Kissing Cousins Page 8

  “He’s here!” she whispered.

  “Do you want me to get the door?” Whitney asked, wide-eyed and seeming suddenly nervous herself.

  “No, I’ll go,” Poppy said. She raked her fingers through her hair, grabbed her purse off the counter, and went to the door.

  Poppy opened the door to find super-gorgeous Mark Lawson smiling at her.

  “Hi,” she greeted.

  “Hi,” he said, his smile broadening as he studied her from head to toe. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah,” Poppy said. “Bye, Whit,” she said over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her.

  “You look wonderful,” Mark said, taking her arm and linking it through his.

  “So do you,” Poppy said. And it was true! He wore khaki pants, black loafers, and a lavender dress shirt. She smiled, thinking what a wonderful coincidence it was that they both wore lavender.

  “I thought we’d have dinner at the Cliff House,” he said. He escorted her to the passenger’s side of a silver BMW, opening the door for her.

  “That sounds great,” Poppy said, smiling at him as he closed the door once she’d situated herself in the passenger’s seat.

  As the smell of a leather-seated automobile filled her senses, Poppy inhaled a deep, calming breath. She still could not believe a guy like Mark Lawson had even found her interesting enough to look at, let alone take out on a date—but she was sitting in his car waiting for him to drive her to one of the nicest restaurants in the city.

  Smitten, he had said. As he got into the car and turned the key in the ignition, Poppy returned his smile. It was going to be a night to remember—she could already tell.

  *

  “Yeah. I guess I lucked out,” Mark said as the waitress refilled his water glass. “I landed a couple of big accounts early on, so the CEO of the firm moved me up.”

  “That’s great,” Poppy said, cutting a piece of the citrus-marinated chicken breast on her plate. “Do you like what you do?”

  “Yeah. It’s great,” he answered. “Of course, I work with some great people—you met my friend Braden—and that makes all the difference.”

  “I know what you mean,” Poppy said. “People are what make a work environment good or bad.”

  “And you like the environment at the restaurant, don’t you?” he said.

  Poppy looked up. He was smiling at her—a contented, pleased smile.

  “I do,” she said. “It’s…it’s what makes it so fun to work there. Just like the good customers offset the bad ones—the other employees at Good Ol’ Days make a bad day worth enduring.”

  “How long have you worked there?” Mark asked.

  “Two years. Mr. Dexter, the owner, he hired me himself. He’s a really nice man,” Poppy said.

  “And do you plan on working there for a long time?” Mark asked. “I mean, it seems like it would be a hard job to leave behind. Though I will say you put up with a lot of…junk.”

  “You mean, like your Miss Susan Reginald?” Poppy asked, smiling.

  “Exactly,” Mark chuckled.

  “Yeah—she was something else,” Poppy said. “I felt bad for you—having to sit there with her.”

  “I felt bad for you!” Mark said.

  “You know she showed up the next day, don’t you?” Poppy asked. She knew there was no way Mark could know Miss Susan Reginald had made another appearance at the restaurant. Still, she wanted him to know for some reason.

  “No way! She came back?” he asked. His smile faded, his brow furrowed, and Poppy could tell he was disturbed. “What reason could she have for coming back? Did she leave something?”

  “She came back to get me fired,” Poppy said.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he said.

  Poppy could tell he was truly upset, and it delighted her a bit.

  “Nope,” Poppy said. “She walked in and asked—actually, she demanded—to speak to the manager. She told him she wanted me fired.”

  “On what grounds?” Mark asked. He was angry now.

  Poppy felt guilty for even having mentioned it and endeavored to smooth it over.

  “That I was rude, ridiculous, and threw myself at you,” she told him. “But Swaggart just showed her the door—literally.”

  “The cook guy?” Mark asked. “He’s the manager too?”

  “Sometimes,” Poppy said.

  “Well, good for him!” Mark said. “What a witch! I’m glad we’re not taking on her account—she would’ve made everyone miserable.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she would’ve,” Poppy agreed.

  “And really—I’m so sorry you had to deal with her,” he said, reaching across the table and covering one of Poppy’s hands with his own.

  “That’s okay,” she said, smiling at him. “I got a good tip out of it.”

  He laughed then, and Poppy felt warm all over. She liked the deep, rich sound of his laughter. Not to mention the sudden display of his stunning smile.

  *

  They lingered at their table for near to an hour after they’d finished their meal. Although Poppy was delighted with Mark’s attention and enjoyed the conversation, the waitress in her was unsettled. She knew their waiter was probably anxious to clear the table so he could seat other guests and work on earning more tips for the night. Still, she hoped Mark would leave a nice enough percentage for a tip to compensate.

  “Well, I guess we ought to go,” he said, at last.

  “I guess so,” Poppy said.

  Mark reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet, rummaging through it until he found the amount of currency he wanted.

  Dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table he asked, “Did you enjoy the food? I mean…these guys have a lot to measure up to if that prime rib I had the other night is your cook’s average meal.”

  “Oh, it was delicious!” Poppy said. Certainly, it wasn’t as good as any chicken Swaggart prepared, but it was enjoyable.

  “Are you up for ice cream at Dairy Queen?” Mark said as he stood and assisted Poppy in standing.

  Poppy giggled. How adorable! Take a girl to the fanciest restaurant in town and then top it off with a casual trip to Dairy Queen? She loved it!

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Banana split?” he asked.

  “Peanut Buster Parfait,” she teased.

  “You got it,” he chuckled.

  *

  “You will go out with me again,” Mark said. “And that wasn’t a question.”

  Poppy giggled as she noticed the way her apartment porch light illuminated Mark’s head as if there were an invisible halo around it.

  “I will,” she said.

  “When?” he asked, stepping closer to her. Poppy’s heart began to beat faster. A little flutter in her bosom told her he meant to kiss her good night.

  “When do you want me to?” she ask.

  “Well, I’m guessing you work the rest of this week,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said as he took another step closer.

  “What’s next week like?” he asked, lowering his voice.

  “I’m off Wednesday and all day Saturday,” she said.

  “Okay then,” he said, lowering his voice. His eyes were intense as they gazed into hers. “All day Saturday is my preference.”

  “All day?” she asked.

  “Yep. We could do lunch, and then I think it’ll be warm enough to take a canoe out on the little lake at Hollander Park,” he said.

  Poppy’s smile broadened. How romantic! She couldn’t wait!

  “Okay,” she said.

  “And I’m going to kiss you good night now—so don’t run away,” he said as his head descended toward hers.

  “O-okay,” Poppy breathed.

  He kissed her softly, slowly—obviously being careful not to overdo it—not to press her too much on their first date. The first moment his lips touched hers, a vision of Swaggart Moretti popped into her mind—but she managed to push his image aside and enjoy, and return, M
ark’s nonintrusive good night kiss. Her arms erupted with goose bumps as his lips lingered against hers. As he kissed her, he took her face between his strong hands. The kiss was careful—the kiss of a couple realizing they liked each other, but just starting out. When it ended, Poppy felt pleased and disappointed at the same time.

  “Good night, Poppy,” Mark said. “I’ll call you next Friday about our Saturday together.”

  “Okay,” Poppy said. She smiled after he bent and quickly kissed her once more.

  “This is me being on good behavior, you realize,” he said winking at her before he turned and left.

  “Thank you for a fabulous evening,” Poppy called after him.

  He turned and smiling said, “No…thank you.”

  Poppy watched him get into his car and drive away. As she unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside, Poppy smiled and bit her lip, still entirely delighted by the evening and Mark’s good night kiss.

  “You’re home earlier than I expected,” Whitney said, raising the remote control and pressing the off button. “It’s only ten.”

  “We had dinner at the Cliff House,” Poppy said, tossing her purse into the well-worn armchair nearby. “And dessert at Dairy Queen.”

  “How funny!” Whitney giggled. “Was it all just too dreamy?”

  “It was!” Poppy said. “And we’re spending next Saturday together.”

  “No way!” Whitney exclaimed. “Tell me everything! Did he kiss you?”

  “Yes!” Poppy giggled. “And it was wonderful! He was careful, you know? Really—sort of polite about it.”

  “Polite about it?” Whitney asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “You know—a gentleman,” Poppy explained. “Not one of those guys who attacks you the first night. Mark is…is…”

  “Gorgeous!” Whitney finished.

  “He’s so nice, Whitney,” Poppy said, smiling. “And gorgeous too!”

  “I’m glad you had fun, girl,” Whitney said. “He seems really wonderful.”

  “He is,” Poppy said as she reached back, unzipping her dress. “Let me change and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Okay,” Whitney said, rubbing her hands together in excited anticipation.

  Poppy giggled at Whitney’s dramatics and headed for her bedroom.

  As she passed the kitchen table, however, she saw the infamous notebook still there. Pausing, she saw that it was still open to her old Dreams to Do list.

  Letting her fingers travel over item number one, she thought of Swaggart—thought of his brilliant sense of humor, his fabulous physique, his incredible culinary talent, and his unequaled good looks. Frowning, she closed the notebook and headed for her bedroom.

  Stepping out of her dress, she forced her thoughts to linger on Mark and the incredible evening she’d spent with him. He was wonderful! Simply wonderful—and he was interested in her! She smiled, thinking of how fantastic a canoe ride with him would be.

  She slipped on some pajamas and headed out to talk to Whitney. Mark Lawson was marvelous, and he was attracted to her. She still couldn’t believe it—but it was true.

  “So, start from the very beginning,” Whitney said as Poppy went to the kitchen sink to get a drink of water. As she turned, her eyes fell to the now closed notebook on the table.

  “Well,” she said, looking from the notebook to her best friend. “First of all, he drives a brand-new BMW.”

  “No way!” Whitney squealed. Her smile faded suddenly, however, as she asked, “Did it smell like leather seats or some other girl’s perfume?”

  “Leather seats, idiot,” Poppy giggled.

  “Good!” Whitney said. “Go on, go on! I’ve been waiting for hours!”

  Poppy laughed and continued to tell Whitney about her evening. Yet several times as she was doing so, her eyes drifted beyond Whitney to the notebook sitting on the kitchen table.

  *

  Poppy arrived at work the next day to find the most beautiful arrangement of spring flowers she had ever seen sitting on a stool near the hostess podium.

  Uncle Robert was seating customers. He smiled at Poppy as her gaze lingered on the flowers.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Am I late?” Poppy said. She opened her purse and began to dig for her cell phone. She was sure she’d left the apartment in plenty of time, but she thought she’d better check the time on her phone just the same.

  “No, you’re fine,” Uncle Robert said. “It’s the flowers—they’re for you.”

  Poppy felt her eyes widen, a delighted flutter beginning in her chest.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yep,” Uncle Robert chuckled. “And there’s a card.”

  Poppy bit her lip as she hurried over to the stool and retrieved the card from the plastic florist’s pick.

  “They’re so beautiful!” she said.

  “That they are,” Uncle Robert said. “And, I’m guessing, not too cheap.”

  Opening the tiny envelope Poppy couldn’t help but sigh as she read Mark’s message to herself. Thank you for a wonderful evening…and the best “first kiss” I’ve ever had. I’m looking forward to the second. Yours, Mark

  Poppy bit her lip, delighted by Mark’s message. He was too romantic! She’d never received any kind of note, card, or letter that thrilled her the way Mark’s flower-arrangement-notes did!

  “Take them back to the alcove when you go, okay?” Uncle Robert suggested.

  “I will. Thanks, Uncle Robert,” Poppy said, lifting the large vase of flowers and heading toward the back of the restaurant.

  “Don’t thank me,” Uncle Robert said. “Thank your Romeo.”

  Poppy hurried to the back of the restaurant and set the arrangement on an out-of-the-way chair in the alcove.

  “I take it last night went well then, huh?” Swaggart said as he entered through the back door and saw Poppy sniffing one of the flowers in the arrangement.

  “Oh, yeah!” Poppy said. She tried to ignore the loop-the-loop her stomach did when she looked up at him.

  “So I guess my prime rib did the trick,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile.

  Poppy rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but delight in his teasing.

  “Your prime rib wasn’t there last night, buddy,” she said.

  “Buddy?” he chuckled. “Well, so that’s what I get for helping you out with Mr. Joe Perfect-Face.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and wrapped the ties of his apron around his waist.

  “His name is Mark,” Poppy said, lightly punching Swaggart on one muscular arm. “And I already thanked you for the prime rib.”

  “I’m just kidding with you, Poppy-seed,” he said.

  “I know,” she said as she was momentarily mesmerized by his appearance.

  He wore nothing unusual, nothing out-of-the-ordinary—just his uniform jeans with a white t-shirt—but he was astonishing to look at! His dark hair was already a bit mussed, and Poppy guessed he’d driven his old Chevy pickup to work. Swaggart always drove his old blue and white Chevy pickup with the windows down. He owned another car too—a newer but rather beat-up black Jeep. The Jeep ran better and got better gas mileage, but Swaggart seemed to prefer the old Chevy—and when the weather was good, he always drove it with the windows down.

  “Driving your pickup today, are we?” Poppy said. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, endeavoring to neaten it for him. Instantly, she regretted the action, for the fluttering feeling in her stomach increased tenfold, and her entire body erupted in goose bumps!

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” he said. Obviously, the gesture had little effect on him—for he reached out and playfully ran his hand over the top of Poppy’s head, raking his own fingers through her hair. “And now that we’re both presentable—I better get busy.” He smiled and finished tying his apron strings at his waist.

  “Yeah,” Poppy said, smoothing her hair and trying to appear unaffected.

  He turned and headed into the
kitchen. Poppy sighed when he’d gone. She thought of Swaggart—the peach pie—and of Mark—the apple pie. Yet, what fool would linger at the bakery window staring at the peach pie when the apple pie was already in her hands?

  Mark was wonderful—a gentleman, polite, romantic, and gorgeous!

  Poppy shook her head. “You’re a goofball, Poppy Amore,” she mumbled to herself as she headed for the hostess podium. She smiled as the memory of Mark Lawson’s tender kiss and striking good looks filled her mind. He was fabulous—and smitten!

  CHAPTER SIX

  The following day found the restaurant so busy that Poppy and everyone else working at Good Ol’ Days struggled to keep utter chaos at bay! Summer had arrived, and the regular customers knew the garden and patio tables would be open. A constant stream of customers and a forty-minute wait to be seated gave Poppy little time to reflect on Mark or her upcoming date with him.

  The dinner rush was even worse than the lunch rush had been. As Poppy headed to the kitchen with her newest table’s order, she glanced out the front window of Good Ol’ Days to see at least twenty people waiting to be seated.

  “I need two Chef’s Choices,” Poppy said as she added her order to a long line on the order rack. “One beef, any veggie—one chicken, no asparagus,” she said.

  “Okay,” Swaggart mumbled, handing a knife to Bobby. Poppy felt bad for him as she looked up to see the heavy frown furrowing his brow. Chef’s Choices were more time-consuming, more demanding, and she was certain he would rather have been told there were simply two more hamburgers needed.

  “Poppy,” Swaggart said as she started to leave.

  “Yeah?”

  He looked up at her. The deep brown of eyes reflected fatigue, and Poppy’s heart experienced a sharp pang of compassion.

  “Have Uncle Robert come back here to help us,” he said. “We’re gonna get backed up if he doesn’t. Grandpa can help Whitney with seating.”

  “Sure,” Poppy said.

  She hurried to the hostess podium to deliver Swaggart’s message.

  “Uncle Robert,” she said.

  “Hmmm?” Uncle Robert asked as he handed four menus to Brittany and gestured toward a waiting party of four.

  “Swaggart needs you in the kitchen,” she said. “Do you think Mr. Dexter can assist here?”