Kissing Cousins Page 19
Poppy shook her head, smiling. How could he even think she didn’t have fun? It had been the most wonderful day of her life! A movie, lunch, another movie! It had been fantastic! Not to mention the enjoyment Poppy had experienced in watching Swaggart agonize over a birthday gift for Whitney. In the end, he’d chosen a perfectly Whitney-ish music box—three fairies twirling among autumn trees that played The Magic Flute.
After treating Poppy to a late dinner, Swaggart drove to the top of Calvert Hill and parked the pickup in the meadow under the stars. There they’d both lounged on the hood of his pickup and talked—just talked, for hours and hours. The time spent talking with him had been magnificent, and Poppy wanted her day with Swaggart to linger on and on and on. But it couldn’t, and now they were parked in front of her apartment building instead—disappointment beginning to overtake her happiness.
“This was the best date I’ve ever had,” she told him at last.
“Don’t exaggerate,” he told her.
“I’m not,” she said.
“Well,” he began, “I am pretty proud of myself.”
“You should be,” she said, glad he hadn’t moved to get out of the pickup yet.
“No, I mean for spending fourteen hours in your company and not once putting the move on you,” he said, smiling at her. “You do remember the fine print on the back of your coupon, right?”
Poppy smiled. He was gorgeous! The warm brown of his eyes seemed to glow all the more alluring in the moonlight.
“I remember,” she said.
“‘No kissing required to redeem this coupon,’” Swaggart quoted. “But Poppy,” he added. He’d lowered his voice, and it was somehow stirring, entirely alluring. “Who really pays attention to the fine print on anything, right?”
Poppy giggled as the loop-the-loops that had been intermittently performed in her stomach all day long began again.
“I know I never do,” she answered.
“It’s a good thing,” he said, smiling as he leaned toward her, caressing one side of her neck with a strong hand. “Because I’ve been on my best behavior all day, and I’m tired of it.”
“Oh, good,” Poppy heard herself breathe a moment before the warmth of his mouth met her own.
Once again, Swaggart’s kiss was the most powerful experience of Poppy’s entire life! Moist, heated, commanding, and she melted to him, letting her hands seek out the pleasant feel of his soft hair.
As her body was alive with a million wonderful sensations, her mind was as alive with a myriad of thoughts. Disbelief at actually being where she was with whom she was, anxiety about having to go with Mark to the gala on Saturday, painfully wishing that she could remain in Swaggart’s arms forever! So many thoughts were clanking around in her head when Swaggart initially began kissing her that she was astonished when, in the next moment, everything left her mind! Only one thing was left, the only coherent thought remaining: I love him! I’ll never stop loving him!
“Poppy,” he said, breaking the seal of their lips suddenly.
“What?” she asked, still breathless.
“It’s late,” he said. “And I need to let you go.”
“Okay,” she said. Disappointment washed over her like Niagara Falls. She didn’t want to stop kissing him, and she certainly didn’t want to leave him. She was startled, however, as he suddenly opened his door and stepped out of the pickup, taking hold of her arm and pulling her out behind him. She gasped when he bent over, bracing one broad shoulder firmly against her midsection and hoisting her up like a bag of flour.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting you home before I lose my good sense,” he mumbled.
Poppy couldn’t believe it as he carried her all the way to the front door. Setting her on her feet none too gently, he asked, “Do you have your key?”
“Y-yeah,” Poppy stammered, reaching into her front pocket and producing the key. She frowned, still confused as Swaggart snatched it from her hand, shoving it into the lock on the apartment’s doorknob. He turned the key, unlocking the door and pushing it open for a moment before slamming it shut again and pulling her into his arms, his mouth crushing to hers.
Poppy’s arms slid around him instantly as she returned his kiss, wanting never to let go of him. She was surprised and astonishingly delighted as he reached to the back of his neck taking hold of her wrists and pushing them away from his body and back against the apartment door. Swaggart continued to kiss her with a fiery, ravenous fervor, all the while holding her arms pinned against the apartment door.
After several moments during which Poppy wondered if she would faint from lack of oxygen induced by his kiss or the demanding nature of it, Swaggart suddenly released her, opening the apartment door and gently pushing her through the threshold.
“Good night, Poppy,” he said. Abruptly, he pulled her house key out of the lock, tossed it into the apartment, and closed the door.
It had been no sweet, timid, tender good-night kiss—it had been produced by restrained passion—tightly guarded self-control.
As the realization rinsed over her, Whitney’s voice from behind startled her.
“Oh my heck, Poppy!” Whitney said. “What is going on between you two?”
“We just…we just went out today,” Poppy stammered. She was trembling all over—from her hair follicles to her pink polished toenails.
“Like I’m gonna buy that,” Whitney said. “But—until you’re ready to tell me why my cousin was kissing you like this was the honeymoon suite at the Marriott—I guess I’ll just have to wait.”
“How will I ever get over him, Whitney?” Poppy asked in a whisper.
“Why do you think you’ll ever have to get over him, Poppy?” Whitney asked.
Poppy turned around, tears filling her eyes—tears of love, of joy, of heartache, mingled with desperation.
“Because I’m in love with him, and I can’t possibly…he couldn’t possibly ever…” Poppy stammered.
“Oh, really?” Whitney asked. “Then you better make an appointment with the optometrist—’cause you’re blind as a bat.”
Whitney turned and disappeared into her bedroom, leaving Poppy awash with the residual bliss caused by Swaggart Moretti’s very existence. Why couldn’t he just fall in love with her the way she was in love with him? Why couldn’t she just spend the rest of her life kissing Whitney’s fabulous cousin?
As Poppy undressed and pulled on an old t-shirt for pajamas, she heard her cell phone beeping from her bedroom. She’d missed a call while she was out and was glad she hadn’t taken it with her on her day with Swaggart.
Picking her cell phone up off the bed, she pushed send to retrieve her voicemail.
“Hey, Poppy,” Mark’s voice said. “This is Mark. Just wanted to remind you that the gala on Saturday is formal, so be sure and dress appropriately. I’m wearing a tux if that helps. Can’t wait to see you…I’ve thought about nothing else all week. I’ll call you tomorrow night. Bye, babe.”
Poppy’s heart sank with a thud into the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to go with him—she should never have accepted his invitation for their very first date. Yet how could she have possibly imagined Swaggart Moretti would even notice her? She knew she was taking a risk by letting herself consciously admit she loved Swaggart. Still, even if Swaggart never asked her out again, never kissed her again—the moments she’d spent with him since his grandpa showed him her Dreams to Do list were worth any heartache. Surely Mark hadn’t grown that attached to her yet—had he?
Poppy was suddenly sick to her stomach—sick with longing for Swaggart and sick with worry at having to face Mark. She thought of the roses, the flowers, the day at Hollander Park. She’d tried to lie to herself, tried to see someone beyond Swaggart Moretti, and it had seemed to work for a moment. Yet Poppy knew that even if Swaggart hadn’t seen her list, never kissed her—Poppy knew she could never have let Mark kiss her the way Swaggart had. Her heart and mind would’ve reached that conclu
sion a little later maybe—but in the end, peach pie would always have been her favorite—always her only choice in the bakery window.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday morning dawned bright and cheerful, but Poppy’s mood did not mirror it. After spending such a marvelous dream of a day with Swaggart on Thursday, she’d found herself distracted at work on Friday. Each time he looked at her, winked at her, smiled at her, or spoke to her, she wanted to cry, I love you, Swaggart Moretti! I love you!
When Jennifer Trujillo showed up with a friend for lunch, asking to speak to Swaggart for a moment, Poppy wanted to wrap her hands in Jennifer’s perfect hair and pull as hard as she could—drag her out of the restaurant, slash her tires, and spit in her face. Poppy’s emotions were nearly out of control. She felt jumpy, emotional, miserable, and euphoric at the same time. Furthermore, Friday had been a madhouse at the restaurant, as usual, and there had not been one moment to really talk to Swaggart—to draw some kind of reassurance that he really would continue to slather her with attention and affection.
This made Saturday morning almost unendurable for Poppy. She was nervous about Mark, and she didn’t want to go to the gala. Still, she’d promised herself she’d act like a responsible adult—tell him face to face she couldn’t see him anymore. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t take the coward’s path by calling him up, cancelling their date, and never again answering his phone calls. Mark Lawson was a nice man, and he’d treated her like a princess—he deserved respect.
Still, when the three dozen red roses arrived at the restaurant Saturday at noon, Poppy began to feel sick to her stomach. She wished Mark hadn’t sent them, and she certainly wished he hadn’t written on the card accompanying them, For my lovely lady—I’m living for tonight. She thought of the handwritten coupon on her dresser at home—Swaggart’s coupon—and how much more it meant to her than Mark’s expensive flowers did. Furthermore, the roses seemed to do nothing to encourage Swaggart toward her.
“I see the rose truck has been by again,” he mumbled over the order counter.
“Y-yeah,” Poppy stammered. “I wish he wouldn’t do that.”
“Really?” Swaggart asked. “Then why are going out with him?”
“I-I have to tell him something,” Poppy stammered.
“What? Thank you for the roses?” Swaggart asked.
He was angry, she was certain of it. She so desperately wanted to reassure him—to tell him that she loved him—that she was only going out with Mark in order to tell him she could never do so again. Yet Swaggart had given Poppy no confirmation that he wanted her all to himself. If she simply blurted out she was going tell Mark she couldn’t see him anymore, then perhaps Swaggart would ask, Why? And if he did ask, it would be an assurance to Poppy that Swaggart did not intend to date her exclusively, and that would break her heart. Therefore, Poppy was torn. Swaggart looked angry about the roses, yet she could not find the courage to tell him she wasn’t going to see Mark again.
Poppy jumped when Swaggart slammed two plates on the order counter. “Your order’s up,” he said.
Bobby frowned and looked to Swaggart, to Poppy, and then back.
“Man, Swag! What bit you on the butt?” he asked.
“Nothing, man,” Swaggart mumbled. “I just gotta leave in a few minutes. I’ve got that gig tonight, and I don’t feel like doing it.”
“Then that makes two of us,” Poppy said, taking the plates from the order counter. Would he recognize her hint? Would he understand that she didn’t want to go on the date? She wondered, too, what gig he had lined up. Usually when Swaggart referred to a gig, it was a job—a catered event he’d agreed to. Yet she had seen him talking to Jennifer when she’d been in earlier, and it made Poppy suspicious. Maybe Jennifer was trying to reconcile with Swaggart. She nearly burst into tears then when the thought struck her—maybe Swaggart was considering it! Maybe that’s what his gig was—a date with Jennifer.
Poppy served table three with tears in her eyes. She managed to choke them back, inhaling a deep breath and telling herself she had to make it through the day. She had to!
Her orders were ready for two more tables, and she served them before going to the hostess podium to see who else Whitney had waiting to be seated.
“It’s crazy today!” Whitney said, checking the eraser board.
“Who’s next?” Poppy asked.
“Whitney,” Swaggart said.
Poppy jumped, startled by his sudden appearance.
“Yeah?” Whitney asked.
“I have to leave now,” he said. “When Josh comes back from his break, tell him he may have to assist in the kitchen here and there if Bobby and Uncle Robert start to fall behind.”
“Okay,” Whitney said.
“And if—” Swaggart began.
He was interrupted, however, as Mark suddenly stepped up to the hostess podium and said, “Hi.”
Poppy held her breath, certain her anxiety and nerves were going to cause her to vomit. What was he doing at the restaurant? Why was he there? Poppy glanced to Swaggart, noting the way his eyes narrowed as he looked at Mark.
“Hello,” Poppy managed.
Mark was staring at her, an enormous smile on his handsome face. He wore an expensive-looking business suit, loafers, white shirt, and purple tie—he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a GQ magazine ad. Poppy glanced to Swaggart, who stood glaring at Mark and looking as if he’d just stepped off the cover of Men’s Health magazine. There was no contest—none. Swaggart’s very presence dominated the room—his appearance infinitely more rugged and masculine—his face far more handsome than Mark’s.
Panic began to rise in Poppy. What should she say? How should she act? Perhaps she should just tell Mark then and there that she didn’t want to see him anymore—that she was in love with Swaggart, whether or not he was in love with her. She paused too long—missed the opportunity.
“I’ve got a flat,” Mark said, smiling at Poppy. “Right out there in the parking lot. I was dropping in to make sure you remembered you need to be ready to leave by six o’clock and noticed I have a flat.”
“Bummer,” Swaggart grumbled.
“Oh,” Poppy said. “Um…did you need some help?”
“No,” Mark said. “I called roadside assistance, but they can’t be here for over an hour. So,” Mark he added, “I guess I’ll just hang out here and wait. I suppose you’re busy right now.”
Poppy frowned a little. Why call roadside assistance? Couldn’t he change his own tire? Poppy started to tell Mark she was busy, but Swaggart spoke first.
“We’re swamped,” Swaggart said. “And since Poppy’s going to be busy, we don’t want you wasting your time. I’ll change it for you.”
Mark smiled and said, “Thanks, man. But I can wait.”
“I’m on my way out,” Swaggart said, untying his apron and stuffing it in Whitney’s podium. “I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Well, if you don’t mind,” Mark said. “I mean, I’m wearing a suit, and I don’t need to add to my already ridiculous dry-cleaning bill.”
“It’s cool, man,” Swaggart said. “I do it all the time.”
Poppy was speechless and for several reasons. First of all, she couldn’t believe Mark was going to allow Swaggart to change his tire for him. Certainly Swaggart had changed many customers’ flats—women, teenagers, and elderly people—but she’d never seen him have to change a flat for a perfectly capable man. This was ridiculous. She’d even seen him change one while wearing a tuxedo once before going to the opera with his grandpa. And that was the second thing—it irked her to think Mark was so worried about his clothes getting dirty that he would allow another guy to change his tire. Third, Poppy was astounded that Swaggart would even offer to do it when she knew Swaggart well enough to know he thought Mark should change it himself too.
“Well, thanks,” Mark said. “I’ll come help you.”
“Just pop your trunk so I can get the spare,” Swaggart said.
Poppy only nodded. She was afraid if she spoke, she would say something too critical.
“Let’s go then,” Swaggart said, opening the door for Mark. “See you girls later,” he added as he followed.
“Unbelievable!” Whitney exclaimed in a whisper.
“That’s ridiculous,” Poppy mumbled as Whitney looked over her eraser board.
“So,” Whitney said, smiling. “I suppose tonight you’re going to tell him you can’t see him anymore because you’re in love with my cousin. Right?”
“I’m going to tell him I can’t see him anymore, yes,” Poppy said.
“Well, you better have some good kissing planned for Swaggart—he looks ticked off!” Whitney said.
“At me, huh?” Poppy said, tears welling in her eyes.
“At your pal Mark for being too lazy to change his own tire,” Whitney said. She smiled and squeezed Poppy’s hand. “Don’t freak out, Poppy. Swaggart’s hooked—he’s just mad because you’re going out with Mark tonight.”
“But I’m just going with him so I can let him know I don’t want to go out with him again after this,” Poppy said.
“Yeah, but Swaggart doesn’t know that. And anyway, it’s good for him to sweat about it a little,” Whitney said.
Poppy shook her head. She didn’t want to make Swaggart sweat a little—if he really was irritated that she was going out with Mark. She wanted to kiss him, hold him, belong to him, be the cause of the appearance of his dazzling smile—not irritate and anger him.
“Here,” Whitney said, handing Poppy three menus. “Seat this party at table five. And don’t worry—you’ve got two hours, and then you’re off work and can get this evening over with.”
“Yeah,” Poppy muttered as Whitney called a name. Three men wearing baseball uniforms stepped up, and Whitney told them to follow Poppy.
As Poppy walked toward table five, she glanced out the big front window of Good Ol’ Days. There was Swaggart, hunkered down changing Mark’s tire as Mark looked on.