The Waiter at Table 6 (Just Tonight #2)

1. Vanessa

1

VANESSA

How late does a date have to be before you realize you’ve been stood up?

For what feels like the millionth time, I glance down at my watch, and then around the restaurant, mentally trying to conjure a man wearing a green tie. I’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes, and my text to my date has gone unanswered—which is the most telling piece of this, because every other message I’ve sent in the past two weeks has received a reply in under five minutes.

My exhale is heavy, and tired. First guy I’ve shown interest in since my divorce, and he blows me off without even a text.

“Can I get you another drink, miss?”

I turn my attention to the waiter who’s appeared beside my table. He came over earlier to take my drink order, but once I told him I was waiting for someone else, he’s been keeping his distance. He seems to be just as done with waiting as I am.

I check my watch. Nineteen minutes. That’s how long you wait before you realize you’ve been stood up.

It only takes me a second to decide not to leave. Not because I think my date might still show up, but because I’m hungry and this is a beautiful restaurant. Embarrassment aside, I’m an independent woman and I can treat myself to a nice dinner.

“I’m fine with my wine, thank you, but I think I’m ready to move on to ordering food,” I tell the waiter.

I don’t understand his smile when he nods, so I flip open the leather-bound menu in front of me.

I was planning to order a salad tonight. And I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been stood up, or because I like the idea of sending a silent fuck you to my ex-husband, but I order the dish that I want to eat instead.

“I’d like the filet mignon, medium rare, please.” My eyes scan the sides. “And I’ll take the lobster mac and cheese as my side.”

“Great choice,” the waiter praises as he scribbles on his notepad. “The steak is incredible, but the lobster mac and cheese is—” He mimics a chef’s kiss motion before taking the menu from my hand.

“I’m excited to try it,” I respond with a smile.

I expect him to walk away and leave me to my loneliness, but he hesitates. After a moment, he says, “I hope this isn’t too forward, but I’m glad you’re staying. Anyone who isn’t twenty minutes early and dying to meet you isn’t worth your time, anyway.”

For a moment, I can only blink. Did he just…?

My cheeks heat. Looking down at my lap, I smooth my hands over the linen napkin.

“It’s alright, he probably had something much more exciting to do,” I say with a forced laugh.

“Not possible.”

My head jerks up in surprise.

He doesn't hide from my gaze, either. Holding our eye contact, he lets me take a second look at him—lets me find the truth in his words.

He’s young, likely a decade younger than I am, if his looks and energy are anything to go by. He’s also incredibly handsome. Brown tousled locks, with blue eyes that sparkle with mischief, and an infectious smile that he’s shined at me more than once tonight. He’s also tall, and lean, but fills out his uniform in a way that makes it obvious he’s a head-turner at the beach.

I shake away the thoughts of him half-naked at the beach. Where did that come from?

“That’s very sweet,” I say, aiming what I hope isn’t an awkward smile at him. My gaze drops to his shirt, looking for a name tag, but I come up empty. He grins when it tracks back to his face.

“Ryder,” he answers my silent question, miming a bow. “At your service tonight.”

The corner of my lip twitches with a smile. For the first time in months, joy fills my chest.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryder. My name is Vanessa.”

I don’t know why I offer him my name—he’s my waiter, not my date. But as soon as I do, his expression brightens.

“The pleasure is all mine, Vanessa.”

I don’t know if it’s just that I’m taking notice, or if it’s because he just said my name, but his voice is so smooth and sexy that a shiver runs through me at the sound of it.

“If you need anything tonight, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call for me,” he adds. And yeah, that sparkle is definitely shining in his eyes.

“Okay,” I manage to get out.

His attention drops to the menu, his hand reaching to take it from me. “Would you like another glass of wine while I put your order in?”

When I lift it toward him, his fingers brush mine. I’m hit with a sudden rush that’s there and gone too soon.

Dizzy from the contact, I clear my throat to answer. “No, thank you, one glass should be fine for now.”

He inclines his head. “I’ll be back with your food in a little bit, then.”

Over the next ten minutes, I find myself feeling impatient. It doesn’t matter that I’m sitting at the table with the most gorgeous view of the ocean, or that I should be absorbing this time alone. More than once—more like five times—I glance toward the entrance to the kitchen.

Where all the waiters go in and out.

When I spot Ryder a few of those times, I look away before we can make eye contact. But when he finally appears beside my table with my food, a huge smile on his face, I can’t not look at him.

“Your dinner,” he says in a silken voice. After he places the plate before me, he straightens, and his eyes lock onto mine. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make sure the chef cooked it perfectly for you.”

My brow furrows in confusion. But then I realize…he wants to stay for my first bite.

The silverware clatters as I fumble to pick it up. I hurriedly cut through the steak and tug the bite off my fork.

I moan, my eyes closing as I savor the tenderness, before looking back up at him. “My compliments to the chef, because this is the best steak I’ve ever had.”

But I’m met with silence. And I realize…I just moaned like a weirdo.

His eyes flash with something I haven’t seen in a very long time, something that makes my stomach flutter.

And his voice is rougher when he finally speaks. “I’ll make sure to pass that on.” He clears his throat. “Anything else I can do for you tonight?”

I swallow thickly, hoping the blush isn’t visible on my face. Get a grip, he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just doing his job. “No, thank you. I think I have everything I need.”

“Well, then, bon appétit, Vanessa.”

It takes me a second to focus back on my food—I’m too stuck on the sight of Ryder walking away, his gait stiff. But eventually, I snap out of whatever haze I just fell into and turn back to my dinner.

My lonely, stood-up dinner.

It really is some of the best food I’ve ever had. Which is saying something, because with a pretentious ex-husband, I’ve eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world.

Although, the lack of said husband—and the million work calls that would either interrupt or cut short almost every meal—probably makes this steak taste a little better.

That and the tinge of pride I feel for staying and having a meal by myself despite the horrendous start to my night.

With the ocean winds on my skin and the waves in my ear, I can’t stop the contented smile that stays on my face all throughout.

When Ryder appears beside my table again, I’ve eaten almost the entire plate. He actually looks a little guilty when he sees that I’m done eating.

“I’m so sorry, I should have come over sooner to check on you, but we had an issue in the kitchen. Was everything okay?”

I wipe my mouth with the linen napkin before I respond, my smile only growing. “It was absolutely delicious. Best dinner I’ve ever had.”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “High praise, indeed.” He glances down at my plate again, then back to my face. “Is there anything else I can get you? Another glass of wine? Dessert, maybe? The restaurant would be happy to comp something for you. As a thank you for the…substandard service.”

Another shiver runs through me under his gaze. “Dessert sounds great.” I only debate for a moment before I add, “And the service wasn’t substandard.”

His nod seems relieved. “I’m happy to hear that.” He hesitates, his voice deepening when he says, “You deserve only the best service.”

The ocean air doesn’t feel as cool anymore. Suddenly, the summer heat feels stifling. I finally let myself admit… yeah, he’s flirting with me.

And God, it feels really damn good.

Ryder doesn’t shy from that heat. Instead, he holds my gaze as he pulls a dessert menu from his apron and places it in front of me. “Should I give you a few minutes to decide what you’d like?”

I don’t need a few minutes.

But despite the palpable tension between us, I think a part of me is still amazed that a guy this hot is flirting with me . So I respond to the question, not the undercurrent.

Glancing down at the menu, I spot exactly what I’m looking for. “I’ll have the tiramisu. Please.”

“A woman who knows what she wants,” he comments, seemingly without thinking. When he realizes what he just said, his cheeks take on the slightest tinge of pink. I have to tamp down on my smile at the sight of it—I’m glad I’m not the only one capable of getting flustered tonight. “I’ll get that right out for you,” he says quickly.

“Take your time, there’s no rush,” I tell him. And I don’t know what causes me to say it—if it’s the wine, or simply the attention—but as I let my gaze linger on Ryder, I add, “I’m enjoying the view.”

There’s a flash of surprise on his face, quickly replaced by a pleased grin. He only holds on to the professional waiter appearance for another second before saying in a low voice, “Trust me, the enjoyable view is mine.” Then he takes my finished plate from in front of me with a wink. “I’ll be right back with your dessert.”

I don’t hide my glances at Ryder this time. As he flits around the restaurant, taking orders and delivering food, I don’t feel guilty admiring his charming smile, or the way his muscles fill out his white button-up shirt. I let myself look. Because I’m single, and I’m suddenly reminded how fun it is to flirt with a good-looking man.

Besides, it’s not like anything will come of it. We haven’t said anything inappropriate, and after I leave here, we’ll never see each other again. It’s harmless.

And when I watch Ryder’s smile go from polite to excited as he nears my table, I know I’m not the only one enjoying the flirtation.

“Your tiramisu,” he says, sliding the plate in front of me.

“Thank you,” I say with a smile of my own. Then, in a teasing voice, I ask, “Are you going to wait to make sure the dessert is satisfactory, too?”

I have no idea why the question makes his playful expression freeze. When his throat bobs on a swallow, I quirk an eyebrow expectantly.

“I know exactly how good that tiramisu is and, honestly…I don’t think I could handle listening to you react to it,” he admits in a pained voice.

A laugh bursts out of me, the sound startling both of us. But it’s enough to make a boyish half-grin appear on his handsome face.

But only until I grab the fork and take a bite of the cake.

“ Oh my God ,” I moan, bringing my hand up to cover my mouth. I look up at Ryder with a guilty expression. “You’re right, that’s incredible.”

“Well, at least I was right,” he says, his voice just as stiff as his posture. He clears his throat and asks, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

I swallow the last of my bite and shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m perfect.”

I can’t read Ryder’s stare. After a moment, he nods and walks away.

I’m in heaven as I enjoy my dessert. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, but once my metabolism slowed down and it wasn’t as easy to keep the sugar from going to my midsection, I rarely indulged. But now that I’m not living with someone who’s constantly commenting on my figure, it’s easier to give in to the craving.

And I realize…I’m glad I got stood up. I’m glad I don’t have to stare at a middle-aged man across the table from me and try to act interested in where he grew up and how he likes being a software developer. I’m glad I don’t have to second-guess my food order.

I can do whatever I want.

A lightness fills my chest. The divorce only finalized two months ago—after our marriage ended eight months ago—and the adjustment has been a challenge. Not because I’m heartbroken, but because I realized I have no idea who I am anymore.

In the eight years that I was married, my ex-husband—and marriage in general—had chipped away at my identity. For the longest time, I didn’t even realize what was happening. But once we separated, and I was on my own for the first time in a decade, it hit me just how much of myself I had lost. So when I have these moments when it feels like a cog falls into place, I feel so… relieved.

I finish every bite of the tiramisu. I’m full, and happy, and proud of myself when I finally drop my napkin on the table.

“I’m happy to see you had enough room for dessert,” comes Ryder’s pleased voice over my shoulder. When I look up at him, he’s smiling, that teasing twinkle back in his eye. “Are you satisfied?”

Almost .

I wonder if that thought is visible in my eyes. And then I decide, it should be.

“Almost.”

The word is like a match striking the air between us. The tension alights, the flames dancing in Ryder’s eyes the same I feel under my skin.

I don’t know if my answer used up the last of my courage, so I’m comforted when Ryder opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. I’m holding my breath, waiting for his next words.

But they never come. Because the manager chooses that moment to stop by my table.

“Hi there,” he greets with a big smile. “I’m Chris, the owner. How has your dining experience been tonight?”

The loss of my moment with Ryder is disappointing enough to make this amusing. I return Chris’ smile and say, “It’s been amazing. I appreciate you checking on your patrons.” I chance a glance at Ryder, who’s standing stock-still beside his boss. “Ryder’s taken great care of me tonight.”

Chris beams at his server. “Excellent,” he says, clapping his hands together. “That’s fantastic to hear.” He notices the bill in Ryder’s hand and asks, “Is there anything else we can get for you tonight? Or will that be all?”

“Just the check is fine,” I answer politely.

Ryder nods and places the bill before me. It only takes a quick glance to see he took off the dessert and the wine. The only thing I’ve been charged for is my entrée.

I slide my credit card into the pocket but don’t realize how quickly I’ve done it until I look up to Chris and Ryder still standing beside my table.

Ryder gives me a tight smile as he reaches for the bill. “I’ll be right back with this.”

I watch him walk off, wondering if Chris’s appearance shocked enough reality back into the moment to end my flirtation with Ryder. I should be grateful for what I got, really—there’s a chance Ryder was just playing with me to get a good tip or make his shift pass by quicker.

That thought is quickly squashed when he returns with my card but doesn’t hand it over right away. Instead, he glances around the restaurant to check if anyone is looking at him.

It’s like he’s mentally wrestling with whatever he wants to say. But something pushes him over the edge, because he leans down and says quietly, “I hope I’m not overstepping, but there’s a great beach bar a few blocks down that I think you would like.” He meets my eyes, his gaze enough to incinerate. “If you don’t want to end your night early.”

I suck in a startled breath. Is that…an invitation?

“Is it the tiki bar?” I ask in an almost-whisper.

He grins. “It is. Best pina coladas in town.”

When he straightens, it’s like he’s snapping back to professional waiter mode. The change is dizzying, and I have to busy my hands with twirling my empty wineglass. “I’ve heard that. I’ve been thinking of trying it, actually.”

Ryder’s eyes take on a sparkle. “You should. I think you’d like it.”

I hum thoughtfully. “Maybe I will.”

We both sense the moment we reach the end of our accepted interaction. He hands me my card back, gives me a smile, then begrudgingly steps away to continue working. Even with the slight possibility that I might see him again, this is the end of our little flirtation we enjoyed tonight.

But no matter what happens with his unspoken invitation, Ryder has added a pep to my step that wasn’t there before.

One I didn’t realize I needed.