Page 20 of The Waiter at Table 6

I slide my hand from her hair and take a step back, fully intending to say some kind of humorous goodbye, just something to lighten the moment a little. But what comes out is, “Come see me at the restaurant sometime. Tiramisu is on the house.”

And thank fuck, at least that works. Because it earns me her first real smile since she woke up and reality crashed down on us.

6

VANESSA

Reality was an ice-cold splash of water.

I knew as soon as I woke up that this thing between us could easily evolve into something bigger if I let it. One look at Ryder’s smile told me he was going to ask me out, and I knew I would want to say yes.

But something about waking up in this house kept my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds, at least for long enough that I could admit to myself that taking this further would be a bad idea. I mean, I just got divorced. I was a housewife for ten years, thrown aside by the partner who vowed to love me forever and who left me in the dirt as a shell of the person I once was. I can’t claim that I became half of a whole, because even that’s not completely accurate. The truth is, I became who my ex-husband wanted me to be.

So who am I if I’m not David’s wife?

There’s no way I can find the answer to that question if I’m dating. No, cutting Ryder off before things got serious was the right decision. A one-night stand is one thing, but a relationship is another. And I am not prepared for the latter.

That thought ends up being of little comfort to me. Because even knowing I made the right decision, going about my day only proves to me that I have no idea what I’m doing. What I like. What I’m passionate about. In my confusion, I find myself falling into my usual routine of attending a Peloton class, cleaning up the house, sitting down with a book.

But the moment I settle on the patio with my glass of wine, I’m hit with a flashback of the last time I was on this couch. And who I was with.

And how free I felt.

I drop the book beside me with a heavy exhale. I hate this. I hate being this boring, this indecisive. I used to be top of my class, and the social butterfly in my friend group. I had hobbies. I had a life.

When did I become such a reflection of a man?

Another exhale, this one coming out as more of a growl of annoyance. I don’t want to sit around my big house, I want to do something.

Suddenly, my focus catches on movement out in the ocean. I rarely see anyone out here, since the houses on this street all have their beaches marked as private property, but occasionally one of the neighbors gets carried down with the water. Right now, I can spot a surfer riding the waves.

I watch them for a moment. As they paddle out to catch a wave, as they stand up on their board and ride it along the shore. Their movements are graceful, effortless, even. Even their final tumble into the water is smooth and comes with a ringing laugh.

And it hits me that…I’m jealous. They look so happy. So free. All because they’re doing something that they love.

Glancing at the time on my phone, I make a split-second decision, and I hope that I have enough courage to act on it when the sun isn’t already setting.

It takes a big coffee and pep talk in the mirror, but the next morning, I’m walking up to the nearby surf shop with determination in my step.

And yet, I hesitate as I reach the door. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before that doing something alone could be daunting. Before the other night, I’ve never even eaten at a restaurant alone—and even managing that was likely more due to Ryder than anything else. Why did I think it’d be easy to jet ski by myself?

I suck in a breath, trying to gather my remaining fortitude, when a huge group of young, athletic, twenty-some-year-olds reaches for the door before I can.

And Ryder is one of them.

We both freeze when we see each other. It’s only been a day since…everything, but you’d think it’s been twenty with the way my body reacts to the sight of him.

God, is he more attractive in the sunlight?

He’s not wearing anything special, just some swim trunks and a t-shirt that’s made whiter by his tan, but with his sunglasses pushed up to rest on his wavy brown hair, I get the full effect of his bright blue eyes and a smile that rivals the sun.

“Vanessa,” he greets. And it’s subtle, but there’s a little less warmth in the way he says my name this time, I think to mark the boundaries between us.

I’m as relieved as I am bummed.

“Ryder,” I say with a smile of my own.

Looking around, he asks, “Getting into some watersports today?”

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