Page 44 of The Waiter at Table 6

Smiling, I shrug and cut a piece for myself. “I don’t know, I’ve eaten it so much, I guess I never thought about it.” I taste the chicken and groan. “Okay, maybe I need to make that a special one day.”

She takes the knife and fork from my hands so she can cut another piece. “You definitely do. This is better than the steak I ate the night I was there.”

I playfully slap at her hands with a scowl. “Don’t you dare let Massimo hear you say that. You’ll break his chef’s heart.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You don’t like hearing I prefer your food to Massimo’s?”

That makes me pause. “On second thought…hearing that does make me feel good.”

Huffing a laugh, she grabs the skillet with one of the oven mitts and carries it over to the table on the patio. “Come on, let’s eat before this gets cold.”

The sun goes down as we eat, the sky crackling with a kaleidoscope of blues, pinks, and oranges. We talk about everything and nothing as the ocean air fills with the sound of our laughter.

The night is…perfect.

When we eventually settle on the patio couch to snuggle under a blanket, I can’t stop thinking about how I’ve never clicked with a person as well as I do with Vanessa. We have the same humor, our personalities mesh, we’re absolutely compatible in bed and have effortless fun together—it’s just so…right being with her.

And I want more of it.

Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the entirety of an evening spent with Vanessa. But suddenly, that feeling from earlier, that restlessness, grabs hold of me. I want her to see how amazing she is, and how good we’d be together. I want her to see us how I see us.

“You should come to family dinner on Sunday,” I say excitedly. “It’s awesome. My mom and dad and I make this giant feast, and the whole extended family takes over my parents’ backyard with games. You’d love it; half of them are boardwalk games, so you could swindle them out of their victories. I bet they’d think it’s hilarious.”

I don’t notice she’s stiffened until my comment is met with silence. Frowning, I look down at her, curled under my arm.

When she looks up at me, I get a front-row seat to her terrified and guilty expression. That’s all it takes for my stomach to sink, and I know I’ve just fucked up.

12

VANESSA

It only takes half a second for my body to go from warmed with happiness to chilled with dread.

I sit up in my seat, wrapping the blanket tighter around myself. “Ryder…”

I’m too frozen to decide if I want him to backtrack on his comment, to somehow eliminate the awkwardness now floating around us, or if some part of me, some part hidden by all my fear, wants him to double down.

To push for something more with me. To say, out loud, that he wants more.

“Fuck, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he hurries to say, his cheeks pinkening. “That was way too much. I don’t know why I said that.”

If there was any doubt about how I feel about Ryder, it disappears in a poof when disappointment sinks into my bones at his comment. One that I know was supposed to make me feel better.

“It’s okay,” I mumble, scooting away slightly and avoiding looking at him as I arrange the blanket around myself.

It isn’t until he doesn’t say anything back, doesn’t break the tension with his usual lightheartedness, that I realize something is different. I feel his gaze on me for a long minute.

It takes me that long to find the strength to look at him.

He doesn’t seem angry, or hurt, or anything beyond the sweet, understanding Ryder I’ve come to know. He’s simply trying to read me.

“We haven’t really talked about what this is, though,” he says carefully.

My eyes widen, spine straightening. Part of me is surprised he just came out and said it, when I’ve clearly been skittish about the topic.

Okay. This is fine. This has been long-overdue anyway. I can have this conversation.

And yet when I open my mouth, the need to protect myself gets there before the truth can.

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