Page 19 of The Waiter at Table 6

“Cream or sugar?” she asks without meeting my eyes.

“Both, please. With lots of sugar.”

She finally looks at me, and I give her a crooked half-grin.

“I have a sweet tooth. So sue me.”

She shakes her head with that same amused smile as she mixes some cream and sugar into my coffee. When she slides it over to me, and I take a sip, my eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Damn, that’s good.” When I take another eager sip, she chuckles knowingly.

By now, enough tension has gone from her shoulders that I wonder if how she woke up was just a gut reaction, caused by her not knowing how to act in an unfamiliar experience. I open my mouth to ask when I can see her again, too eager for more time with her to worry about whether I’m coming on too strong. I didn’t imagine our connection; I know she likes me. Sure, she’s recently divorced, but it’s obvious she’s not heartbroken over the guy. It’s just a date, she wouldn’t shoot me down?—

“So…I have some things I need to do this morning,” comes her rushed voice. She’s scratching at a spot on the counter that looks pristine. “Are you okay to get back to the bar, or do you need a ride?”

And yeah, that’s as clear of a dismissal as I’ve ever heard.

I take another sip from the coffee, possibly to wash down my disappointment. I was hoping she’d give me a real chance here, but I shouldn’t be surprised by her drawing a line.

I place the mug down. “I’m good, I can get back on my own.”

She nods, though no relief shows on her face. She just looks…lost.

And even though I should probably just cut my losses, I can’t bring myself to leave without acknowledging last night.

“I had a lot of fun with you, Vanessa,” is all I can think to say.

But it startles her enough that she looks up and locks eyes with me again.

I don’t let her look away this time.

She softens, just the slightest bit. “I did, too,” she admits.

Fuck it. I want this to end on something better than delicious coffee.

I move around the counter, slow enough that she could move away if she wanted to.

She doesn’t.

She just tracks me with her eyes, and I see the flashes of wariness, then indecision, then finally, desire.

I debate telling her again how beautiful I think she is, how much I enjoyed spending time with her. But I don’t think she’d listen right now. So instead, I try to show her.

Sinking one hand into her hair, I tilt her face up for a kiss. Because if this is the last kiss I ever get from her, I’m making it count.

It’s not a particularly deep kiss. I savor the taste of her on my lips and the feel of her in my arms. I revel in the knowledge that she gives in to the moment instantly, sagging against my body as her mouth moves against mine.

It’s a hell of a goodbye kiss. It takes everything in me to pull away before it escalates, and even then, I have to shift my hips so she can’t feel her effect on me.

It’s even harder to put distance between us when I see the way she’s looking up at me; green eyes sparkling, plump, just-kissed lips begging to be kissed again. Everything in me is screaming to give in to the silent plea in her eyes, the one she probably doesn’t even realize is there.

It’s that reminder that has me leaning back. Because as much as I’m dying to close off any distance between us, I think I’d die a different kind of death if I found more of her regret on the other side. Seeing it once was more than enough.

So even though it takes all the strength I possess, I end the kiss. And I force a smile onto my face.

“Bye, Vanessa,” I say quietly.

She aims a shaky smile back up at me. “Goodbye, Ryder,” she whispers.

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