Page 5 of The Waiter at Table 6

By the time I’m walking down to the beach, back toward my house, I feel lighter. Happier. With the ocean wind on my face and the cool sand between my toes, I can’t stop smiling.

This is what I needed. This is why I moved to the beach house. A change of pace, a simpler life, finally being able to take a breath—this is what I’ve been missing.

I don’t know if it’s a conscious decision or one born on good feelings, but before I know it, I’m walking into the tiki bar.

It’s busy. Even at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night, this place is packed full of people enjoying their summer. But it’s a huge bar stretching out onto the sand and the live band is playing reggae, so the vibe is still relaxed. I don’t know why I waited so long to come in here.

“Hey, honey, what can I get you to drink?”

I slide onto one of the open barstools and focus my attention on the female bartender. “Umm, would you hate me if I said something sweet and summery?”

She chuckles and immediately reaches for a glass. “Sweet and summery is my specialty, I got you. Rum okay for the liquor?”

I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

After she slides the drink in front of me, she waits for me to try it. And when my eyes widen and I take another longer sip from the straw, she grins.

“It’s our take on the pina colada. It’s the local favorite.”

“It’s so good,” I gush, taking another sip. “I can’t remember the last time I had a drink that wasn’t wine.”

Her nose crinkles in distaste, though she tries to hide it. “If you ask me, beach cocktails are the best kinds of refreshments.”

“I think you may have converted me,” I say with an easy laugh, sliding some cash across the bar.

She winks as she takes it. “Let me know if I can get you anything else, honey.”

I swivel on the barstool so I can watch the band as I enjoy my drink. It doesn’t take long for me to relax into my seat and start bobbing along to the music. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good, this carefree.

I’m so focused on the feeling that it takes me a second to realize Ryder is at the other end of the bar.

My breath catches at the sight of him. He hasn’t noticed me, too focused on his friends standing around him, chatting and laughing over their beers. Since he’s not looking this way, I take the opportunity to admire the view.

It’s obvious he just came from the restaurant. He’s still wearing his black slacks, but the white button-up that looked so formal as a work uniform is now hanging out of his back pocket, a simple white t-shirt the only thing covering his upper body.

And God, his body.

He’s got the kind of lean, cut-up body that men go to the gym for hours to achieve. Part of me wonders if that’s why Ryder is ripped, or if there’s another reason he looks the way he does.

Does he do sports? Does he have a physically demanding day job? Is the restaurant his only job? I wonder who he is outside of his waiter uniform.

The randomness of that last thought has me choking on my drink. That is so far beyond just admiring him physically. I have no business thinking of him like that.

Even if he did kind of invite me here.

I think back to his reaction when I ate my first bite of dessert. To the way he looked at me when I flirted back. How he shed his professional persona just so he could mention this exact bar. And I think…

Yeah, he definitely started it.

I watch him for another moment as he laughs with his friends. The smile on his face is contagious, even from across the bar. What would it be like to have his full attention?

Before I can second-guess myself, I wave down the bartender.

“Another sweet and summery?” she asks.

“Actually, I’m hoping you can send someone a drink for me,” I say, handing her some more cash. “The guy at the end of the bar in the white t-shirt? Can you give him a refill of whatever he’s drinking?”

The biggest grin slides across her face. “Damn, good pick.” She reaches for a glass and tips the beer handle without even looking. “I’ll tell ya, if I was single and ten years younger, that’s exactly the kind of guy I’d be jumping on.”

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