Page 48 of The Waiter at Table 6

13

RYDER

I shouldn’t have pushed her.

The only thing I can attribute my slip-up to is her being so goddamn perfect that I temporary lost my mind. That’s the only thing that might explain my delusions.

I knew she wasn’t ready for more. I knew. But I also know she really likes me, and that if her divorce hadn’t made her question herself and everything around her, she wouldn’t have hesitated to put a label on us.

And it’s really fucking hard not to want that label. To not want to introduce her to my family, and show her off in public, and do everything in my power to deserve calling her mine.

I’m bummed about the way the night unfolded, not because I think I ruined things, but because I know this means Vanessa will have her walls up a little higher the next time I see her.

I try to busy myself with dinner prep. We don’t open for another few hours, so I’m alone in here, but I needed to get out of the house. The only problem with my plan is that being here also reminds me of Vanessa.

I let out a weary sigh. Did I really only meet her three weeks ago?

As I’m finishing wiping down the bar, I hear the front door of the restaurant open behind me.

“We’re not open yet,” I call over my shoulder.

There’s a pause, and then I hear, “Can I make a reservation? I had a really great dinner here.”

I whip around at the sound of her voice. And yeah, I’m not imagining her here—Vanessa really is standing a few feet from me, looking every bit as beautiful as the night I met her and every day since.

Then her words register. And even though they sound positive, I don’t know what she’s here for.

I lean against the bar and say carefully, “Oh yeah? What was so great about it?”

The sun is too bright behind her, so I can’t tell if that’s a hint of a smile on her face. But I watch as she shrugs and says, “The food was amazing, but it was the service that really made the experience.”

I turn to face her fully. “Well, that’s good to hear.”

“I felt very cared for,” she continues, taking a step toward me. “Very…cherished.”

“You were,” I tell her honestly, swallowing roughly. “You are.”

And that’s definitely a smile.

But then it fades, and a more vulnerable expression takes over.

“It scared me more than I thought it could,” she whispers.

God, I want to hold her right now. “I know,” I say, tone softening even more.

She chews nervously on her lip as she gathers her courage to say whatever she’s here to say.

“But you were honest with me the other night, so I’d like to be honest with you, too,” she says after a moment.

I nod, though I’m still unsure where she’s going with this.

She sucks in a shaky breath, but her voice is strong when she says, “I know we’ve lived very different lives, and that we’ll probably get some looks for our age difference, but…the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Because even after two weeks, you make me feel more like myself than anyone else.”

My stomach dips. “Really?”

She nods and takes another step closer. That brings a smile unbidden to my face. I love that I’ve had that effect on her.

“I’m not sure if it’s because your optimism gives me hope and fills me with excitement, or because I admire you and find myself wanting to be like you, but whatever it is, you make my life so much better.” She takes the last step, until she’s standing before me looking up at me with those pretty eyes searching mine. “And I don’t want any more distance between us.”

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