Page 45 of The Waiter at Table 6

“I didn’t think twenty-five-year-olds were capable of the what is this conversation,” I tease with a tight smile.

He doesn’t return it. He sees right through me.

Twisting his body toward me, he tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear as he says, “I don’t want to push you. I know you’re still trying to figure out who you are without another man’s ring on your finger. And I need you to know I’m not asking for anything, and that we don’t have to have this conversation if you really don’t want to. But…” He pauses to take a breath, and I hear a slight shakiness in it. “But I want you to know where I stand. Because we haven’t talked about any of this.”

He's right. I know he’s right. Part of the safety in these past few weeks has been the unspoken nature of it, and I’m self-aware enough to know I’ve been hiding behind that.

But that doesn’t mean it’s enough to tamp down on the fear simmering below the surface.

Ryder must see it, because a small frown creases his lips. “I guess I assumed I’d made my feelings clear. But maybe I shouldn’t have.” His eyes move over my face, cataloguing every detail before he says, “You know I’m crazy about you, right? This isn’t just some summer fling for me. Without putting any pressure on you, I want you to know I’ll take as much as you give me.”

And God…he’s so strong. For feeling that way, for saying it—for putting himself out there even without knowing how I’m going to respond.

I’m in awe of him.

But for some reason, in the same moment that my feelings deepen for Ryder, that fear wells up. The fear that I do feel the same way Ryder does, and that saying yes to him would put me in the exact same position that I just crawled out of. The one where I let myself be with another person, and through that relationship, I lose everything that makes me…me.

And that fear threatens to swallow me whole.

“I can’t,” I say quietly. Shamefully. Because a small part of me hates myself for being too weak when Ryder was just so strong.

Ryder studies me, his hand moving over my hair in a soothing touch that warms me from the inside out. After a moment, he swallows roughly and nods. Accepting.

He looks down as his hand falls from my hair to the back of the couch, but not before I can see the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“Is it because I just tried to put a label on us?” he asks. “Did I push too soon?”

My heart splinters. “No, Ryder, it’s not that.”

His eyes meet mine, letting me see the full weight of his feelings.

“Is it my age?” he asks. “I know we joke about it, but I didn’t think it was actually an issue.”

I’m shaking my head before he even finishes. “No, it’s not that either.”

There’s a desperation in his gaze as he asks, “Then what is it? Is it me?”

“No,” I gasp out. I hate that he even thought that. “No, of course not. If there was anyone I’d?—”

I cut myself off, swallowing the garble of words before I can give myself away.

But it doesn’t make a difference. Ryder knows the rest of my thought anyway.

Understanding dawns. Now he knows how I feel about him, and yet?—

He also knows it’s not enough to make me take this step with him.

That hand, that comforting hand, returns to my hair. It brushes gently over the strands as he asks, “Will you tell me why, then?”

My eyes squeeze shut, my heart pounding like a steel drum against my ribs. Feeling carved out and raw, I whisper, “I’m scared.”

That hand never stops. His presence never wavers. He simply waits, ever the silent support.

Taking a deep breath, I look up at Ryder and let the truth tumble free.

“I’m scared of making the same mistake twice,” I exhale in a rush. “The last time I gave myself to someone, I lost myself. I’m scared of that happening again. Because I love who I am right now, the person you’ve helped me discover, and I’m scared shitless that saying yes to you will result in the same thing.”

His eyes widen. “I would never?—”

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