Swaggart wondered if the guy had kissed her good night after their date the other night. Most guys who dropped the dough for dinner at the Cliff House would’ve expected at least a good night kiss. Did she kiss him? The thought caused his ears to burn with jealousy and near rage. Yet what right did he have to be jealous?
All at once, part of the conversation he’d just had with Poppy pushed its way to the forefront of his mind.
“Hmmm,” he mumbled to himself. Poppy was a little too uptight about the notebook he’d mentioned seeing in Whitney’s bag. Now that he thought about it, she seemed pretty desperate to change the subject. What? She didn’t want him to know she and Whitney had been in love with Jon Bon Jovi when they were in high school? What high school girl wasn’t in love with the famous rocker at one time or another? Still, she’d seemed pretty rattled about it being at the restaurant.
Swaggart opened his eyes and sat up straight on the bench. In fact, hadn’t she asked him if he’d seen inside it? She was sure she had.
You didn’t see anything that was inside the notebook, did you? she had asked—and then she’d abruptly changed the subject.
What could be in Whitney’s notebook that Poppy didn’t want Swaggart to see? At first he thought perhaps she’d slipped the note that had come with Romeo’s flowers into it. No—why would she put a no doubt personal note in Whitney’s stuff? All at once, Swaggart’s mind burned with curiosity. What didn’t she want him to see? Whatever it was—he had to see it!
Standing up, he headed back to the restaurant. Poppy had probably moved the notebook or Whitney’s entire bag the second she’d gotten back inside. But it had to be there somewhere. Whitney and Poppy were both working the same shift he was—two to closing. Both of them had already had their lunch break too. The bag wasn’t going anywhere yet.
“Oh, no! I already took my break!” Poppy said. Mark looked wonderful! He wore jeans, a blue t-shirt, and basketball shoes. “In fact, I just got back.” She had been so delighted to see him waiting for her at the hostess podium when she’d returned from her break.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I was just driving by and thought I’d see if you had a free minute.” He smiled at her, and she felt warm all over. “Did you get the flowers?”
“Yes,” she said, biting her lip. “They’re beautiful! Thank you.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to work, but I’m stoked about Saturday.”
“Me too,” Poppy told him. She was so disappointed! If Mr. Dexter had let her work just a little longer before forcing her to take her break…
“I’ll call you tomorrow—okay?” he asked.
“Of course,” Poppy said, blushing as an elderly woman waiting to be seated winked at her with understanding.
“Okay, then—bye,” Mark said.
“Bye,” Poppy sighed.
He left, and Poppy wondered how she would ever concentrate on work with so many thoughts and feelings clattering around in her mind. Swaggart liked to cook hamburgers? She thought of the fact he could use some bigger t-shirts—the ones he had were pretty form-fitting and left little to the imagination concerning the definition of his muscular torso. Mark was going to call her tomorrow? What would he say? What would they talk about?
Her brain threatened to establish a headache it was so full of questions, anticipation, and fatigue. But as Nat King Cole sang “Pretend,” she turned and accepted the three menus Whitney handed to her.
“By the way,” she whispered to her best friend, “what are you doing with the Bon Jovi notebook here?”
“I shoved it back in my bag the other night and forgot to take it out this morning,” Whitney said. “Why?”
“Someone saw it when he got your bottled water for you,” Poppy said. “You’re lucky he didn’t look in it, or I would’ve had you maimed.”
“It’s in the alcove. You can move it next time you’re back there,” Whitney said. She mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and turned to greet a couple entering the restaurant.
Poppy smiled lovingly at her and shook her head. “You’re lucky,” she mouthed to her friend. “Will you follow me please?” she said to the young family waiting to be seated.
Before putting in her next order, Poppy detoured to the alcove. Whitney’s bag, complete with Jon Bon Jovi notebook, was still sitting on the floor near the apron rack. Picking it up, she set it around the corner on the far side of the water cooler. No one ever used the water cooler—no one, that is, except Mr. Dexter, and Jon Bon Jovi surely wouldn’t interest him.
“Poppy! Order up!” Bobby called from the order counter.
“I’m here!” she called in return. Breathing a sigh of relief, Poppy headed to the order counter.
“Where’s Swaggart?” Bobby asked. It was obvious Bobby and Uncle Robert were beginning to sink.
“He’s not back yet?” Poppy asked. “I just saw him a few minutes ago. Did you want me to dig him up for you?”
“No. That’s okay. I guess he’s really only been gone about fifteen minutes,” Bobby said. “But we had two Chef’s Choices order up at one of Brittany’s tables, and I’m starting to get nervous.”
“I’m right here,” Swaggart said.
“Man, I’m sorry,” Bobby said. “But we’re swamped.”
“That’s all right,” Swaggart said, entering the kitchen through the side door.
Poppy breathed a sigh of relief. She’d hidden Whitney’s bag with the notebook in it just in time.
“Your order for table five is up, Poppy,” Bobby reminded.
“Oh, yeah!” Poppy said, remembering her table two order. “And I need one Jiggy with rings, a pepper with rings, and one kids’ grilled cheese with fries.”
“Was that Romeo I saw leaving just now?” Swaggart asked. His grin was purely mischievous—Poppy loved it! Still, she couldn’t let him get away with such teasing. Therefore, she glared at him for a moment before sticking out her tongue, then quickly retracting it.
“Is that an invitation?” he asked, grinning at her.
Poppy’s mouth dropped open in delighted, yet astonished, awe. “I cannot believe you said that!” she scolded. However, the loop-the-loop that rocketed in her stomach at his remark was the most intense he’d ever caused.
He simply winked at her as Bobby said, “Poppy! Order up! It’s going to get cold.”
“Oh! Y-yeah,” Poppy stammered as she picked up the two plates waiting on the order counter.
“Is that an invitation?” she repeated as she headed for table five. Was he kidding? When she was little, her mother had always told her never to stick her tongue out at boys—that it meant you were asking them to kiss you. Of course, she could never figure out why the gesture would invite a boy to kiss you—not until she was much, much older. But surely that wasn’t what Swaggart had just teased her about. Was it? Yet, the loop-the-loop racing around in her stomach and bosom told her it was.
“Here you are, ma’am,” she said, setting the plate of chicken scampi on the table in front of the nice lady at table five.
“I ordered the filet mignon,” the woman said.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Poppy apologized as she picked the plate up, replacing it with the correct order.
“And for you, sir—chicken scampi,” she said, setting the scampi on the table in front of the woman’s male companion. Poppy was jittery, trembling, perspiring for some reason. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, forcing a smile.
“No. We’re fine for now, thanks,” the man said.
“Are you all right, Poppy?” Mr. Dexter asked when Poppy accidentally bumped into him on her way to the order counter.
“Oh, I’m fine, Mr. Dexter. Just a little frazzled, I suppose,” she stammered. Is that an invitation? Swaggart’s flirtatious remark kept playing over and over in her head. He shouldn’t tease her like that! Didn’t he know she’d adored him forever? Didn’t he know the man of her dreams was at her doorstep? She thought of Mark, of their wonderful evening together and th
eir good night kiss under her porch light. It calmed her, and she was able to smile at Mr. Dexter.
Mr. Dexter looked around for a moment. “Do you know anyone who might be interested in helping us out here on weekends?”
“Oh! Um…not right offhand, sir,” she said. “But if I think of someone, I’ll let you know.”
“It’s just too much for you all to deal with on your own, I’m afraid,” he said, smiling with compassionate understanding.
“We’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t you worry about us.” Poppy glanced to table one. “I…uh…I see Mrs. Peterson is in tonight.”
Instantly, Mr. Dexter’s face lit up. Mr. Dexter’s wife had passed away nearly five years before. He missed her more than he liked to speak of, but Poppy had begun to notice how his eyes lit up whenever Mrs. Peterson, a regular to Good Ol’ Days, was in dining.
“Oh, yes!” Mr. Dexter said, his eyes twinkling all of a sudden. “Wonderful woman! But do you really think she’s up to applying for the waitressing job, Poppy?”
Poppy giggled. He was so adorable!
“No, no, no,” she said. “I just thought you might like to say ‘hello’ to her this evening.”
“Oh!” Mr. Dexter said as realization struck him. “Of course. Of course. I really should greet her personally—she’s such a loyal customer.”
“Yes, she is,” Poppy said.
As she watched Mr. Dexter set out for table one, Poppy sighed. Life was pretty wonderful at that moment—the man of her dreams would be spending an entire Saturday with her, her roommate was her best friend, and she loved her job and the people she worked with.
“Order up!”
Swaggart’s voice pulled her from her reflections, and she hurried toward the order counter.
“We’re falling behind,” Swaggart told her as she looked over the order counter at him. “And you know what that means…” Poppy smiled as Swaggart turned his back to her, lifted his muscular arms over his head and began swirling his hips in what he liked to call his Risqué Martin impersonation. “Everybody better shake their tail feathers!” he hollered.
Poppy laughed as Uncle Robert and Bobby turned around and joined Swaggart in the signature dance, orchestrated to relax the stressed-out kitchen staff. As Dean Martin sang “Sway,” she watched as the three cooks left the kitchen and made their way to the dining area. As soon as Swaggart stepped into the dining area, the regular customers already familiar with the tradition began to applaud. As he continued to dance between the tables, Bobby and Uncle Robert followed, and many of the customers stood up from their tables and joined in the Latin-flavored dance.
Poppy stood at the order counter, mesmerized, as always, by the spectacle. Swaggart was such a good dancer! His tight white t-shirt and worn jeans only complemented his fabulous good looks and muscular physique as he danced. She wondered what it would be like to dance with him—really dance with him. She wondered if Mark was a good dancer. She was certain that he was.
Poppy giggled as Mr. Dexter took Mrs. Peterson by the hand, helping her to rise from her seat. Taking her in dance position, he led her in joining the dance.
As the song ended, everyone applauded, and Swaggart, Uncle Robert, and Bobby headed back to the kitchen.
“This place is the best restaurant in the city!” Poppy heard someone exclaim. She smiled—because after all, it was true.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Poppy felt entirely wrung out. What a day it had been! Good Ol’ Days had served a record number of customers, and Poppy’s feet knew it.
“Uncle Robert looked so worn out,” Whitney said, putting the mop in the mop bucket and closing the supply closet door. “You aren’t mad at me for saying we’d close up, are you?”
Poppy shook her head as she plopped down into a chair at table three. “No. He did look tired. Anyway, we can sleep in a little bit tomorrow.”
Whitney disappeared in the alcove for a moment, and Poppy frowned as she wiggled her sore toes.
“We can go as soon as you tell me where you hid my bag, Pops,” Whitney called from the alcove.
“I told you—it’s by the water cooler,” Poppy called in return. “And you better turn off the music while you’re back there. Your Grandpa will be upset if we leave the sound system on again all night.”
“Are you sure you put it by the water cooler?” Whitney called. “It’s not there, and I need my keys to lock up.”
“What do you mean it’s not there?” Poppy asked, hopping to her feet. Had someone else moved Whitney’s bag? A strong, unsettled sensation began to rinse over her as she headed for the alcove.
Poppy stopped, held her breath—startled as the door to Mr. Dexter’s office opened suddenly. Her heart nearly stopped as Swaggart walked out of the office carrying Whitney’s bag in one hand, the Bon Jovi notebook in the other.
“What are you doing with that, Swag?” Whitney scolded, snatching the canvas bag from him. He raised the notebook over his head when she tried to take it from him.
“Grandpa found your bag all spilled out by the water cooler. He was afraid something would happen to your things, so he took them to his office,” Swaggart said.
Poppy glared at Whitney as her heart began to hammer in her chest. Why had Whitney forgotten to take the notebook out of her bag? What if Swaggart had seen their Dreams to Do lists—seen Poppy’s?
“The thing is,” Swaggart began, “And you know how nosey Grandpa can be…”
“Give it to me, Swaggart!” Whitney demanded. “It’s mine, and you better not have looked through it.”
“Oh, I didn’t,” he said.
Poppy sighed with relief.
“But Grandpa did.”
“What?” Poppy heard her own voice exclaim in unison with Whitney’s.
“Furthermore, he felt there was something in here that might interest me,” Swaggart said. “And it wasn’t the twelve trillion pictures of Jon Bon Jovi.”
“Oh, no!” Poppy breathed as Swaggart looked at her then. “Oh, no!” She felt tears beginning to fill her eyes.
“Swaggart Moretti!” Whitney scolded, jumping and trying to snatch the notebook from his hand. “You and Grandpa can’t just go around reading everybody’s personal stuff! Give it! It’s private!”
“I can see why,” Swaggart said, continuing to look at Poppy.
“Whitney!” Poppy scolded in a whisper.
“I’m sorry, Poppy,” she mouthed as she punched Swaggart in the stomach. Naturally, her assault had no effect on him.
“Give it here, Swag,” Whitney demanded, reaching for the book.
At last, Swaggart forfeited the notebook. “Quite the lists of Dreams to Do you had here,” he said.
“Shut up, Swaggart!” Whitney said. “It’s none of your business.”
“Oh, it’s not?” he said.
Poppy was frantic! She had to escape, but her mind was so confounded that she couldn’t remember where she’d left her purse. In a near state of panic, she began to look around, desperately trying to remember where her purse was—her purse had her car keys in it, and she needed to run!
“I didn’t know you could surf, Whit,” he said.
Poppy held her breath, praying Mr. Dexter had only shown him Whitney’s list. Perhaps all hope wasn’t lost after all.
Whitney seemed cautiously calmed too and said, “That’s right. It’s why I talked my mom into taking me to California my freshman year in college.”
“Oh,” Swaggart said. “And you really saw Bon Jovi in concert?” he asked.
“We both did,” Whitney said, looking at Poppy.
Poppy swallowed hard, knowing she was still in danger of having been discovered.
“And you’ve only got four things left on the list. Number one was pretty interesting,” he said smiling.
“Shut up, Swag,” Whitney warned.
Poppy’s heart began to hurt with beating so hard. Her anxiety was causing her to tremble—causing her stomach to feel queasy.
“Your number one
Dream to Do is to kiss Poppy’s cousin Greg. You never got it done?” he asked.
“No. Now shut up, and go home,” Whitney said.
Again, Poppy looked around for her purse. Where was it? One more minute, and she promised herself she’d just walk home!
“Why didn’t you tell me, Whit?” he asked, smiling. “I knew Greg well. I could’ve totally hooked you up with that one.”
“It’s not funny, Swaggart,” Whitney scolded. “You’ve snooped through my personal stuff, and I can’t believe you’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not,” Swaggart said. “I’m serious. I don’t know why Poppy didn’t hook you up with her cousin—but I could’ve, and then you would’ve had almost everything on your list checked off.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Whitney said. “We’re going home.”
“Oh, don’t be mad,” Swaggart said, taking Whitney by the shoulders and smiling at her. “You know how Grandpa is—he figures if it’s in the restaurant…”
“It’s his to know about,” Whitney finished—and it was true.
Mr. Dexter had a hard, fast rule about anything brought into Good Ol’ Days by his employees—if it was brought into his restaurant, then it better be something an employee wouldn’t mind him seeing.
“That’s right, and I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you—or Poppy,” Swaggart said, looking over to Poppy once more. “That’s my fault.”
Poppy’s heart nearly stopped. He knew! By the warm-syrupy look in his eyes, Poppy knew Swaggart had seen her list—seen item number one at the top of it. Forget her purse—she’d walk home. In fact, she’d run!
Turning around, Poppy fled toward the front door.
“Hey!” she heard Swaggart call.
When she reached the front door, she remembered Uncle Robert had locked it on his way out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Swaggart asked, taking hold of her shoulders and turning her to face him. Poppy couldn’t look at him—kept her head down, angrily willing her tears to remain at bay.
Kissing Cousins Page 10