchen.

  “What’s up?” I didn’t look up from the carrots on my cutting board.

  “That girl is back.”

  I dropped my knife and wiped my hands on my apron as I hurried to the door, peeking around Helen.

  Sitting in the same seat she always did—tucked into the far back corner of the room—was a young girl who’d been coming into the restaurant regularly for the past few weeks. She always came at the same time, around three in the afternoon, and always wore the same clothes, faded black leggings and an olive-green coat that was two sizes too big and hung to her knees. On her feet were scuffed black ballet flats.

  But even though her clothes were old and worn, she’d put effort into her appearance. Her face didn’t need much makeup—her light brown skin was flawless—but she’d dusted her cheeks with a bit of pink to match the shadow she’d used to highlight her large caramel eyes. Her long hair hung nearly to her waist, and she’d added some product to tame the frizz from her ash-brown curls.

  “Did she order anything?”

  Helen shook her head. “No. She just took one of the free cookies and asked for a glass of water.”

  I frowned. The girl never ordered anything. Instead, she came and sat in that corner, attempting to blend into the wall as she read the same tattered book or worked on homework.

  I didn’t care that she wasn’t a paying customer. I cared that she was young—probably only sixteen—and she seemed to be surviving on my free cookies alone. She’d gotten visibly thinner in just the time she’d been coming to The Maysen Jar.

  But whenever a
ny of us would approach and offer her something, she’d politely decline and leave the restaurant. So yesterday, Molly and I had told our staff to tell us immediately the next time the girl came in.

  “Do me a favor,” I told Helen. “Go put a chicken potpie and apple pie in the toaster oven, then make a vanilla latte. I’m going to get this soup on the stove and then I’ll be out.”

  While Helen went to prepare the food, I hurried to finish my chopping and toss the veggies into my chicken stock. With the burner set to simmer, I washed my hands and untied my apron. When I came out front, Helen had everything on a tray.

  “Thank you.” I took the tray. “Wish me luck.”

  She crossed her fingers and smiled.

  The girl noticed me when I hit the halfway point of the restaurant. She sat straighter, shoving a paper into her textbook before stuffing them both in a canvas backpack.

  So I picked up my pace before she could escape. “Hi.” I set down the tray just as she stood from her chair. “Please don’t go. Please.”

  She eyed me warily but sat back down.

  “Thank you.” I took the chair across from her. “My name is Poppy. This is my restaurant.”

  The girl looked to the food, swallowing hard, then back up to my face, but she didn’t speak.

  “I was hoping you could do me a favor. I made a few changes to my piecrust recipe,” I lied. “Maybe you could try these and give me your honest opinion. Tell me what you think.”

  “Oh, um, I don’t—”

  “I know it’s after lunch and you might not be hungry, but even just a couple bites would help. And it’s free, of course. Taste testers don’t have to pay. What do you say? Lend me your taste buds?”

  Her eyes dropped to the food again, and this time, she licked her lips. “Okay.”

  Victory! I held back my smile and stood. “I’ll let you eat without me hovering. Just don’t leave before you tell me what you think.”

  She nodded and waited for me to step back before she picked up her napkin and silverware.

  I turned and walked right back to the kitchen, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder. Then I stood in the middle of the kitchen, counting to one hundred, before I came back out to the counter, pretending to take inventory of the display case.

  “Is she eating?” I whispered to Helen.

  “Yeah.”

  I sighed. “Good. I’m going to go make the noodles for the soup so they can dry for a while. When she’s close to done, come and get me.”

  Helen nodded. “You got it.”

  I’d never made noodles so fast in my life. Nervous energy poured from my fingertips as I kneaded the dough, and by the time Helen came back to get me from the kitchen, I had the noodles all rolled and cut.

  With a towel in my hand, I walked back to the girl’s table and smiled. She’d finished everything except for the vanilla latte, which had gone untouched. “What did you think?”

  “It was really good.”

  “Great!” I cheered and sat down. “I’ll keep those changes then. Did you not like the coffee?”

  She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I, um . . . can’t have coffee.”

  “Are you allergic?”

  It was a stupid question. The minute I asked, my eyes wandered to her stomach.

  Her coat, which she’d always kept closed, was now unbuttoned. Underneath she was wearing a fitted black shirt that molded to her rounded belly.

  “Oh!” I smiled wider, hoping to hide my shock that this young girl was pregnant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. How about a hot chocolate instead?”

  “That’s okay.”

  The girl spoke so quietly, I leaned my arms on the table to hear her better. “Are you sure? I make the cocoa mix from scratch. I’d be happy to make you one . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

  She pulled her coat tight around her shoulders without an answer or eye contact.

  Was she afraid of me? Or was she worried she was in trouble? I didn’t want to scare her away from coming back, but I also didn’t want her to leave before I got some answers. This girl might not be asking for help, but she needed it.

  “You’re not in trouble.” I gently placed my hand on the table. “You’re welcome here anytime. If all you want are cookies and water, that’s fine with me. Take as much as you’d like and stay as long as you’d like. I’ll even mark this table reserved for you.”

  Her head was still ducked, but I caught a faint nod.

  “And if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. I’ll leave you alone, but I’d like to get to know you. I like to know all of my regular customers.”

  I waited. And waited. But she still didn’t move. I was about to give up when her face lifted and she gave me a shy smile.

  “Belle.”

  “Belle. That’s a beautiful name.” I held out my hand. “I’m Poppy Maysen.”

  She took my hand and looked around the room. “Maysen. Spelled like the restaurant?”

  “Yep.” I rubbed my hands over my arms, pretending to be cold. “It’s kind of chilly in here. I think I’m going to make one of those hot chocolates for me. Sit tight, I’ll whip one up for you too.”

  Before she could protest, I stood from my chair and grabbed her tray, taking it back to the kitchen. Then I went behind the counter and got out the whole milk. I didn’t need the added fat, but Belle did.

  Helen came to my side as I started the steamer. “How’s it going?”

  “Progress, I think. Did you notice she was pregnant?”

  She shook her head.

  “Would you pack up some stuff to go? I don’t know if she’ll take it, but I can try. Maybe do stuff that will last a couple of days or is easy to reheat, like stew and a mac ’n’ cheese.”

  “Got it. I’ll throw in a salad too for some vitamins.”

  While Helen made a to-go bag, I whipped up two hot chocolates in our largest mugs. Then I carried them back to Belle’s table and sat. “Here you go. Cheers!”

  I took a long sip of my cocoa, relieved as she did the same.

  “So, Belle. How did you find this place? Do you live close by?”

  She shook her head. “No, I heard some girls at school talking about it.”

  “Do you go to Bozeman High?”

  She nodded and took another sip of hot chocolate.

  “Is this your senior year? Is that why you get out so early?”

  “No, I’m a junior. But my last class is just study hall and the teacher doesn’t make us stay if we have good grades.”

  A junior. Which meant she was probably only sixteen years old. Sixteen. Hungry. And pregnant. I hoped that she was at least getting meals at school.

  “Do you have a favorite subject?”

  “I like home ec.”

  “No way! That was my favorite class too. I loved the cooking, obviously. What’s your favorite part?”

  She smiled—the first genuine smile I’d seen—and it was stunning. “I love the cooking too.”

  “Have you ever made homemade egg noodles?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, I’m making some today for chicken noodle soup. Want to help?”

  She nearly dropped her mug at my offer. “Really?”

  “Let me show you my favorite part of the restaurant.” I winked. “Follow me to the kitchen.”

  An hour later, I had three times the egg noodles I needed for the soup and I was letting Belle mix a batch of triple berry pie filling. I’d done most of the talking in the past hour, telling her tidbits about myself and my cooking experiences, but as we’d started with the berries, she’d finally begun to open up.

  I’d learned that she was sixteen, like I’d guessed, and lived with her dad. I also found out that she’d been walking here after school on the days when she needed a quiet place to do her homework.

  And that she was definitely eating for two.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Six months, I think.” Her shoulders folded inward as she
whispered, “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Have you been to the doctor yet?”

  “I don’t have insurance.”

  Most sixteen-year-old kids didn’t. “What about your parents?”

  She shook her head.

  When she shied away even farther, I backed off the questions. I’d made a lot of progress with Belle today, and I hoped I’d earned her trust this afternoon. Maybe in time, she’d be more open to sharing about her life.

  “Have you ever made corn bread before?”

  She looked up and nodded. “Once in class.”

  “All right.” I dug out my recipe card from the stack on the table and handed it over. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  By the time five o’clock rolled around, meal prep for the next two days was nearly complete. While I’d been distracted—trying to get tidbits of information from Belle—she’d focused completely on cooking, cranking out every recipe card I handed her with utter perfection.

  “Thanks for all your help.” I handed her a towel to dry her hands. “You’re welcome here anytime. You’re a natural in the kitchen.” So much so that I was going to talk to Molly about hiring her part-time. At least that way, we could guarantee she was feeding herself and her baby.

  “Thank you. I had so much fun.” Belle beamed until she glanced at the clock above the sink. “But I’d better get home.” The word “home” sounded like she was swallowing nails.

  As she pulled on her coat and slung her backpack over her shoulders, I went to the kitchen door and surveyed the restaurant. Helen was helping a customer at the register and a couple of the tables were full, but we still had an hour before the dinner rush.

  My eyes wandered to the windows up front. It was getting dark, the winter light not lasting long these days, and it would be cold for Belle to walk. The wind was picking up too.

  “Belle, let me give you a ride so you don’t freeze.”

  She shook her head, pulling on a pair of mittens that had seen better days. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Please?” I begged. “I’ll worry about you all night.”

  She walked by me and through the door, but stopped when her gaze hit the windows and she shivered. Her beautiful eyes came to mine. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I smiled. “Come on, I’m parked out back.”