Kissing Cousins

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Miss Susan Reginald sat silent, but obviously infuriated. Her anger was evident by the way her plentiful bosom rose and fell with quickened breathing, the way her mouth pinched into a firm frown.

  “Here you are, sir,” Poppy said, handing the credit card and receipt to Mark Lawson. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Oh, believe me,” Miss Reginald began, “you’ve done enough.”

  “Thank you for your patience,” Mark Lawson said to Poppy as he signed the receipt. He reached into his wallet and withdrew a fifty dollar bill. “And this is for your trouble tonight,” he said handing the fifty to Poppy.

  “Oh, no sir! I couldn’t possibly…” Poppy began to argue.

  “Oh, go on, honey,” Miss Reginald said. “You’ve earned it—somehow!”

  Taking hold of Poppy’s hand, Mark Lawson placed the fifty dollar bill in her palm, closing her fingers over it. His touch made her entire arm tingle.

  “I’m sorry for any inconvenience or distress we caused you,” he said, rising from his seat and putting his wallet in his back pocket. “Did you call for a taxi?”

  “Yes, sir,” Poppy said. “It will be here in five minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Mark said. He turned to Miss Reginald then. “I wish you luck in finding an advertising firm, Miss Reginald. Your taxi will be here in a few minutes.”

  “You’re leaving me here?” Susan Reginald screeched in a whisper.

  He paused and turned back to Poppy. Retrieving a business card from his shirt pocket, he handed it to Poppy. “If you ever have need of great advertising, give me a call.”

  “Thank you,” Poppy said accepting the card.

  “This is a great place,” he said. “I hope I’ll see you next time I’m in.”

  “Thanks,” Poppy said. She felt her heart sink to her stomach as Mark Lawson smiled at her and headed for the front door. In another moment, he was gone.

  “This is the worst restaurant I’ve ever been to,” Miss Reginald said as she stood and gathered her purse. “With absolutely the worst service I’ve ever experienced!”

  “You have a nice evening…ma’am,” Poppy said.

  Susan Reginald’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Poppy. “He’d never think twice about someone like you,” she said.

  “Your taxi should be here any moment,” Poppy said, tucking the fifty and Mark Lawson’s business card in her apron pocket. She left Susan Reginald standing with her mouth gaping open.

  “I’m taking my break,” Poppy told Josh as she untied her apron.

  “What a wench, huh?” Josh said, running a hand through his brown hair.

  “You have no idea,” Poppy said, somehow glad Josh had witnessed the incident.

  With a heavy sigh, Poppy headed toward the back of the restaurant to take a much-needed break.

  She loved the gardens behind the restaurant. At the height of summer, Mr. Dexter had tables and chairs set up among the trees and flowers and next to the fountain and pond. For now, however, the gardens served as a great place for the employees of Good Ol’ Days to spend lunch and break times.

  Poppy stepped out onto the back patio and inhaled a refreshing breath of late spring air. The sweet, romantic scent of hyacinth filled her with delight and seemed to relax her a bit.

  “What a night, huh?”

  Swaggart’s voice startled Poppy a little, but she smiled as she looked over to see him sitting at the wrought-iron table nearby. He sat sideways in the chair leaning back against the outer wall of the restaurant.

  “What a night, indeed,” Poppy sighed, collapsing into the chair across from him.

  “Oh, that wench at table eight did her job on me too,” he said, taking a sip of ice water out of the glass in his hand. He let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. “She handed a written complaint about the food to Whitney on her way to the women’s room a few minutes ago.”

  “Are you serious?” Poppy asked. Suddenly, the drama and frustration of her own experience seemed to pale a little. “What did she complain about?”

  Swaggart lifted his head and looked at her. Instantly, Poppy’s stomach did a little loop-the-loop. The dark chocolate of his eyes was intent on her, his great fatigue mirrored in their warmth.

  “Chicken was overdone, carrots weren’t tender enough,” he said. “If it was on the plate—she complained about it,” he said.

  “You never overcook anything,” Poppy said. She was momentarily mesmerized by his pure attractiveness—the perfect angle of his squared jawline, the very masculine five o’clock shadow there, his dark eyelashes and eyebrows, straight nose, and that wonderfully mussed hair! “Never,” she added as he grinned at her.

  “And you never waitress a table badly,” he chuckled, stretching and displaying perfectly sculpted biceps and forearms. He wore his usual work attire, worn-out jeans, basketball shoes, and a white t-shirt, which did little to hide the perfectly chiseled torso beneath.

  Poppy sighed at the pure magnetism of him and looked away, out into the garden. He was too wonderful! Swaggart Moretti was not a man a girl could let her mind linger on—too unobtainable. The man at table eight was wonderful too—the way he’d stood up for her, sent that wench packing—it was pure chivalry.

  “Brush it off, Poppy,” Swaggart said, yawning. She smiled, realizing he was assuming she was lingering on the stuck-up woman and not the chivalry of her dinner companion. “Women like that are all about money and themselves—always looking to step on somebody because their lives are so empty.” He looked at her and grinned with mischief. “Besides, she knows you caught the guy’s eye.”

  Poppy felt herself blush, but she couldn’t decide whether the blush was caused from the fact that the man at table eight had been her champion—or the fact Swaggart was giving her the time of day.

  “He was really nice about it,” she admitted. “He didn’t even drive her home—just called her a cab.”

  Swaggart raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow! Cool.”

  “But you owe me ten bucks,” she said.

  “He didn’t ask for your number?” Swaggart asked. His eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “Nope. Just gave me his business card,” Poppy sighed.

  “That counts as the same thing,” Swaggart said.

  “It does not! You owe me ten bucks!” Poppy laughed.

  “You mean he didn’t look into your warm brown eyes and say, ‘Hey, baby…can I have your number?’” he asked, gazing into her eyes with his own gorgeous ones.

  “N-no,” Poppy said, momentarily unsettled by his gaze. “And you owe me ten bucks.”

  “Hey, babe—how’s your night going?”

  Poppy felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle at the sound of Jennifer’s voice. As Jennifer approached, Poppy looked away for an instant, somehow feeling guilty for talking to Swaggart.

  Jennifer was tall, runway-model-built, with the bluest eyes and long, perfectly styled cocoa hair. Poppy glanced up to see Jennifer lean forward and firmly kiss Swaggart on the lips.

  The familiar heat of jealousy washed over Poppy as she looked at them. She couldn’t stand Jennifer! Swaggart deserved so much better, and she could never understand how he could settle for such a shallow, personality-challenged woman. Still, she was beautiful—the kind of woman that turned every male head in every room she walked through.

  “Hey, Jen,” Swaggart said, remaining seated. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Oh, I knew it was time for your break and thought I’d just drop in and see you,” Jennifer said. She looked to Poppy. Though she couldn’t understand why, Poppy always had the feeling Jennifer didn’t like her. Jennifer smiled at her, but it was forced.

  “Hi, Poppy,” she said. “Keeping my man company awhile?”

  “Just…taking my break,” Poppy stammered, again feeling guilty—but for what, she didn’t know. “It’s been a pretty busy night.”

  “Has it?” Jennifer said, running her fingers through Swaggart’s mussed hair
. Poppy wondered then if Swaggart’s hair felt as soft and wonderful as it looked. “I don’t know why you choose to work this hard, babe,” she said. “An office job would—”

  “So how was your day?” Swaggart interrupted. Poppy knew Swaggart liked working at the restaurant and that Jennifer thought it was a waste of his business degree. Obviously, Swaggart didn’t want to talk about it.

  Jennifer switched subjects easily enough—as long as she was the subject.

  “Oh, great! I’ve got this new client, and he really likes my work,” she said, sitting down in the empty wrought-iron chair across from Swaggart.

  Poppy knew this was her cue to leave.

  “Have a good night, Jennifer,” Poppy said as she stood to leave.

  “You, too, Poppy,” Jennifer said. Then she smiled at Swaggart and ran one hand through his hair again, adding, “Though I don’t know how any girl can have a good night if she’s doesn’t have Swaggart to look at.”

  Swaggart frowned. He seemed a little irritated with Jennifer’s compliments.

  “Good luck, Poppy,” he said. “Let’s hope we’ve seen the last of the difficult customers tonight.”

  “Yeah,” Poppy said as she opened the back door and went into the restaurant, leaving Swaggart with Jennifer.

  The thought of them together in the garden made her feel sick to her stomach. She’d have to think of something else—get her mind off the gorgeous Good Ol’ Days cook and his perfect girlfriend.

  Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable” wafted through the restaurant as Poppy headed for the hostess podium.

  “What a wench!” Whitney whispered to Poppy as she gathered four menus from the podium.

  “No kidding,” Poppy said. She knew Whitney was referring to the now-infamous Miss Reginald.

  “She was so mad by the time the taxi got here, I thought her ears were going to catch fire,” Whitney said. “I hope the guy was worth it.”

  “He was,” Poppy said, thinking of the fifty dollar bill and business card in her apron pocket. Mark Lawson was gorgeous, charming, and chivalrous. Dealing with Miss Reginald had been well worth it.

  “Troy, party of four?” Whitney called. Two young couples stepped forward from the waiting crowd.

  “I’m Troy,” one of the men said.

  “Poppy will be seating you tonight,” Whitney said. “At table seven,” she added to Poppy.

  “Will you follow me please?” Poppy said. She smiled. She’d seen these two couples before—pleasant people.

  Poppy sighed and thought of Swaggart out in the gardens with Jennifer. Better to think on Mark Lawson. He said he hoped to see her again. Poppy hoped he would.

  She thought of his dazzling smile as she handed the menus to the four people she’d just seated at table seven.

  *

  “He tipped you fifty bucks?” Whitney exclaimed as she and Poppy sat on the sofa in their apartment.

  Poppy nodded and smiled. She was so tired! It was two a.m., and she had the midshift the next day, but she couldn’t go to sleep without telling Whitney about Mark Lawson.

  “And he said he hoped he’d see me next time,” Poppy giggled.

  “Oh my heck, Poppy! He’s in love with you!” Whitney said.

  Poppy laughed and said, “Whitney! He won’t even remember me tomorrow.”

  “He’ll remember,” Whitney said. “Did he ask for your number?”

  “No,” Poppy said, sighing with disappointment. “And that reminds me, Swaggart owes me ten bucks.”

  “Oh! The ol’ ‘I’ll bet you ten bucks he asks for your number’ line, huh?” Whitney said, shaking her head with amusement. “Swag is so predictable. Still…I’ve lost a lot of tens that way. He’s probably collected hundreds of dollars over the years with that gimmick.”

  “Well, he lost this time,” Poppy said.

  “What would you have done if Mr. Mark Lawson had asked for your number?” Whitney asked.

  “Dropped dead of shock,” Poppy said.

  “He was so gorgeous!” Whitney sighed.

  “He was,” Poppy agreed.

  Whitney paused and looked at her friend. There was something Poppy wasn’t telling her—she knew it. She’d been Poppy Amore’s best friend since kindergarten, and she could read her like a book.

  “He was gorgeous…but not as gorgeous as Swaggart?” Whitney ventured.

  “What’s he doing with a skank like Jennifer anyway?” Poppy grumbled. Her smile traded places with a frown.

  “Ah ha!” Whitney exclaimed. “Swag’s as much under your skin as ever!”

  “He’s not,” Poppy said. “I got over him years ago. But he is my friend…and I can’t figure out why he wastes his time with Jennifer Trujillo. There’s nothing to her.”

  “Nothing but long legs, a big chest, and a perfect face,” Whitney said.

  “You know him better than anybody, Whitney,” Poppy said. “What’s his deal?”

  Poppy never could figure out why Swaggart Moretti gave Jennifer the time of day. She didn’t have an ounce of brains in her head—she was all glamour and flattery.

  Whitney shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Grandpa says Swaggart settles too easy for some reason. He wasn’t that way when we were younger. You remember? Every year when our family would have the big reunion dinner at Good Ol’ Days, Swaggart was always front and center…confident, the life of the party, and even then he was the best cook in the city. But…I don’t know. It seems like—you know, after he finished culinary arts school and went to college for his business degree—somewhere in there, he changed a bit.”

  Poppy shook her tired head. “All I know is he owes me ten bucks,” she said before yawning.

  “Well, collect it from him,” Whitney said, echoing Poppy’s yawn. “And if he doesn’t pay up, I’ll have our grandpa lean on him. You’re Grandpa’s favorite waitress, you know. Me, Bobby, and Swaggart may be Grandpa’s favorite grandchildren, but you’re his favorite waitress.”

  Poppy smiled. She loved Mr. Dexter. He’d owned Good Ol’ Days for nearly forty years. What a name he’d built for himself and his restaurant! Poppy had been overjoyed two years before when Whitney had managed to get her an interview with her grandfather. She had been stunned when he’d hired her too! Whitney had had another cousin who wanted the job, but Mr. Dexter had chosen Poppy over family. Working at Good Ol’ Days had been a blast ever since.

  “I’m done in,” Poppy said. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

  “Me too,” Whitney said. “I’m on early tomorrow. See you at two?”

  “Yeah,” Poppy said, yawning again.

  “Okay. Sweet dreams, Poppy Amore,” Whitney said. “I hope Mr. Lawson shows up in them.”

  “I hope so too,” Poppy said smiling.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mr. Lawson had shown up in Poppy’s dreams, charming, handsome, and wonderful. However, it was a nightmare that greeted her the next day. As Poppy walked into Good Ol’ Days at five minutes to two, it was to see Miss Susan Reginald herself shaking an index finger at Whitney and demanding to see the manager.

  “I want to see the manager this minute!” Miss Reginald said. She glanced over to see Poppy enter the restaurant then and turned to her. “There she is now. That girl—that Poppy—she’s the one that waited on us last night…if you can even call it waiting. She was entirely rude, completely unprofessional, and I want to talk to someone about it right now!”

  Poppy panicked! She loved her job at Good Ol’ Days, and she knew Susan Reginald meant to strip her of it.

  “Flirting with my date, rude behavior, you name it…if it was bad, this girl did it,” Susan accused.

  Poppy wanted to defend herself. In truth, she felt like reaching out and slapping the woman across the face. But she knew the rules at Good Ol’ Days—let the management handle any and all complaints.

  “If you’ll step over here a moment, ma’am,” Whitney began.

  “Miss Reginald,” Susan Reginald interrupted.

  “
Of course,” Whitney said. “If you’ll just step over here a moment, I’ll get the manager on duty. He’ll be right with you.”

  “Doesn’t he have an office? Take me to his office,” Miss Reginald demanded.

  “The manager on duty right now is also the cook at the moment,” Whitney explained.

  “Oh, no!” Poppy breathed. Swaggart? When Mr. Dexter or Swaggart’s Uncle Robert couldn’t be at the restaurant or were out, all the managerial responsibilities fell to Swaggart!

  “That’s right, honey,” Miss Reginald said, misinterpreting the reasons for Poppy’s horrified expression. “You need to be taught a lesson, and I’m sure once the manager hears what I have to say, you will be.”

  “I’ll be right back, Miss Reginald,” Whitney said.

  As Whitney started toward the kitchen, she took hold of Poppy’s arm and pulled her along.

  “Whit! Can’t you pretend you’re the manager? I don’t want Swaggart to have to deal with that woman because of me,” Poppy said.

  “Because of you?” Whitney said, continuing toward the kitchen. “You didn’t do anything! Well, other than catch the attention of the guy she was with. That’s why she’s ticked, you know. Swaggart will know it too. Wait until he gets of a load of her.”

  “Whitney!” Poppy pleaded. But it was too late.

  As Whitney approached the order counter, Poppy’s eyes began to fill with tears. What would the woman say Poppy had done? Would Swaggart fire her?

  “Hey, Swag,” Whitney began.

  “What’s up, ladies?” he asked, smiling.

  “There’s a disgruntled customer up front asking to see the manager,” Whitney explained. “It’s that super-wench Poppy waited on last night.”

  Swaggart grinned and wiped his hands on a towel. “She’s still ticked off that her date asked for your number, huh?”

  “He didn’t, and you owe me ten bucks,” Poppy said, willing her tears to stay in her eyes and not escape down her cheeks.

  Swaggart smiled and said, “I’ll be right there.” Turning to Bobby he said, “Keep it going in here for a minute, Bobby.”