Kissing Cousins Page 12

  Breaking the seal of their lips, he looked down at her—the warm syrup of his eyes drizzling into hers. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Thank me?” she said. He was the one who’d made her dreams come true. What had she done?

  “For putting me at the top of your list a long time ago,” he said.

  You still are at the top of my list, Poppy thought.

  Instead she said, “Thank you for…for…”

  “For checking it off your list,” he said, smiling at her.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  It was over. Her dream had been fulfilled and it was over. As Swaggart ended their embrace, taking her hand and leading her toward the alcove, sudden heartache mingled with bliss in Poppy. He’d kissed her, yes—and it had far exceeded her expectations! Swaggart Moretti was everything he appeared to be, and more! His kiss was the stuff of romantic fiction—of fairy-tale dreams! And it was over.

  Poppy watched as Swaggart flipped the switch, sending Dean Martin’s voice to sleep for the night. Reaching behind the large plant in the corner, he handed her purse to her as he opened the back door and stepped aside for her to exit first.

  Poppy didn’t want to leave! She wanted to turn around, linger in Good Ol’ Days and in Swaggart’s arms forever! But as she watched him lock the door behind them, she knew it was over.

  “I hope you can sleep in a bit,” he said as they reached her car.

  “You, too,” she said.

  Poppy could feel the tears beginning to gather in her eyes. She prayed she could get in the car and drive out of the parking lot before they began to fall.

  “A-and…” he stammered.

  She pushed the unlock button on her key chain, took hold of the car door handle, and pulled. Her body rippled with goose bumps when Swaggart reached out and shut the door as it began to open.

  “Promise this won’t freak you out tomorrow,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, unable to look up at him.

  He took her chin in his hand, however, forcing her to look up at him. “I mean it,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, smiling at him.

  He continued to hold her face in his hand for a moment. Poppy feared her tears would betray her heartache as he bent toward her, still singing along with Dean. It was such a romantic song!

  Once more! Just once more! She had to taste his kiss just once more!

  Suddenly, Poppy reached out, pulling Swaggart’s head toward her own, kissing him firmly on the mouth. Instantly, he took her neck between his hands, pushing her back against the car as he took control of the kiss.

  Poppy’s lips burned, her jaws aching as she allowed their last kiss to consume her.

  All at once, however, Swaggart broke the seal of their lips and opened her car door. “You need to get home,” he said.

  “S-so do you,” she said, a tear trickling down her face as she moved into the driver’s seat of her car.

  “Good night,” he said as he closed the door for her.

  Tears streamed down Poppy’s face as she turned the key in the ignition and watched Swaggart jog toward his old blue Chevy pickup. It was very much like waking from a dream—the very moment when the dream finally vanishes, no matter how hard the dreamer tries to linger and tries not to wake up.

  Poppy began to sob, unable to believe it when she turned on the car radio only to hear Dean Martin singing “Innamorata” over the oldies station.

  She closed her eyes for a moment as she heard Swaggart’s pickup engine rumble to life. He was more wonderful than any man she’d ever known, and she’d kissed him! She determined she would fight the heartache and bathe only in the blissful memory of owning his attention to such an intimate extent for a time. She had kissed Swaggart Moretti. Her Dreams to Do list had been fulfilled. She thought of her upcoming date with Mark—of the finality of Swaggart’s asking her not to let what had happened between them freak her out. She could still sense the warmth of his kiss, the flavor of it in her mouth. Again she thought of Mark—of Saturday and the canoe ride. Perhaps—perhaps it was time to start fresh. Maybe it was time for a new Dreams to Do list.

  Poppy pulled the gear shift into drive. She turned left onto Montgomery Avenue and headed for home—left the past in the past and drove toward the future and a new list of dreams.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In the days following her romantic, fantasy-fulfilling tête-à-tête with Swaggart Moretti, Poppy found herself dithering between elation and misery. She knew the incident had been an isolated one—that Swaggart wasn’t going to take her in his arms and slather her with passion every time she entered a room. Still, she wanted him to do so! Each day following the blissful night she’d spent in his arms—each day after, as she’d enter the restaurant to begin her shift and see him working in the kitchen, her mouth would begin to water—her body take to some delighted trembling.

  Yet, true to her word, she maintained a perfectly settled outward appearance. And Swaggart treated her exactly the same way he always had—pleasant, playful, and as if they were simply very good friends.

  Whitney acted as if nothing whatsoever had transpired between her cousin and her best friend as well. Oh, certainly she had waited up for Poppy’s return that night, smiled when Poppy had confessed to her that “item number one” on her infamous Dreams to Do list had been successfully checked off—but beyond that, she did not tease Poppy or linger on the subject for very long. Therefore, as Poppy’s emotions rode a rollercoaster of confusion and polar-opposite emotion, she kept the tumultuous feelings to herself.

  Poppy tried to focus on her upcoming date with Mark. He’d called nearly every night, claiming he was afraid Poppy would forget about their plans and “stand him up.” Mark’s attention also stirred her emotions with confusion. She was delighted to see Mark’s number on the caller ID each time he called. Yet she felt guilty somehow, as if she were being dishonest with him, keeping secrets she shouldn’t keep about her feelings and, now, experience with Swaggart. Still, she was all too conscious of the fact she’d been out with him once! It wasn’t like he’d proposed marriage, and she had accepted—it wasn’t as if she were even steady-dating him. They’d been on one date! Sure, they had another one planned, but it didn’t mean she’d committed some great crime of disloyalty where Mark was concerned. Furthermore, Swaggart had never asked her out in her life. Thus, there was no hope, nothing to keep her from pursuing a relationship with Mark.

  In truth, Poppy simply felt trapped, helpless—adrift on an ocean of uncertainty. And her promise to Swaggart—her promise not to let their evening together “freak” her out—right! Yet Saturday was just around the corner, and she hoped her day with Mark would settle her anxieties—her uncertainties. Monday came and went, as did Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, so by Friday afternoon, as Poppy waited on a party of six businessmen at table eight, she hoped the next day, her day with Mark, would quiet the confusion in her soul.

  *

  As he sat in a chair in the alcove, attempting to take a quick break from the demanding chaos of a busy Friday afternoon, Swaggart watched Poppy as she hurried from table to table, to order counter, and back. He gritted his teeth as the flesh on his arms involuntarily broke into goose bumps at the thought of her warm, sweet kiss. He’d been mentally flogging himself from the moment he’d slid his key into the ignition of his pickup and watched Poppy pull out of the Good Ol’ Days parking lot at 2 a.m. five nights before.

  The thing was, Swaggart couldn’t quite settle on the reason for his self-inflicted, ongoing abuse of mind. He couldn’t settle on whether he was distraught because he’d given in to a weak moment and kissed her or because he’d given in to self-doubt and let her go. What he did know was he’d wanted her for himself for years, and now he was going to have to stand by and watch some other guy win her. He knew this Mark guy would win her too. Swaggart was no fool. He’d seen the guy: business suit, executive type with loafers, and probably some expensive sports car. Oh, there was nothing wrong with the b
usiness suit, executive type. Nothing wrong with the sports car.

  A few different career decisions probably would’ve found Swaggart in the same race—but it wasn’t what he wanted. Swaggart loved the restaurant—loved making Mickey Mouse pancakes for kids, loved to see people talking and laughing together, affected by the fantastic endorphins released in their brains by the taste of great food and the feel of a pleasant atmosphere. He knew he could simply put his business finance degree to better use and waltz into Good Ol’ Days in a suit and loafers. On second thought, no loafers. Loafers were a little too on the “soft” side—but he could give that Mark guy a run for his money in the career area if he wanted to. Yet the thing of it was, he knew it would be to his misery. He was using his degree—it wasn’t like he had wasted his time getting it. His grandfather’s financial success had quadrupled since Swaggart had secretly taken over the business end of things. No one but his grandpa knew Swaggart was the brains and financial manager behind the restaurant’s incredible financial success. No one even knew how crazy its financial success was! That’s the way Wally Dexter, owner of Good Ol’ Days Family Restaurant, wanted it. The day he’d handed off the business finances to Swaggart, he made him promise to keep the information strictly confidential—and Swaggart had.

  Therefore, as Swaggart sat watching Poppy, contemplating the successful business executive who was hot on her tail, he allowed a tiny shred of pride to lift his spirits for a brief moment. He’d done wonders with his grandfather’s business. This Mr. Joe Perfect-Face after Poppy wasn’t any better than Swaggart Moretti.

  The confident moment was short-lived, however.

  “Poppy just ordered up two Chef’s Choices, Swag,” Bobby called from the kitchen.

  “All right,” Swaggart said. “I’ll be right there.”

  What was she doing? It seemed to Swaggart that Poppy’s tables ordered Chef’s Choices three or four times more often than anybody else’s. Was she campaigning for them or something?

  He stared at her, heat flooding his limbs as she caught his gaze and smiled at him as she walked toward the alcove. Every kind of emotion poured through him as he watched her advancing—fury funneled toward this Mark guy—jealousy, resentment. Other emotions were alive in him too—possessiveness, passion, desire. If he knew one thing about himself, it was that, in that moment, he was in trouble. He’d spent too long contemplating Poppy Amore there in the alcove. He’d allowed his mind to nest on inconceivable thoughts of out-jousting this Mark guy and winning her over.

  “Taking a break?” Poppy said as she stepped into the alcove.

  “Yeah,” he managed. The back corner of the alcove was out of the line of vision of the entire restaurant, he realized in that moment. “You?” he asked, rising from his chair as she went to the apron rack.

  “No,” she said, rummaging around in a canvas bag hanging on one of the rack hooks. “Just parched. I brought a water bottle…or at least, I thought I did.”

  “You’re thirsty?” he asked, striding to where she stood. What was he doing? He’d lost his mind! Furthermore, his own grandfather would have grounds to fire him for sexual harassment!

  “Yeah,” Poppy said, still rummaging.

  “Well, let me take care of that for you then,” he said.

  Before Poppy could even blink, Swaggart had taken hold of her arm and maneuvered her to the back corner of the alcove. Taking her face between his strong hands, he rendered her breathless, executing such a passionate, driven kiss that Poppy’s arms and legs literally went numb!

  It wasn’t an unusually long kiss, but it was long enough to allow Poppy to melt against him and return it with the same vigor with which it was administered.

  “Sorry,” he said as he released her. He stepped back, thick guilt apparent in the expression of his eyes.

  “Th-that’s okay,” Poppy breathed, smoothing her apron and wondering if her cheeks were as red as they felt.

  “You still thirsty?” he asked as he turned and headed for the kitchen.

  “Not for water,” Poppy muttered under her breath.

  “Grandpa put a fresh bottle on the cooler this morning,” he called to her as he turned the corner and entered the kitchen.

  Poppy covered her mouth with one hand, trying to calm her breathing, still her trembling. What use were the five days she’d just spent trying to put her feelings into some sort of manageable order, if she was going to be so easily overcome by Swaggart’s attention again?

  Inhaling a deep breath, and trying to calm herself, Poppy went to the water cooler around the corner and filled a paper cup with water. After drinking three cups’ full, her mouth still bathed in the blissful sensation of Swaggart’s kiss, but she had to get back to her tables.

  “Everything all right?” Mr. Dexter asked, appearing at his office door suddenly.

  Poppy gasped, putting a hand to her bosom.

  “You scared me, Mr. Dexter!” she told him, forcing a smile.

  “Sorry about that, Poppy. You okay?” he asked.

  “Oh, yeah! I just had to pop in for a drink of water. It’s crazy out there today,” she said.

  Had he seen? The far corner of the alcove was invisible to every part of the restaurant except the door to Mr. Dexter’s office. Poppy tried to remember if the door had been open when she passed it on her way to the apron rack. She couldn’t remember! Still, he didn’t seem mad, amused, or unsettled in any regard. She was sure he hadn’t seen Swaggart kiss her. Swaggart kissed her! Her cheeks grew warm at the realization and memory.

  “Just checking,” Mr. Dexter said. “You do seem a little flushed—but I suppose a busy Friday will do that, won’t it?”

  “Yes, sir!” Poppy nervously exclaimed. “Well, back to work.” She was anxious, still uncertain as to whether or not Mr. Dexter had seen her kissing Swaggart in the alcove. Surely he hadn’t! She knew Mr. Dexter well enough to know he would’ve had to tease—he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself from it.

  Wally Dexter watched Poppy as she hurried off to tend her tables. In truth, he wanted to shout, “Whoopee!” but he managed to keep from doing so. He’d started to come out of his office just in time to see his grandson fairly assault his favorite little waitress, and all he could think was Whoopee!

  It’s time, he thought. At last, at last, at last! The time had come, and Wally was glad. He’d been in the restaurant business for over forty years, and he was tired. He’d been waiting for just the right moment to go ahead with his plans—and it looked like just the right moment had arrived—or was about to.

  He chuckled at the twinkle apparent in Poppy’s eyes, her rosied cheeks, her breathless appearance a moment before when he’d startled her. He knew she had some new Mr. Wonderful in her life, but he was glad to see his grandson hadn’t let her go without stamping himself in her mind, if not her heart. Swaggart was coming up out of the mire—Wally was certain of it, and it made him happy for more reasons than anyone could understand.

  Whistling a happy tune, Wally Dexter headed for the hostess podium. He felt revitalized and hopeful. He even felt up to greeting a few customers. Maybe Yolanda Peterson would even make an appearance at the restaurant.

  “You okay?” Whitney asked, handing Poppy three menus. “Brian—party of three,” she called.

  “Fine! Just fine,” Poppy said. Her hands trembled as she held the menus. “I-I just need tomorrow to get here.”

  “Oh, so that’s it!” Whitney said in a whisper. “A little nervous about our day with Mr. Gorgeous, are we?”

  “Yeah,” Poppy lied. Poppy frowned for a moment. It was strange—not being able to tell Whitney about the agony and delight where Swaggart was concerned. But she just couldn’t—it would be too weird—explaining to Whitney that her cousin was the most magnificent kisser she’d ever imagined. And besides, Poppy was certain her date with Mark would be incredible! She’d just wait and tell Whitney all about that and keep her confusion concerning Swaggart a secret.

  “I’m Brian,” a tall mid
dle-aged man said as he approached the podium.

  “Table five, Poppy,” Whitney said.

  “If you’ll just follow me, sir,” Poppy said. She smiled as Brian and two men apparently his same age fell into step behind her.

  “Order up!” she heard Bobby call from the kitchen. She’d seat these customers at table five, pick up her order for table two, and try not to faint at the sight of Swaggart when she did so.

  For a moment, she worried that kissing Swaggart would be some sort of catalyst to making her work environment uncomfortable somehow. But when she went to the order counter to pick up table two’s orders, she smiled as he winked at her. All would be well. She would move beyond the knowledge she’d lived her dream of kissing Swaggart Moretti. And so what if he stole one more kiss in the alcove? The fact made item number one—and the checkmark next to it—all the more wonderful to have experienced.

  As Poppy headed for table two, a plate in each hand, she glanced out the window. The sun was bright, the grass and trees were green, and everything about the day was beautiful! No doubt the next day would be just as wonderful—maybe more wonderful—though she had a difficult time imagining anything could be more wonderful than a day at Good Ol’ Days when Swaggart Moretti was in the kitchen—or in the alcove!

  *

  Saturday dawned bright and sunny with blue skies and the promise of being a perfect day. Mark would be picking Poppy up any minute, and she wrinkled her nose at her reflection in the microwave door. Poppy was never satisfied with her appearance—never. She accepted it, but she was never satisfied with it.

  “Are you nervous?” Whitney asked. Whitney was sitting at the table, reading the comics section of the newspaper and eating leftover instant cheesecake right out of the pie pan.

  “A little,” Poppy said. “It feels like forever since I’ve seen him.”

  “Are you afraid you’ve forgotten what he looks like?” Whitney teased. “’Cause I don’t think anybody could ever forget what that guy looks like.”