Kissing Cousins Read online

  “She’s not a fish, Grandpa,” Swaggart said. “It’s not that easy. And besides, now there’s this other guy and—”

  “Well, punch his lights out!” Wally exclaimed.

  Swaggart laughed. His grandfather was so headstrong. “Oh, believe me,” Swaggart said, “It’s not like I haven’t thought of it.”

  “Then do it and get it over with,” Wally said. “She’s only dating him because she thinks you don’t have any real interest in her. I thought the minute I showed you that list in Whitney’s notebook you’d be after her like a hound after a fox.”

  “Oh, believe me,” Swaggart began, “I have been.”

  “I knew all you needed was a little encouragement—you know—to be put on the true scent of the prey,” Wally said.

  Swaggart laughed as he rose from his chair. “She’s not a pelt either, Grandpa,” he said. “And you know I’ve had my eye on her since the day she started working here. I just couldn’t believe she’d really ever…”

  “That’s because you’re an idiot,” Wally said, embracing Swaggart. “And the restaurant is yours, boy. I’ve called my attorney, and he’ll be in Saturday to get your signature on everything. I won’t rest a wink until it’s a done deal.”

  Swaggart returned his grandfather’s hug, patting him on the back with affection. “I do have one thing to ask,” he said when they’d ended their hug.

  “What’s that?” Wally asked.

  “Can we keep it a secret for a while?” Swaggart asked. “I need to adjust. Besides, I think our clientele needs to be eased into something like this. Maybe they don’t ever need to know.”

  Wally smiled. His grandson was a smart businessman as well as a humble one. Both were rare qualities indeed.

  “I think I can live with that,” Wally said. “We’ll keep it quiet until…”

  “Until it leaks out, probably,” Swaggart said, folding the papers and tucking them into the pocket of his apron.

  “Now get back in that kitchen, boy,” Wally said. “I think your cousin Bobby is burning something.”

  “Okay,” Swaggart said. He looked at Wally, and Wally could see the emotion, the deep gratitude in his grandson’s eyes. “Thanks, Grandpa. You know how much I love this place.”

  “I do,” Wally said.

  Swaggart left. As he entered the kitchen Wally heard him holler, “Bobby! What the heck, man? What are you burning in here? It smells like you’re smoking a horse.”

  Wally smiled. The weight of the world was beginning to lift from his shoulders. Furthermore, he could see happiness waiting on the horizon for his grandson. Swaggart would take care of the restaurant. He’d take care of Poppy too—Wally was certain of it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Poppy slept very little the next two nights—and when she did sleep, it was a fitful sleep. Her anxiety over having to go to the gala with Mark on Saturday, having to explain to him why she couldn’t see him anymore, was horrible. Yet the delight, delicious excitement, and anticipation of spending a day with Swaggart were wonderful!

  Perhaps Mark would take her to the gala and never ask her out again! Perhaps she could purposely make certain he became disenchanted with her somehow, and even though she knew it would be the coward’s way out, she considered it.

  Mark Lawson was a handsome, charming, successful man. Yet he just wasn’t the man Swaggart Moretti was. Deep in her soul, Poppy knew she’d only been attracted to Mark, only agreed to go out with him, because she had no hope of ever capturing Swaggart’s attention. She had been settling for second best, and she scolded herself for it.

  As Poppy peeked through the blinds in the front window of the apartment—as she watched Swaggart park his pickup on the street below, her heart soared! Just watching him walk up the sidewalk caused a delicious thrill to travel through her. He wore jeans and a black button-up shirt. Poppy smiled, enchanted by his appearance, elated he was on his way to meet her for an entire day together.

  She pulled her lip gloss from her pocket and rushed to the microwave, studying her reflection as she quickly used her ring finger to apply a little extra shine to her lips. She hoped she looked nice enough. She’d chosen to wear jeans and her favorite pink baby-doll top.

  Poppy heard the doorbell and felt a little guilty in being glad Whitney had already gone to work and was not home.

  Taking a deep breath to try to still the mad pounding of her heart, Poppy opened the door, smiling as Swaggart’s handsome everything greeted her.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Poppy said. She stepped out of the apartment, locking the door behind her and pushing her house key into her front pocket. She had decided not to bring a purse. She didn’t want any distractions—nothing to have to tote around and certainly no cell phone to enable someone to interrupt her day with Swaggart. She patted her back pocket to make certain the debit card, driver’s license, and some cash she’d put there were indeed still there.

  “Come on then,” Swaggart said. Poppy’s body quivered with the delightful sensation of erupting goose bumps as he took hold of her hand and began leading her toward the pickup. “I’m stoked,” he said. “There’s not a cloud in the sky today.”

  Poppy looked up into the cloudless blue above. The sun was bright and warm, and everything seemed more colorful and inviting.

  “Who’s in the kitchen today?” Poppy asked. She was so nervous—trembling! She hoped light conversation would serve to settle her a bit.

  “Bobby and Uncle Robert,” Swaggart said, opening the passenger door of his pickup. “We need a third guy, though.”

  Poppy climbed into the pickup, and Swaggart closed the door behind her. She watched him, unable to keep from smiling, as he rather sauntered around the front of the pickup to his own side. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he turned the ignition, and the old Chevy roared to life.

  “You know the great thing about an older vehicle like this?” he asked.

  “You mean, besides the obvious fact it’s way cooler than a new one?” Poppy asked in return.

  “No bucket seats,” Swaggart said, smiling. He reached out, taking hold of Poppy’s arm and forcing her to slide across the seat until she sat right next to him. “Now buckle up, baby,” he said, arm resting on her left thigh as he pushed the gear shift into first. “I printed off the movie schedule,” he said, nodding to a white piece of paper on the dashboard. “You need to pick the first one.”

  As the pickup chugged down the road, Poppy retrieved the paper from the dashboard.

  “What if I choose a chick flick?” she asked him. His arm still rested on her thigh as he continued to shift the gears of the pickup. She thought she might simply die of delight! She could sense the softness of his shirt, smell the faint aroma of the aftershave on his face—it was heaven!

  “I like pretty much anything,” he told her. “My mom used make me watch stuff with her when I was younger—you know, Pride and Prejudice, old fifties musicals. I bet I can even answer anything you ask me about Anne,” he said.

  “Do you mean Anne of Green Gables? You’re kidding me?” Poppy asked. Already her cheeks hurt from smiling.

  “Yep—but I didn’t say I enjoyed them all the time,” he said. “I mean—if you’re worried that I’m girlie or something, I’ll lie and take it all back.”

  Poppy giggled. There was nothing “girlie” about Swaggart Moretti! Furthermore, in Poppy’s opinion, his mom had only done right by him by making certain his experience with movies was broad and diverse.

  “Test me, if you don’t believe me,” he said. “Go on.”

  “Okay,” Poppy said, “But you’re assuming I’ve seen Anne of Green Gables.”

  Swaggart rolled his eyes. “Oh, please—every woman I’ve ever known has either read the book or seen the movie.”

  “Okay,” Poppy giggled. “Um…let me think.” Her mind raced for a trivia question concerning the movie, but she was so entirely distracted by Swaggart’s proximity, the tickle of his shirtsleeve as it brus
hed her arm, that she was having difficulty concentrating on anything else. At last, however, she said, “What did Anne do that caused her to hurt her ankle and—”

  “Walking the ridgepole of Moody’s kitchen roof,” Swaggart interrupted.

  Poppy’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. It was true! At some point in his life, Swaggart had managed to sit through Anne of Green Gables! “I’ll go one further,” he said, smiling. “Someone in this pickup has walked a ridgepole before—I saw it on a certain list of hers one day a while back.”

  “You’re good!” Poppy giggled.

  “Oh, you have no idea, Poppy-seed,” he chuckled. “So, don’t be afraid to pick a girlie movie—I’m man enough to take it.”

  *

  And he was! The 11:15 showing of the current popular “chick flick” at the theatre proved entertaining to Poppy as well as Swaggart. He seemed to pay legitimate attention, and Poppy was amazed when he chuckled in all the right places. Oh, and what a fabulous experience sitting through a movie with him had been!

  Before the movie had started, Swaggart had offered to purchase a beverage and a snack for her. Not wanting to fill up before lunch, Poppy had declined the snack and explained that she couldn’t possibly drink an entire large beverage. Therefore, Swaggart had ordered a large beverage and grabbed two straws. “We’ll just share then,” he’d said. Again Poppy was astounded he would share a drink with her.

  As they sat in the darkness of the theatre, arms touching, sharing a beverage, Poppy mused there could be no better moment to the day. Each time Swaggart would lean over and whisper something to her during the movie, Poppy nearly slipped out of her skin with pleasure. She desperately wanted to wrap her arms around his powerful one, lay her head on his shoulder. It had been quite distracting, and she often found herself unaware of exactly what was happening in the movie for brief periods of time.

  Everything about sitting in a movie with Swaggart felt wonderful—felt right—as if she was exactly where she wanted to be—exactly where she should be. Poppy wondered if it was simply her deep, long-secreted, true, and obsessive love for him making her feel that way—or if it was something more, perhaps a confirmation of the fact that it was the right place to be—that it was the right person to be with.

  For lunch, Swaggart drove them across the street to a little Italian restaurant he told Poppy he liked. He assured her the little restaurant served the best “heart attack on a plate” in the city. Poppy indeed ordered the fettuccine alfredo and agreed—it was the best she’d ever eaten.

  During lunch they talked, laughed, teased—it was the most wonderful lunch Poppy had ever known, and she wished the day would never have to end.

  True to his word, Swaggart then insisted Poppy choose another movie. She chose the current action adventure romp starring Bruce Willis for Swaggart’s sake.

  “Hey,” Swaggart said as he drove back to the movie complex. “I know you said you didn’t feel like dessert at the restaurant—but I have to have my Goobers for this movie. I’ve got some stashed in the jockey box there,” he said pointing to the glove compartment of his pickup. “Get ’em out, and we’ll sneak them in.”

  Poppy bit her lip, entirely amused as she watched Swaggart tuck the box of Goobers into the front of his pants once they’d parked the pickup and were ready to head into the movie.

  “They don’t sell Goobers here, you know,” he told her, taking her hand and starting toward the theatre. “And they’re my favorite movie snack, so I always have to sneak them in.”

  Poppy giggled. He was too adorable. She had a momentary vision of Swaggart strolling into the theatre, a box of Goobers suddenly slipping down his pant leg and onto the floor, giving him away.

  “Do you want anything? Popcorn? A drink?” he asked as they approached the concessions stand.

  Just you, Poppy thought.

  “No, thanks,” she said, however. “I’m stuffed.”

  “I know you picked this movie for my sake,” Swaggart said, leading her into the theatre. “But you like Bruce Willis, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Poppy said. “Are you sure you’re up to another movie, though?” she asked. Most people she knew, especially guys, couldn’t sit through two movies and enjoy them both—especially two movies of entirely different genres.

  “Of course,” he said. “I like movies. You’re with the ‘date rut’ king, remember?”

  Poppy smiled. If this was date rut, then she wanted to be stuck in it forever! She giggled when Swaggart pulled the box of Goobers out of his pants before they took their seats, placing it in the cup holder of his armrest.

  “I really wish they’d sell these here,” he said. “They probably got a little melty in my pickup,” he said, frowning as he sat down next to Poppy, taking her hand in his. Poppy’s arms prickled with goose bumps because of his touch. She smiled as she glanced away to catch a group of women staring at Swaggart and whispering to one another. It had been that way all day—every female they’d walked past or sat near had done a double-take at the handsome Swaggart Moretti. It didn’t bother Poppy in the least—he was handsome, and she understood their surprise. Besides, Swaggart seemed completely unaware of his effect on women—a fact which only served to enhance his charm.

  Swaggart held Poppy’s hand for some time through the movie—sometimes he’d lace fingers with her, sometimes caress the back of her hand or her palm, sending her quivering with delight. In fact, he held her hand through most of the movie. It wasn’t until he decided to open his box of candy that he released her.

  The movie was phenomenal—or at least, it seemed to Poppy it was. Of course, it may have been that simply sitting next to Swaggart was phenomenal.

  Poppy thought of her day at Hollander Park with Mark—how kind he’d been, how polite, how much fun she had. The fun she’d had with Mark was a tiny droplet in a puddle compared to the feelings of delight, euphoria, and pure wonder washing over her while spending the day with Swaggart. She wished she didn’t have to go to the gala on Saturday—wished she never had to talk to another man for the rest of her life! She only wanted Swaggart’s company, Swaggart’s face in her line of vision, Swaggart’s attentions and affections.

  Once Bruce Willis had blown up several cars and a building, gotten beaten nearly to death, and saved the day, Poppy applied some fresh lip gloss after washing her hands in the women’s room. Swaggart was waiting outside for her, and she still couldn’t believe it. Swaggart Moretti—waiting outside the women’s room—for her! For a moment she wondered if she were just dreaming. Would she wake up any moment to find him gone—to find herself in her bed, never having even received his date rut coupon?

  “Your boyfriend’s totally hot!” a young woman looking to be about her own age said as she approached, waving her hand under the faucet sensor in order to cue the water.

  “Thanks,” Poppy said, smiling. Well, sure, she knew Swaggart wasn’t her boyfriend—but there seemed no reason to have to explain that to the girl next to her.

  “They don’t make them like him anymore,” the girl said. “You know?”

  “I know,” Poppy agreed.

  “Well, have a good night,” the girl said after drying her hands. “I’m sure you will!”

  Poppy smiled. She’d had a wonderful day! She couldn’t imagine the evening being any more wonderful than the day had already been.

  Swaggart smiled and draped one powerful arm across her shoulders as Poppy exited the women’s room.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked. “Or are you sick of me and ready to go home?”

  “I could never be sick of you,” Poppy said before thinking better.

  “Really?” Swaggart said, eyebrows arched in surprise. “That’s encouraging,” he said. “Then, would it be rude or boring to you?—I need to pick up something for Whitney’s birthday on Sunday. Would you mind if we stopped by the music box store on 12th Street for just a minute?”

  Poppy smiled, delighted by his thoughtfulness. “You know sh
e collects music boxes?” she asked.

  “Um…ask her who gave her most of the ridiculous collection she has,” he said.

  “You’re kidding me! I didn’t know that,” Poppy said. “I mean, she has so many—I sort of just always thought she bought them for herself.”

  “Oh, she does that too, I think,” he said. “Plus her parents and Grandpa buy them for her. But I think mine are the best.” He winked at her. “Do you collect anything?” he asked. “Besides admirers, I mean.”

  Poppy rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re funny,” she said. “And yes, I collect a few things.”

  “Like what?” he asked. They were to the pickup, and he opened the door for her.

  “Oh, books, antique postcards, cool photographs,” Poppy said. “And probably a bunch of other stuff I don’t even consciously realize I collect.”

  He closed the door and went around to his side of the pickup.

  “I think I do that too,” he said. “You know…the other day I noticed I have seventeen basketballs.”

  “Seventeen?” Poppy exclaimed.

  Swaggart chuckled. “Yep. I’ve got every basketball I’ve ever had starting from the very first one my dad bought for me when I was five.”

  Poppy smiled. He was too wonderful! Too adorable! Too interesting! He was going to break her heart—she knew he was—but she didn’t care. Poppy had decided to live in those moments with him, not worry about tomorrow until tomorrow came.

  *

  “Well?” Swaggart asked as he parked his pickup in front of Poppy’s apartment. “Did I do okay?”

  “What do you mean?” Poppy asked. It was late, but she didn’t care. She had the early shift at work the next morning, but she didn’t care. She’d just spent fourteen hours in the company of the most wonderful man in the world. She could easily have spent fourteen more and loved every minute of it.

  “Did I do okay?” he repeated. “Did you have fun? Or were you wishing you could escape the entire time?”