“Are you the cook?” Mark asked.
“Yes, sir,” Swaggart said. “Swaggart Moretti.”
Mark did drop her hand then, offering his to Swaggart. “Then let me just tell you, that was the best prime rib I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Thank you. I’m glad it was to your liking,” Swaggart said, shaking Mark’s hand.
Again Poppy was struck by the feeling she was standing with apple pie in one hand and peach pie in the other. Again she wished she could’ve had just one romantic moment with Swaggart—just one before her “Mr. Right” showed up. She glanced at Mark and wondered if her Mr. Right had shown up.
“Are you the guy who grilled that salmon?” Braden asked as he returned to the table.
“Yes, sir. Swaggart Moretti. I hope you enjoyed it,” Swaggart said, accepting Braden’s outstretched hand in a firm shake.
“Man, that was incredible!” Braden said.
“Thank you,” Swaggart said.
Poppy almost giggled out loud. She knew how difficult it was for Swaggart to accept a compliment—knew his teeth were probably clinched and that all he wanted was to high-tail it back to the kitchen. Still, he always greeted anyone who ordered the Chef’s Choice.
“I’m telling everybody about this place,” Braden said. “It’s fantastic!”
“I’m glad you enjoyed your meal,” Swaggart said.
“The meal and the service,” Braden said, smiling at Poppy. “You know, my friend has his eye on your little honey here.”
“He’d be a fool if he didn’t,” Swaggart said, winking at Poppy.
Poppy smiled at him, but quickly looked away when she felt Mark take her hand once more. Again her arms broke out in goose bumps at the feel of her hand in his.
The first line of the all-too-familiar song caused Poppy to gasp, “Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes!” Swaggart chuckled as Dean Martin sang “That’s Amore.”
“All right!” Mark chuckled as everyone working and most of those dining at Good Ol’ Days began to sing along.
“You mean…you mean it’s happening now?” Braden asked.
Mark nodded as he sang along too. He stood then, joining Swaggart and Braden. Josh appeared and, draping one arm around Poppy’s shoulders, the other across Swaggart’s, joined in at the chorus.
As the song ended, the usual amused applause erupted, and Poppy thought her cheeks might actually catch flame by the time things settled down.
“That was awesome!” Braden exclaimed as Josh trotted back to work. “This place is wild.” Shaking his head he said, “I’ll see you outside, man.” Nodding at Poppy he said, “I’m sure I’ll see you again.” He pointed to Swaggart and added, “Excellent meal, my man.”
Swaggart smiled and the warm syrup of his eyes lingered on Poppy for a moment. “I’ve got to get back,” he said. Then nodding to Mark he said, “Thank you for coming in.”
“Oh, the pleasure was all mine,” Mark said.
Poppy watched Swaggart as he walked back toward the kitchen. The feel of her hand suddenly clasped in Mark’s again drew her attention to him. He was smiling at her, his eyes warm and twinkling.
“I’ll see you Thursday then. Okay?” he asked.
“I can’t wait,” Poppy said, returning his smile. She bit her lip as he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it lingeringly.
“I’ll call you,” he said as he left.
As soon as he was out of sight, Poppy collapsed into his recently emptied chair.
“I saw that!” Whitney whispered as she seated a couple at the next table.
“Unbelievable!” Poppy whispered in return.
She sighed, suddenly overwhelmed with sheer delight. Mark Lawson! She had a date with Mark Lawson! And he was smitten with her! It was the stuff of dreams.
Sighing once more, a pleased smile on her face, she glanced down at the plate still sitting on the table—Mark’s plate. She gasped a moment later as she saw the fifty dollar bill peeking out from under it. She wondered if it was too late to catch him before he drove off—too late to return the ridiculous tip to him. Yet as she pulled the currency out from under the plate, she smiled. Attached to the fifty was a small yellow Post-it note, which read, And in case you ever need my number…891-1288.
Poppy giggled, tucked the fifty and its accompanying note in her apron pocket, lifted the two plates off the table, and headed for the kitchen.
She had a date with Mark Lawson, and he was smitten with her! Nothing could ruin this night—nothing!
Mark smiled as he thought of Poppy and turned out of Braden’s apartment complex parking lot. Poppy Amore was completely under his skin. She seemed to radiate beauty and goodness in every respect, and he’d managed to secure an evening with her. He chuckled, pleased with himself and eager for Thursday to arrive.
He thought of the look on Poppy’s face when Dean Martin had begun to sing “That’s Amore.” It was obvious it had rattled her, just as it had the first night he’d seen the spectacle, and he loved it. And what a fabulous meal! He did wonder for a moment if that movie-star-looking cook had a thing for Poppy himself—it was quite a meal he had pulled off. Yet Poppy wouldn’t have so eagerly accepted a date with another man if there was anything between her and the cook. Mark smiled again. She did seem pretty delighted when Mark had asked her out—very enthusiastic in agreeing to go.
He thought about the softness of her small hand—how great it felt to hold it in his. He thought about the way her eyes seemed to sparkle when she smiled, how perfect her figure was.
Yep—Thursday couldn’t come fast enough.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I dug out our notebook and lists last night,” Whitney said as she sat at the table eating noodles swimming in melted butter.
“Why?” Poppy asked, studying her reflection in the microwave door. “Feeling sentimental?”
Whitney shrugged and answered, “I don’t know—I guess so.” She giggled and slurped a noodle. “We were so funny—and so full of energy and adventure!”
Poppy smiled and giggled too. “Were? What do you mean? Twenty-one isn’t exactly elderly, Whit. Besides, you can speak for yourself, but I’m still full of energy and adventure.” Poppy fastened a gold hoop earring in one ear and then the other. “Though I will admit to you that you tainted my brain a bit by bringing up that unfinished item on my list yesterday.”
“What do you mean?” Whitney asked.
Poppy pulled her lip gloss from her purse. She used her right ring finger to apply a glistening shine to her lips as she continued to look into the microwave.
“You know—when you told me about Swaggart dumping Jennifer and you said I should at least try to check item number one off my list. It tainted my brain a bit,” Poppy explained.
“Good,” Whitney said.
“What?” Poppy asked. “That’s a mean thing to say!”
“I just meant…doesn’t it drive you crazy that you have that one thing left?” Whitney asked. “I mean, it’s not like you’re me with four things left to check off. I’ll never finish.”
“You’ll finish,” Poppy said. Then, rolling her eyes, she added, “And it doesn’t matter if you finish or not. We made those lists when we were fourteen. It’s a miracle we checked off as many items as we did.”
“Look,” Whitney said, reaching into a canvas bag sitting on the floor near her chair. “Here they are. Let me read the lists off to you.”
“I know the lists, Whit,” Poppy said, smiling at her friend.
Whitney Dexter and Poppy Amore had been fourteen, freshmen in high school, when they’d started the notebook. It was basically a notebook of handwritten memories, pasted-in mementoes, and other schoolgirl interests. It also included each girl’s “Dreams to Do” list—a list of twenty things each girl wanted to accomplish or experience in her lifetime. It was just a fun little list, a list of dreams—most of which the girls had been fortunate enough to see come to fruition.
“You don’t know the lists,”
Whitney said. “Here’s mine...I’ll read them from last to first.” She cleared her throat. “Dreams to Do,” she began. “Number twenty: Donate my hair to Locks of Love. Number nineteen: Hike down into the Grand Canyon—”
“You’ve done both of those,” Poppy said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table with Whitney. As much as she pretended otherwise, Poppy loved the occasional, “reading of the list,” as Whitney called it. Reading the lists not only brought back a flood of wonderful memories but caused Poppy to feel as if she’d already accomplished so much in her young life. It made her feel as if anything were possible. Well—anything but checking off the number one thing on her list.
“Yes, I have,” Whitney said, smiling. “Next,” she continued, “Number eighteen: Find a starfish while wandering along the beach. Number seventeen: See a tornado in real life—”
“That one freaked us out!” Poppy said.
“I know! It was like…like an angel had read my list and was helping me check stuff off. Imagine—seeing a tornado like that the one time we were in Kansas for drill-team competition.”
“Totally weird,” Poppy said.
“Number sixteen: Shake hands with Michael Jordan. Fifteen: Visit Mount Rushmore. Fourteen: Learn to surf. Thirteen: Learn to swing dance. Twelve: See the Statue of Liberty. Eleven—now see, this one bugs me big time, but I’m saving up and I’ll get it done! Eleven: Visit Prince Edward Island, Canada.” Whitney paused and shook her head, discouraged.
“You’ve got forever to do that one,” Poppy said. “Maybe you can honeymoon there when you get married.”
“Maybe,” Whitney grumbled. “Ten: Visit the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial in Hawaii. Another one that will take forever to check off.”
“Oh, just keep going,” Poppy said. Whitney had always gotten discouraged when she’d had two consecutive list items that were difficult to fulfill—ever since the day they’d made the list.
“Okay…Nine: Learn to play the piano. I’ve done that one, at least. Eight: Win a best-of-show ribbon in something—the cherry jelly I entered in the state fair.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Poppy agreed with nod.
“Seven: Learn to crochet—Grandma taught me. Six: Read all of Dickens’s and Austen’s works. That one about wore us out, remember?”
“Totally!” Poppy answered. “My brain still hurts.”
“Five—visit The Goonies house in Oregon.” Whitney paused, glaring at Poppy.
“I can’t help it if my parents wanted to vacation in Oregon and yours didn’t that summer,” Poppy said.
“Four: Ride a train coast to coast,” Whitney continued. “Three: Memorize ‘The Highwayman’ by Alfred Noyes. Two: See Bon Jovi in concert.”
“That was a hard one to pull off,” Poppy commented.
“Expensive too,” Whitney added. “And item number one—never to be checked off—Kiss Greg Amore.”
“I could’ve helped you with that one,” Poppy said, shaking a scolding index finger at her friend. “But you wouldn’t let me.”
“I know, I know,” Whitney said. “And then you let your stupid cousin move off to Timbuktu, and I’ll never get it checked off!”
“I tried,” Poppy said.
“You tried to pay him twenty bucks to do it!” Whitney said, smiling. “That wouldn’t have even counted!”
“It would too have,” Poppy giggled.
“Anyway,” Whitney said, turning the page in the notebook. “Let’s move on to yours. Number twenty: Photograph the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. Those are still my favorite photos you’ve ever taken.”
“Mine too,” Poppy said. She glanced up at the clock. She still had half an hour before Mark was to arrive to pick her up for their date. She was glad Whitney had pulled out the notebook—she was nervous, and the notebook was helping to distract her.
“Nineteen: Serve on a jury—you did that,” Whitney continued. “Eighteen: Go fishing in Idaho. I always thought that one was weird.”
Poppy giggled. “But I did it,” she said.
“Yes, you did,” Whitney giggled. “Seventeen: Spend eight hours in a Civil War cemetery. Sixteen: Have a chalk-artist do your portrait. Fifteen: Walk the ridgepole of an old Victorian home.” Whitney paused, eyebrows arched. “I’m sure Lucy Maud Montgomery and the orthopedist appreciated that.”
“Mom didn’t though,” Poppy said.
“Fourteen: Plant a rose garden,” Whitney said with a nod. “Thirteen: Learn the five Latin ballroom dances. Twelve: Own a pair of Levi’s 501 button-fly jeans. Eleven: Visit Arlington National Cemetery. What is it with you and cemeteries?” Poppy only shrugged as Whitney shook her head and continued, “Ten: Sing the National Anthem at a college football game. Nine: Eat crawfish in New Orleans. Your parents always took better vacations than mine. Eight: Receive a stamped postcard from Scotland.”
“And I have your grandpa to thank for that,” Poppy said.
“Seven: Ride a horse along the beach in Monterrey, California—that was a fun senior trip, huh?” Poppy smiled and nodded. “Six: Read all of Dickens’s and Austen’s works—and your brain still hurts, I know. Five—visit The Goonies house in Oregon.” Whitney paused long enough to stick her tongue out at Poppy. “Ride the rollercoaster at the top of the Stratosphere in Las Vegas is number four. Three is memorize ‘The Lady of Shalott’ by Tennyson. Number two: Shake the hand of the President of the United States. And your number one, and only unfulfilled dream to do—make out with Swaggart Moretti!”
“It says, ‘Kiss Swaggart Moretti!’” Poppy argued.
“It says, ‘Kiss make out with Swaggart Moretti,’” Whitney corrected.
“The ‘make out with’ is crossed out,” Poppy said, pointing to item number one on her Dreams to Do list.
“Only because you thought you’d overshot your goal,” Whitney said. “And I still think you should do it.”
“That’s because you’re dumb,” Poppy said.
“It’s the only thing left to do, and your list would be totally finished!” Whitney said. “And besides,” she continued, “I think it still haunts you. In fact, I know it does.”
“So what?” Poppy said, shrugging her shoulders and adjusting the silver and gold bracelet at her wrist. “We all have things that haunt us. And anyway, what if he had kissed me and it had been totally gross? That would haunt me even worse—the fact that the guy I always wanted to kiss was a disgusting kisser.”
“There’s no way Swaggart’s a disgusting kisser…he’s my cousin!” Whitney said, pointing to herself. “And anyway, it’s not like it’s the hardest thing to accomplish on your list. You shook the hand of the President of the United States…but you never found the courage to kiss Swaggart? You braved armed members of the Secret Service, but you won’t contrive a way to have one make-out session with Swaggart Moretti? You’re a weenie, that’s all.”
“So I’m a weenie,” Poppy said. “I admit it.”
A mischievous grin spread across Whitney’s face as she asked, “And what if Mr. Gorgeous Mark Lawson tries to kiss you good night this lovely, starry evening?”
Poppy smiled, and her arms broke out in goose bumps at the thought. “Well, Mr. Gorgeous Mark Lawson is smitten with me. Swaggart isn’t,” Poppy said. “And besides, a kiss good night is a lot different than making out, Whitney—you goofball.”
“Okay,” Whitney said, still grinning. “But tell me this—and be honest—if Swaggart Moretti and Mark Lawson were both standing here in our living room right this minute, each holding a sign that said, ‘I want to kiss you, Poppy Amore’…which one would you most want to kiss?”
Poppy paused too long, and she was afraid Whitney would be wise to her. Still, she said, “Mark Lawson. Hands down.”
“You’re lying,” Whitney said.
“Okay, yes….I admit it, but it’s only because I’ve know Swaggart seven hundred and sixty-three years. I’ve only been around Mark twice,” Poppy said.
“You have known Swaggart longer—but that’s not
the reason. Admit it,” Whitney demanded.
“It’s only because you’re forever reminding me about stupid item number one on my list!” Poppy exclaimed. “Maybe if you quit mentioning it—or if we’d never made the lists in the first place—then maybe I could get on with life instead of thinking about it every time another guy…” Poppy sighed, stood up, and studied her reflection in the microwave door again.
Whitney’s smile faded. She’d hit the nail right on the head, so to speak—Poppy was still haunted by item number one. More exactly, she was still haunted by Swaggart Moretti.
Mark Lawson was gorgeous! He was charming, obviously had money, and was obviously smitten with Poppy. Whitney knew Poppy wouldn’t be able to relax and have fun on their date if Swaggart was still lingering around in her mind’s eye.
Whitney loved Poppy—they had been best friends forever, and she wanted to see her happy. If Mark Lawson turned out to be Poppy’s Mr. Right, then Whitney didn’t want to regret not accepting him because she preferred the idea of Poppy with Swaggart.
“You’re right,” Whitney said. “I was just teasing you. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Poppy said, applying more lip gloss. “It does haunt me, and I admit it.”
“But, you’re right too. Maybe Mark is the guy to put that particular ghost to rest,” Whitney said.
“Maybe,” Poppy said. Her smile returned. She did feel better. Whitney just enjoyed reminiscing, that was all. She knew her friend didn’t mean to upset her. Furthermore, it didn’t take Whitney’s reminiscing to unsettle her anyway—Mark Lawson would be there any minute!
Quickly, Poppy looked down, smoothing the light pink and lavender fabric of the skirt of her dress.
“Do I look okay?” she asked Whitney. “He said to dress nice.”
“You look fabulous!” Whitney said. “He won’t be able to keep his hands off you!”
“Right,” Poppy said, rolling her eyes.
The doorbell rang, and Poppy felt her body stiffen.
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