Kissing Cousins Page 17

  “Um…he’s out of town for work, so he rescheduled for Saturday,” she said.

  “Do you like this guy?” Swaggart asked.

  Poppy dipped a fry in her ranch dressing, swirling it around for a minute before taking a bite. “He’s really nice—I’m sure everyone likes him,” she answered. She dared to glance at him. He was staring at her, his eyes narrowed, the smile gone from his face.

  “But do you like him?” he asked.

  Poppy was feeling uncomfortable, nervous. “I’m not planning on marrying him, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

  “So why are you dating him then?” he asked.

  “Probably the same reason you were dating Jennifer—to have a good time and have something to do after work,” she said. She didn’t look up at him, just took another bite of her hamburger. How could she possibly explain why she had dated Mark? “A handsome, charming man asked me out, and I accepted—does that make me a criminal or something?” she said, her mouth still full of hamburger.

  “So you’re not exclusive?” he asked.

  Poppy looked at him. He was still staring at her, eyes narrowed. It was very disconcerting—as if he were peering into her thoughts, her soul.

  “No,” Poppy answered, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “If I were exclusive with him, do you think I would have spent last night…talking to you?”

  He grinned—most likely amused by her discomfort. “Well, I sure hope not,” he chuckled.

  The conversation died for a moment. Poppy was uncomfortable—did he think badly of her for being so willing to kiss him while she was dating Mark?

  “I do have one question, however,” he said at last.

  Oh, no! Poppy thought. She had hoped the subject was dead—apparently it wasn’t.

  “What might that be?” she asked.

  “Am I a better kisser than he is?” Swaggart asked.

  Poppy looked up at him. His expression was not quite that of mischief, yet not quite that of being serious.

  “Oh my heck!” Poppy exclaimed in a whisper. “I cannot believe you’re asking me that.”

  “You’re blushing,” he said.

  “Of course I’m blushing,” Poppy whispered. “My heck! I can’t believe—”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he interrupted. Swaggart hadn’t lowered his voice to a whisper the way Poppy had, and Poppy glanced to the couple at the nearby table to see if they were eavesdropping. “Am I a better kisser than—”

  Before she realized what she was doing, Poppy had reached across the table, pressing her hand to Swaggart’s mouth to hush him.

  “Shhh,” she scolded. “Someone’s going to hear you.”

  Swaggart pulled Poppy’s hand away from his mouth and asked, “What? You don’t want people knowing we spend hours on end kissing and—”

  “Shhh!” she scolded in a whisper, as she pressed her palm to his lips again.

  His eyes sparkled with mischief as he chuckled and pulled her hand away once more. “Then answer my question. Am I a better—”

  “Yes! Yes, of course you are!” Poppy exclaimed in a whisper. “Though in truth, I never kissed Mark like that. I haven’t known him that long at all.” She frowned as she looked at him and said, “I can’t believe you’d think I would make out with you one night and then someone else another.”

  “I don’t,” he said, smiling at her. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  Poppy was puzzled as Swaggart suddenly removed his Jiggy burger from his plate, setting it on a napkin on the wrought-iron table. Next he picked up his plate and dumped the few steak fries he had left onto Poppy’s plate.

  “You’re not gonna eat your food?” Poppy asked.

  “Oh, I will,” Swaggart said. “But I have to finish this.”

  Poppy watched as Swaggart turned his plate over and retrieved a folded napkin and a pen from his apron pocket. Unfolding the napkin, he laid it on the bottom of the plate. Poppy could see the napkin already had writing on it, and she smiled as Swaggart leaned over, awkwardly drawing a dotted line border around whatever was written on it.

  “Now that we’ve established I’m the better kisser and that you’re not dating Mr. Joe Perfect—here,” he said, handing the napkin to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “A coupon,” he said, taking a bite of his hamburger and snatching a fry from Poppy’s plate.

  “A coupon?” Poppy said, as she looked at the napkin.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Swaggart said, continuing to eat.

  Poppy smiled as she studied the napkin. Written in Swaggart’s nearly illegible, very masculine handwriting were the words, This coupon is redeemable for one night of “date rut”—dinner and a double feature with Swaggart Moretti. Poppy giggled at the dotted line rectangle Swaggart had drawn around the verbiage.

  “It’s a ‘date rut’ coupon,” he said, eating another fry. “Read the fine print on the back.”

  Poppy giggled and turned the napkin over. Written in smaller writing and even more illegibly were the words, No kissing necessary to redeem this coupon.

  “What do you think of that?” Swaggart said. His eyebrows arched with daring pride, his handsome smile dazzling Poppy to the tips of her toes.

  Poppy thought she was going to fly apart! Swaggart Moretti was asking her out? It couldn’t be true! It just couldn’t be! Yet she held the proof in her hands—it was a dream come true—it was better! She wanted to leap from her seat, throw her arms around his neck, kiss him square on his handsome mouth—but she didn’t.

  “You are too cute, Swaggart,” she said, instead.

  “Cute?” he said, frowning and grinning at the same time. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Yes,” Poppy answered, studying the coupon again. He was adorable! On top of being gorgeous, charming, charismatic, witty, masculine, built like Adonis, and talented—he was adorable!

  “So when do you want to redeem that?” he asked. He picked up the white paper his Jiggy burger had been in, crumpling it up and shooting it like a basketball into the nearby trash receptacle.

  “I don’t know,” Poppy said. “When…when can I?”

  Swaggart smiled again and said, “Well, a little bird told me you’re free Thursday.” Poppy giggled and bit her lip. Suddenly she was very, very glad Mark Lawson had been called out of town on business.

  “But a double feature…that’ll take all day, and don’t you work Thursday?” she asked. Her heart was pounding like mad, she felt breathless, and the loop-the-loops going on in her stomach were almost nauseating!

  “I’m off Thursday. All day and all night,” he said, snatching another fry from her plate.

  “If I redeem the coupon,” Poppy began, again studying the napkin in her hand, “do I get to keep it?”

  Swaggart shrugged his shoulders and said, “If you want.”

  “Okay then. Let’s go Thursday,” she said. She was certain her cheeks were going to pop from smiling so hard.

  “All righty then,” he said, pushing his chair away from the table and standing. “I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  “In the morning?” Poppy asked—hoping he did mean in the morning.

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “The first matinee movies start at like eleven—that means lunch about one, the next movie at around two thirty or three, and then dinner at six.” He put his hands on the table, leaning close to Poppy’s face. “And then we could do a late movie if you want or just sit on the grass and check out the stars again.”

  “But the coupon doesn’t include lunch, a triple feature, or star-gazing,” Poppy said. Oh how she wanted to kiss him! Her mouth was watering, her body trembling as goose bumps poured over her.

  “Thursday is double coupon day,” Swaggart said. He smiled, reached out, and tweaked her nose. “I’ve gotta get back to work. I think Bobby’s burning something.”

  “Okay,” Poppy said.

  “Finish your Jiggy burger—I worked hard on that,” he said, as he turned and headed back
to the restaurant.

  Poppy smiled and breathed a sigh of pure delight as she studied the napkin in her hands.

  “This coupon is redeemable for one night of ‘date rut’—dinner and a double feature with Swaggart Moretti,” she read aloud to herself.

  She couldn’t stop the tiny squeal of joy that escaped her throat. She had a date with Swaggart Moretti! An honest-to-goodness date! And the way he’d asked her—Poppy looked at the napkin again and giggled—how adorable! She turned it over and read the back again. No kissing necessary to redeem this coupon, it said. She knew it was his way of letting her know he wanted to be with her, not just kiss her. It was wonderful! Though she hoped he wouldn’t hold too fast to the “no kissing necessary” clause on the back of the adorable coupon.

  In those moments, Poppy didn’t care how awkward it might be to tell Mark she couldn’t see him again. In those moments, she didn’t care that this date with Swaggart might be a one-time thing—a singular day of having him all to herself. In those moments, all Poppy could do was try and keep her feet on the ground—she had a date with Swaggart Moretti!

  “Swaggart,” Wally Dexter called as Swaggart entered the alcove through the back door.

  “Yeah, Grandpa?” Swaggart said.

  Poppy had liked his coupon! Furthermore, he was beginning to think he had the upper hand over the Mark guy—it was hard to believe, but it looked like it might be true. He smiled at the knowledge.

  “Can I see you in the office for a minute?” his Grandpa asked.

  “Sure thing,” Swaggart said. His light-heartedness was compromised just a bit—his grandpa’s serious expression was a little out of character.

  Wally Dexter had seen Swaggart having lunch with Poppy from his office window. Finally, he’d thought. After all this time, that numbskull grandson of his was finally going to make his move. It had taken him long enough—but it looked like he was finally going to do it. And if Swaggart was ready to make a change, then Wally knew his moment had arrived. Wally had a change he needed to make too—a change that had been in the works for months. He was glad the time had arrived to act on it.

  “What’s up, Grandpa?” Swaggart said as his grandpa closed the office door behind them. Swaggart felt a bit uneasy. It was unlike his grandfather to appear so serious, so secretive.

  He watched as Wally Dexter went to his desk and opened a drawer, withdrawing a set of papers. From the blue cardstock encompassing the papers, they appeared to be legal documents of some sort.

  “Did you open that envelope I had Poppy run over last night?” Wally asked.

  Swaggart winced and said, “Oh man! I totally forgot about it. It’s still in my truck—do you want me to go get it?”

  “Not right now,” Wally said. “But I do want you to sit down and look at this for a moment. It’s your copy.”

  “My copy of what?” Swaggart said, sitting down and taking the papers when his grandfather offered them to him. He’d seen legal documents folded in blue before—his parents’ wills, his grandmother’s will. Did his Grandpa want him to look over his will? Surely not. People didn’t give copies of their wills away. Still, Swaggart’s heart panged at the thought of one day being without his beloved grandfather.

  “Those are your copies of the documentation of the transference of this restaurant from my ownership to yours,” Wally said.

  “What?” Swaggart breathed.

  “I’m giving the business to you, Swaggart.”

  “Grandpa—you can’t just give the restaurant to me. Why would you...you can’t just sign your business over to me.” Swaggart stammered.

  “It’s already done,” Wally said. “Provided you sign all the necessary documents, of course.”

  “Grandpa,” Swaggart said as he looked at the papers. “Surely you need to consult Uncle Robert, Mom, about this—Aunt Toni…”

  “I already have, Swaggart, and they all agree with me—the restaurant should go to you,” Wally said.

  “Grandpa…I can’t just…” Swaggart began. He was dumfounded, flabbergasted, in total shock.

  “You love this place, Swaggart,” Wally said. “From the time you were a little boy, you’ve loved this place—everything about it. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Swaggart admitted. “But—”

  “But nothing,” Wally interrupted. “It’s in your blood; it’s in your soul. Not to mention the fact your business sense has quadrupled our profit over the past two years. You’ll keep it going. And besides, I happen to know you’d rather flip a Jiggy burger any day for nickels than make ten grand in one night for one of your fancy catered shindigs.”

  Swaggart smiled. It was true—he would rather flip burgers and create an occasional Chef’s Choice at Good Ol’ Days than spend his life in some fancy-shmancy restaurant being referred to as “Chef Moretti.” It’s why he’d gone for his business degree after finishing culinary arts school—he’d realized that, though he liked to cook and had a gift for it, it was the restaurant he loved—not the art of cooking.

  “Robert, Toni, and your mother will still continue in profit sharing for the next five years,” Wally said. “After that, it’s yours—all of it.”

  “But, Grandpa, I can’t possibly accept this. I mean…at least let me buy you out or something,” Swaggart said.

  “I love this place, Swaggart,” Wally said. “I worked over half my life to build it up, make it an icon in this city. The fact of the matter is you’re the only one I trust with it—the only one who loves it as much as I do and appreciates where it came from.”

  “But…but why are you doing this now?” Swaggart asked. “Why not wait until…until you’re closer to wanting to retire?”

  “You mean, why not wait and simply will it to you when I kick off?” Wally asked.

  “Grandpa. Don’t say it like that,” Swaggart scolded. He didn’t like the way his grandfather sometimes referred to death so casually.

  “I want this all done now,” Wally said. “I’m tired, and I’m old, and I want to sit around and watch the world for a while—instead of feeling like I’m sitting on it while it’s going at top speed.”

  “I just don’t think you should…I can’t possibly agree to this,” Swaggart mumbled, frowning and rubbing his temples where he could feel a headache forming. It was too much.

  “What about Whitney, Bobby, all the other grandkids? Don’t they deserve to—”

  “None of them want it, Swaggart,” Wally interrupted. “Nobody loves this place like I do. Nobody but you—and, of course, Poppy.”

  “Poppy?” Swaggart asked.

  “I think her heart is attached to this place as much as yours—only I think you’re as much the reason as anything else.”

  Swaggart shook his head and smiled at his grandfather. “You’re imagining things, Grandpa,” he said, even though he felt hope ignite in his chest.

  Did his grandpa know something he didn’t? Swaggart may have managed to secure a day with Poppy, but the Mark guy would still have her on the Saturday after. As long as she still wanted to go out with Mark again, Swaggart was just a guy who’d managed to get her attention back in high school. Maybe he’d held her attention long enough to warrant being able to coax her into some mighty fine kissing—but he’d seen the Mark guy, and that guy was the whole package.

  “I never imagine things,” Wally said. “I’m just glad you finally found the guts to—”

  “She’s dating another guy, you know,” Swaggart interrupted.

  “Well, sure she is! What was she supposed to do all this time you were fiddling around trying to find the courage to reach out and take what you want?” Wally asked.

  “I’m just a cook,” Swaggart said. “This guy’s a big-time business executive. He’s got money, position—”

  “If Poppy agreed to date him, then I’m sure he’s a very nice young man,” Wally said. “But he’s not for her, and you’re not just a cook. Even if there were something wrong with being a cook—which there isn’t�
�you’re not just a cook. You’re one of the most sought-after chefs in this city, with an incredible talent for business as well. You’ve seen the numbers for this quarter, Swaggart—you know how much this place is pulling in. It may not last forever, but ride the wave while it does!”

  Swaggart looked at the document in his hand. In truth, owning Good Ol’ Days would be his dream come true—one of the top two on his list anyway. He chuckled as he realized he’d had his own Dreams to Do list tucked away in his brain for years. Owning Good Ol’ Days had been near the top, second only to one thing—owning Poppy Amore.

  He thought of Poppy’s list—the list he was at the top of. Could he still be at the top of it? Maybe his grandfather was right—maybe Poppy was only going out with the Mark guy because Swaggart had never asked her before.

  “Well, maybe we’ll talk about this some more, Grandpa,” Swaggart said.

  “Your owning the restaurant or the fact you’re good enough for Poppy?” Wally asked.

  “Both,” Swaggart said.

  “I sent her over there last night because I was tired of waiting,” Wally announced.

  “What?” Swaggart asked.

  “The only thing in that manila envelope is a blank sheet of paper,” Wally said.

  “You’re kidding me?” Swaggart laughed.

  “Nope,” Wally said, laughing as well. “Did it work?”

  “Do you mean did sending Poppy over to my house last night result in any goings-on between us?” Swaggart asked.

  “Yep—that’s what I mean,” Wally said.

  “Well, then…yes, Grandpa,” Swaggart admitted. “We sat on the hood of my truck, looked at the stars, and ate beef jerky.”

  Wally Dexter chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Good! Now that you’ve got your hooks in her, get busy and reel her in.”