Page 22 of The Waiter at Table 6

His engine idles, his grin blinding. “My bad. That was an accident.”

“You’re a filthy liar,” I grumble. “If I didn’t think I’d fall off spraying you back, I’d douse you in a tidal wave.”

He throws his head back with another laugh. “I don’t doubt that you would, babe.”

I dart off again, enjoying the feel of the wind in my hair and the sunshine against my skin. The speed is exhilarating, but just the act of riding feels…peaceful. I can’t remember why I was ever scared to do this.

When we finally drop the jet skis back at the marina, I may be tired, but I’m already planning on when I can come back. That was the most fun I’ve had since?—

Since the other night with Ryder.

Who is currently standing beside me with a shit-eating grin.

“I told you jet skis are fun,” he says proudly.

“Hubris is unbecoming, Ryder,” I say dryly.

“I don’t even care, as long as I’m right.”

I shake my head, though I can’t tamp down on my smile while staring up at his playful expression. “You’re insufferable.”

Nope, that grin doesn’t lose any wattage.

“Hey, Ryder, you coming to the Shack with us? We’re starving.”

His friend’s call is what finally dims our smiles. We both turn toward the group standing a few feet away from us.

“I’ll…meet you guys there,” Ryder calls back after a moment.

When they start down the street, his focus returns to me. And then suddenly, he asks, “Can I walk you home?”

When he sees me chew on my bottom lip with indecision, he holds up his hands, palms facing me. “No funny business, I promise. I’d just…like to walk with you for a little bit.” His hands drop, his voice softening. “If you don’t mind the company.”

And because Ryder has yet to be anything but blatantly himself with me, I don’t question him.

And also…I want some extra time with him, too.

I nod, his answering smile bringing out one of my own. Together, we turn in the direction of my house and start walking.

I don’t know if I expected things to be awkward between us, but spending time with Ryder is just naturally comfortable. We settle into an easy conversation.

“So…eat at any amazing restaurants since I saw you last?” he asks.

I chuckle. “None that compare to the Lookout, no.”

“Good. I was about to be jealous.”

I shake my head, a smile on my face that I suspect will be there for the length of this walk. “Did you work at the restaurant yesterday?” I ask.

He nods. “I did. I had to play hostess for yesterday’s shift.”

I let out a puff of laughter that’s louder than I mean it to be. “Why can I picture that being your best role? Being the face of the restaurant? I bet you put people in a good mood before they even taste the food.”

Ryder sighs beside me. “Complimenting me on my good looks and my charming personality? I can’t take it, babe.”

I send him a scolding look, but my heart isn’t in it.

To re-center the conversation, I say, “I’m assuming cooking is your favorite job?”

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