Page 1 of The Waiter at Table 6

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VANESSA

How late does a date have to be before you realize you’ve been stood up?

For what feels like the millionth time, I glance down at my watch, and then around the restaurant, mentally trying to conjure a man wearing a green tie. I’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes, and my text to my date has gone unanswered—which is the most telling piece of this, because every other message I’ve sent in the past two weeks has received a reply in under five minutes.

My exhale is heavy, and tired. First guy I’ve shown interest in since my divorce, and he blows me off without even a text.

“Can I get you another drink, miss?”

I turn my attention to the waiter who’s appeared beside my table. He came over earlier to take my drink order, but once I told him I was waiting for someone else, he’s been keeping his distance. He seems to be just as done with waiting as I am.

I check my watch. Nineteen minutes. That’s how long you wait before you realize you’ve been stood up.

It only takes me a second to decide not to leave. Not because I think my date might still show up, but because I’m hungry and this is a beautiful restaurant. Embarrassment aside, I’m an independent woman and I can treat myself to a nice dinner.

“I’m fine with my wine, thank you, but I think I’m ready to move on to ordering food,” I tell the waiter.

I don’t understand his smile when he nods, so I flip open the leather-bound menu in front of me.

I was planning to order a salad tonight. And I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been stood up, or because I like the idea of sending a silent fuck you to my ex-husband, but I order the dish that I want to eat instead.

“I’d like the filet mignon, medium rare, please.” My eyes scan the sides. “And I’ll take the lobster mac and cheese as my side.”

“Great choice,” the waiter praises as he scribbles on his notepad. “The steak is incredible, but the lobster mac and cheese is—” He mimics a chef’s kiss motion before taking the menu from my hand.

“I’m excited to try it,” I respond with a smile.

I expect him to walk away and leave me to my loneliness, but he hesitates. After a moment, he says, “I hope this isn’t too forward, but I’m glad you’re staying. Anyone who isn’t twenty minutes early and dying to meet you isn’t worth your time, anyway.”

For a moment, I can only blink. Did he just…?

My cheeks heat. Looking down at my lap, I smooth my hands over the linen napkin.

“It’s alright, he probably had something much more exciting to do,” I say with a forced laugh.

“Not possible.”

My head jerks up in surprise.

He doesn't hide from my gaze, either. Holding our eye contact, he lets me take a second look at him—lets me find the truth in his words.

He’s young, likely a decade younger than I am, if his looks and energy are anything to go by. He’s also incredibly handsome. Brown tousled locks, with blue eyes that sparkle with mischief, and an infectious smile that he’s shined at me more than once tonight. He’s also tall, and lean, but fills out his uniform in a way that makes it obvious he’s a head-turner at the beach.

I shake away the thoughts of him half-naked at the beach. Where did that come from?

“That’s very sweet,” I say, aiming what I hope isn’t an awkward smile at him. My gaze drops to his shirt, looking for a name tag, but I come up empty. He grins when it tracks back to his face.

“Ryder,” he answers my silent question, miming a bow. “At your service tonight.”

The corner of my lip twitches with a smile. For the first time in months, joy fills my chest.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryder. My name is Vanessa.”

I don’t know why I offer him my name—he’s my waiter, not my date. But as soon as I do, his expression brightens.

“The pleasure is all mine, Vanessa.”

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