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