Poppy felt the blood rush to her head, felt her cheeks begin to burn with the heat of a deep blush.
“What’s this all about?” the woman at table eight asked. It was obvious she was irritated.
As Dean continued to sing a song whose very title included Poppy’s name—the patrons and employees gleefully accentuating the word amore each time it should be sung—Poppy said, “Oh, it’s nothing.”
Too late! Josh, who was bussing a table nearby, danced up to Poppy, putting an arm around her shoulders and singing in unison with seemingly everyone else.
The handsome man seated at table eight chuckled as he watched several other employees surround Poppy and join Dean Martin in singing the famous Italian love song.
The woman seated before her continued to express irritation with the sour expression on her face, while the man only leaned back in his seat and seemed to enjoy the spectacle. As for Poppy, she could’ve melted into puddle of humiliation. Every other day or so, when the looped music piping through the restaurant made it around to Dean Martin’s rendition of “That’s Amore,” every employee joined the regular customers who might happen to be dining in singing to Poppy. The owner of Good Ol’ Days, Mr. Dexter, had started the tradition when he’d first discovered Poppy’s last name—Amore.
Most of the time Poppy just laughed and sang along too, but this time was different. She already sensed the woman sitting before her was not only possessive of her handsome date but arrogant, self-centered, and wanting every smidgen of his attention.
At last, the song ended, and everyone familiar with the tradition clapped and whistled. Poppy forced a smile and nodded as people smiled at her.
“Is it your birthday?” the handsome man at table eight asked.
“Um…no. It’s my last name…Amore,” Poppy explained. “It’s become kind of a silly little tradition here. Every time the song plays everyone just—”
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” the woman mumbled. “It completely disrupted everything.”
“I’m sorry,” Poppy stammered. “Would you like an appetizer?”
“It’s up to you,” the woman said, smiling at the handsome man sitting across from her.
“I’m good,” the man said. He smiled at Poppy, and she felt her knees literally weaken for a moment.
“Are you ready to order then?” Poppy asked, feeling overly hot and a little unsteady.
“Well, with all the interruptions, we haven’t really had time to look at the menu,” the woman said. “Come back in a few minutes. But I’d like my Diet Coke now.”
“Of course,” Poppy said. “I’ll be right back.”
As she turned to go, she heard the woman say, “I’ve heard this is a great place, but I’m a bit skeptical after all that.”
“I thought it was fun,” the handsome man said.
Poppy tried to will away her blush as she headed for the beverage area.
“Bad timing?” Swaggart chuckled as he winked at her over the order counter. Bobby chuckled with amusement.
“You have no idea,” Poppy said, shaking her head.
Swaggart flashed his own bewitching, dazzling smile at her, and Poppy was somewhat recovered. If she could look a gorgeous guy like Swaggart Moretti in the eye, she could look the man at table eight in the eye—wench of a date with him or not.
Working quickly, she filled two glasses with the beverages table eight had requested. She looked at the Diet Coke to make certain it had just the right amount of ice. She’d had customers like the woman at table eight too many times to count, and she knew any little thing might be an excuse for a complaint.
As she walked toward table eight, she wondered what such a handsome and obviously polite man like the one seated there was doing with such a stuck-up woman. Maybe Whitney had been right. Maybe it was just business.
“Here you go,” Poppy said, setting the Diet Coke on a coaster in front of the woman before placing the glass of water on a coaster before the man. “Do you need more time with the menu?”
“My, my,” the woman said. “You are in a hurry, aren’t you?”
“No, ma’am,” Poppy said. “Just thought I’d ask while I was here.”
“Do I look like a ‘ma’am’ to you, sweetie?” the woman asked. Her voice was thick with arrogance, irritation, and self-superiority.
“I-I…” Poppy stammered. She was completely caught off guard. She’d never had anyone criticize her for trying to be polite and respectful.
“Miss,” the woman instructed. “Miss Reginald,” she said. “Susan Reginald, but you’ll address me as Miss Reginald.”
“Um…of course, Miss Reginald,” Poppy said as a large lump began to form in the back of her throat. She felt extra moisture begin to gather in her eyes but willed it to stay at bay.
“This is our first meeting together,” the handsome man said to Poppy.
She looked to him and felt somewhat comforted when he winked at her, smiling with understanding. He knew he was with a wench and had made it clear he was with her for a meeting, not a date.
“I’m Mark,” he said. “Mark Lawson—and I’m actually ready to order.”
“Yes, sir,” Poppy said. She tried to still her trembling hand as she held her pen ready to jot down the man’s order on her tablet.
“I’d like the filet mignon,” he said.
“H-how would you like that cooked?” Poppy stammered. She was still far too unsettled and nervous to have completely regained her composure.
“Medium-well,” he said.
“And for your sides?” Poppy asked.
“What are my choices?” he asked, smiling and winking at her again.
“Loaded baked potato, garlic mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables, or you can specify a particular vegetable. Oh, and sautéed mushrooms. You may choose two, of course,” Poppy said.
“Mmm! Sautéed mushrooms and garlic mashed potatoes,” Mark said.
“What if he wants three vegetables?” Susan Reginald interrupted.
“That’s fine. We can do whatever you prefer,” Poppy said.
“Well, I want the grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and carrots. Does your cook know how to properly prepare carrots? I don’t want them mushy,” Susan, the arrogant wench, said.
“The cook in the kitchen right now is the best in the city,” Poppy answered. She couldn’t help herself. She was starting to really loathe the woman at table eight.
“That’s quite a statement,” Susan Reginald said. “Are you willing to back that up somehow?”
“He’s a professional chef and in high demand,” Poppy said.
“Why then, if he’s so great, is he working here?” Susan asked.
“He likes it here,” Poppy answered. “He’s been working here forever. It’s a family business and—”
“Just finish up our orders please,” Susan interrupted.
“Yes, ma’am…I mean, Miss Reginald,” Poppy said. “That’s one filet mignon, medium-well with…”
“No need to read it back—unless, of course, you’re feeling incompetent somehow,” Susan Reginald said.
“Of course not, Miss Reginald,” Poppy said. Her entire body was hot with fury! What a nightmare this woman was. She glanced to Mark Lawson to see him scowling with annoyance. “I’ll put your order in right now.”
“Well, I can’t imagine why you’d wait,” the woman said.
Poppy had had enough! With a nod to the woman and smile at the handsome Mark Lawson, Poppy turned and made for the kitchen.
“You all right?” Swaggart asked, smiling.
“You would not believe the woman at table eight!” Poppy said through clenched teeth.
“Isn’t that the table with the guy who has all you girls breathless with his good looks?” Swaggart chuckled.
“Yes!” Poppy admitted. “But the woman he’s with is a total nightmare!”
“Really?” he asked.
Poppy leaned toward the order counter and lowered her voice. “She wanted to know if
you knew how to cook carrots properly,” she told him. “She, like, wanted your whole background! And she was so rude to me! I’m supposed to call her miss, not ma’am. Miss Reginald to be specific.”
Swaggart shook his head, smiling with understanding. “Well, I hope the guy is worth it.”
“You’re making fun of me again,” she said, smiling at him.
“Me? When have I ever made fun of you, Poppy?” he chuckled. “Give me their order.”
“Medium-well filet mignon, garlic mashed, sautéed mushrooms, and she wants a grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and perfectly, properly cooked carrots,” Poppy said.
Swaggart frowned. “Do you want me to get back at her for you?”
“Yeah,” Bobby said. “Maybe he could undercook her carrots or something.”
“Yeah,” Swaggart said. “Worse yet—I could overcook them.”
Poppy rolled her eyes, and Swaggart smiled. “You can’t. I told her you were the best cook in the city.”
“Oh, great,” Swaggart mumbled.
“Well, you are,” Poppy said, smiling at him.
“It’s true, man,” Bobby said.
Swaggart glanced past her for a moment as he said, “Well, I think waiting on Miss Reginald might prove to be worth it…if the guy headed back here is the famous ‘hot guy at table eight.’”
“What?” Poppy gasped.
“Well, he’s not quite as hot as me and Bobby,” Swaggart said, lowering his voice. “But he’s a good third.”
“Excuse me.”
At the sound of his voice, Poppy’s hand flew up to cover her gaping mouth. Swaggart simply raised his eyebrows and returned his attention to whatever he was cooking behind the order counter.
“Poppy? Right?”
Poppy turned to see Mark Lawson himself smiling down at her. He was tall—tall, dark, and incredibly handsome!
“Y-yeah?” Poppy stammered. “Did I forget something?” she asked.
“No,” Mark said. “I just wanted to apologize for the behavior of my dinner companion. It’s a business meeting and pretty awkward for me too.”
“It’s all right,” Poppy said, smiling.
“No, it’s not,” Mark said. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do something to tone her down a bit. I just wanted to offer my personal apologies.”
“Thank you, sir,” Poppy said, smiling. How could anyone not smile at Mark Lawson? He was so gorgeous! Poppy’s heart was pounding like a hammer on an anvil!
“Mark,” he said, offering a hand to her. “Call me Mark.”
“Okay,” Poppy said, accepting his hand. He grasped her hand for a moment, sending goose bumps rippling over her arms. “I’ll have your order out as soon as it’s ready.”
“Thank you,” Mark said. “And again, I am sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Poppy said.
Mark Lawson nodded, and Poppy released a heavy sigh as she watched him saunter back to table eight.
“Wow,” Swaggart said once Mark Lawson was gone. “He is hot. I thought you were going to melt into a puddle right there at his feet.”
Poppy turned to Swaggart, her eyes narrowing as she sneered at him. “You hush up,” she said.
Swaggart chuckled and winked at her as he said, “I’ll make sure his filet mignon is perfect so he’ll ask for your number.”
“Like a guy like that would ever ask for my number,” Poppy said.
“Oh, believe me,” Swaggart began, still smiling, “he’s already thought about asking you for it. Trust me.”
“The last time I trusted you, I ended up on Barn Door Road with a flat tire,” Poppy said.
“You wanted a short cut to Whitney’s house, and I told you about one. It wasn’t my fault you picked up a nail,” he said. “Anyway, I told you that I would’ve come out there and changed it for you.”
“Make that a perfect filet mignon, and we’ll see then, won’t we?” Poppy said, smiling. She loved when Swaggart teased her. It wasn’t the sort of attention she once dreamed of receiving from him, but it was attention all the same.
“You got it, Poppy-seed,” Swaggart said. “And I’ll bet you ten bucks he asks for your number.”
“You’ve got a deal,” Poppy giggled. “I could use ten bucks.”
“Me too,” Swaggart said. “I’ll call you when that order is ready.”
“You do that,” Poppy said. “And keep your wallet handy, buddy.” Swaggart chuckled, and Poppy turned, intent on checking on her tables.
Something inside her chest fluttered. Perhaps Swaggart was right—maybe the total hottie, Mark Lawson, would ask for her number! Yet she knew he wouldn’t, and that made her wonder why the something inside her chest was fluttering. She wondered for a moment if it was her friendly banter with Swaggart causing the sensation or the hope that Mark Lawson really would ask for her number.
Shaking her head, she headed to table five to check on the family of four seated there. She couldn’t help glancing at table eight as she went, smiling when she saw Mark Lawson glance at her and smile.
“Perfect filet mignon is one of your best, Swaggart Moretti. For my sake, let’s hope you pull it off this time,” she whispered to herself.
CHAPTER TWO
“That meal was absolutely fabulous,” Mark Lawson said. Poppy smiled and filled his empty water glass with more ice water from a pitcher. “You weren’t kidding about the cook here.”
“No, sir. I was not,” Poppy said.
“Even I’ll admit the carrots were done to perfection,” Miss Reginald said. “I was very pleasantly surprised. What’s the cook’s name?”
“Swaggart Moretti,” Poppy answered, smiling at Mark as he smiled at her.
“Swaggart Moretti?” Miss Reginald said. “That’s an odd name combination.”
“Would you like to see a dessert menu?” Poppy asked, skirting the comment. This woman didn’t deserve to even speak Swaggart’s name, let alone discuss it.
“I’m fine,” Mark said. “Susan?”
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Miss Reginald said.
Poppy eyed her suspiciously. Experience told her that had Miss Reginald been in the company of other women, instead of a man she was trying to impress, she would’ve been more than willing to indulge in dessert.
“We’ll just have the check then,” Mark said, smiling at Poppy. Something in his smile caused her to blush all over. Oh my heck! He was so handsome!
“Of course,” Poppy said. “I’ll be right back.”
“This Diet Coke needs freshening, Poppy,” Miss Reginald said, stalling Poppy. “It was a bit watered down when you brought it. I need a new one.”
“Yes, Miss Reginald,” Poppy said, picking up the glass and heading toward the beverage fountain.
“Well?” Swaggart asked as she approached. “Did he ask for your number yet?”
“No,” Poppy said, feeling entirely disappointed. “You owe me ten bucks.”
“He ain’t gone yet,” Swaggart said.
“The filet mignon was perfect—in case you want to know,” she said. “And the carrots too.”
“You sound surprised,” Swaggart said, flashing a dazzling smile in her direction.
Poppy mused that standing there with Swaggart Moretti on one side and Mark Lawson on the other was a lot like having peach pie in one hand and apple pie in the other—too delicious!
“Just get your wallet out, buddy,” Poppy said as she turned and headed for the order computer.
Poppy printed out a receipt and returned to table eight.
“Here you go, Miss Reginald,” she said, setting the fresh drink on the coaster before the woman. “And here you are, sir,” she said, handing the check to Mark Lawson. “I’ll be your cashier when you’re ready.”
“You just assume he’s paying?” Miss Reginald asked. “That’s a pretty sexist assumption.”
“I’m sorry,” Poppy said, retrieving the receipt from Mr. Lawson’s hand and offering it to Miss Reginald.
“He is paying,” the
arrogant woman said. “I just thought you needed to know your assumption was inappropriate and therefore offensive to me.”
Releasing a heavy sigh of irritation, Mark Lawson rather snatched the receipt from Poppy’s hand. His eyes narrowed as he reached for his wallet while looking at Miss Reginald.
“Thank you, Poppy,” he said, opening his wallet and removing a gold credit card. He started to hand Poppy the card but paused.
“Susan,” he began, “After having spent the evening with you, I’ve come to a decision.”
“Yes?” Miss Reginald said. A triumphant and rather seductive smile spread across her perfect-makeup face.
“Our firm won’t be representing you,” Mark said.
“What?” Susan exclaimed, her smile vanishing.
“We’re not interested in taking on your account,” he said.
“I came to you! This dinner is your interview, not mine!” Miss Reginald nearly growled. “I have a ten million dollar advertising account, and you’re telling me you don’t want it?”
“Yes,” Mark said, handing Poppy his credit card. He looked to Poppy then and added, “Would you have your hostess call a taxi for Miss Reginald as well?”
“A taxi?” Miss Reginald screeched in a barely controlled whisper. For a moment, Poppy thought the woman’s head might explode. She was furious!
“Y-yes, sir,” Poppy said. She could feel the tension hanging in the air and did not want to be present when Miss Susan Reginald lost her snooty cool.
“You won’t even have the decency to drive me home?” the woman screeched in a louder whisper as Poppy turned to leave.
“You’ve been a nightmare for this girl from the moment we walked in,” she heard Mark say. “I won’t work with someone like that.”
Poppy couldn’t help but smile as she ran Mark Lawson’s card for $35.85. He was dishing off a ten million dollar advertising account because Miss Reginald had been rude to her! It was too wonderful! Of course, for a moment Poppy felt bad about his losing such a sum of money. However, in the next moment, she giggled with delight.
Once the receipt for Mark Lawson was printed, Poppy swung by the hostess podium and asked Whitney to call a taxi.
She was bit nervous about facing Miss Reginald again. Still, it was obvious Mark Lawson would champion her if the woman attacked her in any manner. So, she returned to table eight to deliver the check.
Kissing Cousins Page 2
