Page 9 of The Waiter at Table 6

My hand lands on his forearm, feeling a tingle beneath my fingertips on contact. “You’re going to be amazing at it. Anyone can see that.”

His gaze drops to where my hand was before meeting my eyes again. I wonder if he felt that too.

“And you say I’m a charmer,” he says with a grin.

I wave him off. “I’m serious. Even the fact that you’re putting yourself into every role in the restaurant just so you have a complete understanding of the business is impressive. You’re already setting yourself up for success. Not to mention, you’re clearly excited about it.” After he nods his confirmation, my attention drifts over to the beach, out to the water. And I’m talking more to myself than Ryder when I say, “It must be fulfilling to have something you’re so passionate about.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, I look back at him standing by my side. He’s watching me, his expression thoughtful.

“What are you passionate about?” he asks.

I was entirely prepared to answer questions about myself when I set out for my blind date tonight, but I wasn’t prepared for that person to actually care about the answers.

Ryder cares.

“I think that’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I whisper.

3

RYDER

God, she’s beautiful.

I still can’t wrap my head around that asshole not showing for their date, because I took one look at Vanessa and wanted to crawl across the restaurant.

She looks amazing in the simple, knee-length black dress she’s wearing, her brown hair flowing around her shoulders in waves and her makeup subtle enough to emphasize her green eyes but not hide her sun-kissed cheeks. I could barely take my eyes off her the entire time I was waiting on her. If the restaurant wasn’t my family’s, I may have thrown all professionalism to the wind and simply taken the seat across from her.

And damn, did I want to. I wanted to get her talking, learn about her likes and dislikes, her hobbies and interests. Not just because I wanted to know all those things, but also because there was a hint of something in Vanessa’s eyes that told me she didn’t think my interest was completely genuine. Maybe she thought I was just flirting for a tip, I don’t know.

Now, we’re sitting at a bar, and she’s sent me a drink, and I’ll admit, I had to pinch myself as I walked over to join her. I was entirely too excited to meet her as just Ryder.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when there’s the very distinct shout of my name, Vanessa’s focus sliding over my shoulder. And my inkling earlier about her not believing my interest to be genuine is all but confirmed when she smiles tightly and says, “I think your friends are trying to get your attention.”

I never look away from her. “Too bad. My attention is elsewhere right now.”

Sure enough, her eyes widen. “You don’t want to go back to them?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Her brow furrows as she looks back at my friends. “You should go. I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to say thank you for dinner and the recommendation?—”

“Take a walk with me.”

That earns me a stunned blink. “You want to take a walk with me?”

“More than anything. Come on, let’s get out of this loud bar.” I take a big swig of beer for courage, flip off my friends, and reach for Vanessa’s hand so I can tug her off the barstool.

Not only does she automatically follow, but her hand also tightens around mine. By the time we clear the crowd and reach the beach area of the bar, I’m trying to figure out if I’m bold enough to keep hold of it.

But then a drunk couple walks between us, and we separate. I swallow the disappointment and tell myself it would’ve been too soon anyway. In fact, I might be too bold for suggesting a walk. I’m a stranger to her, after all.

“Would you rather sit in the bar’s beach chairs?” I ask, gesturing toward the huge bean bags placed all over the sand. “We don’t have to go for a walk; we can stay here. I just wanted to get away from the crowd.”

“No, I think a walk sounds perfect,” she says without any hesitation. “It was a little much for me in there, too.” As she slips her sandals off and wiggles her toes in the sand, a content smile curls her lips.

She picks up her shoes, then waits for me to remove mine before we start down the beach. The bar area is only marked another hundred feet, but the open sand stretches as far as I can see, people scattered everywhere.

“Did you grow up down here?” she asks.

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