Page 8 of The Waiter at Table 6

“Yup, I was right,” he says, nodding with exaggeration.

Another breath of laughter leaves my lips. “You stop with the compliments; I already gave you a good tip.”

“God, as if I needed another reason to like you,” he moans. “Elegant, witty, and tips 50%? I think I’m half in love already.”

I duck my head to hide my smile.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t do anything to hide his grin.

“Alright, now that we’ve established that I succeeded in waiting on you hand and foot, how about the food? Please don’t tell me those moans were fake. That would break my heart.”

I look up at him through my eyelashes. “No, they weren’t fake.”

Desire blazes in his eyes. There’s no more denying it: the heat between us is palpable.

“Thank God,” he says in that low voice. “My ego couldn’t handle you not liking the food.”

That startles me enough to knock me out of the lust-filled haze I’m drowning in. “Why would that affect your ego?”

He takes a big swallow of beer. To cool off? “Because my family owns the restaurant.” My eyes widen in surprise, but he keeps going. “Remember Chris? That’s actually dear old dad, checking in on his kid.” His lip quirks with a smile that has me chuckling behind my hand. “And sometimes I work as the chef. I didn’t tonight, obviously, but I would’ve died a painful death inside if you didn’t like our food.”

Once again, I can only blink. For a breath. And then another.

“You’re…a chef?”

He merely nods.

“I… That’s… Wow.”

A grin stretches across Ryder’s face. “I’d kill to know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours right now.”

I’m thinking you were hot before, but picturing you as a chef? Cooking, and then feeding me?

I didn’t have a chef kink before, but I definitely do now.

His smirk tells me he might know exactly what’s going on in my head, so I evade his question with one of my own. “Wait, so…if you’re the chef, why are you working as a waiter?”

“Because I’m set to take over the restaurant soon, and I figured it would be a good idea to spend time in every role. Get a better understanding of the place as a whole.”

“Oh. That makes a lot of sense.” Then the enormity of what he just said really hits me. “Wait a minute. How old are you?”

As he leans even closer, his eyes narrow playfully. “How old are you?” he asks instead.

I purse my lips, eyebrow lifting. “Surely, your mother taught you it’s not polite to ask a lady her age.”

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and places his half-empty glass on the bar top. “You’re absolutely right, she did. My apologies.” His gaze slides over my face, my shoulders, my body. “It’s a stupid question anyway—you’re obviously not a day over twenty-two.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes, even as I smile. “You’re such a charmer.”

“Not charming,” he corrects. He waits until I meet his eyes again before saying, “Just honest.”

There’s no doubt I’m blushing now.

“But to answer your question, I’m twenty-five. A little young to take over a restaurant, I agree. But my father’s not going anywhere, so it’s not like I’ll be left to my own devices as soon as the papers are signed.”

“Still, that’s really impressive,” I press. “It’s obvious that the restaurant is well-liked and successful, so taking over something like that is a huge deal.”

“Well, now you’ve got me nervous,” he mumbles.

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