6. Vanessa
6
VANESSA
Reality was an ice-cold splash of water.
I knew as soon as I woke up that this thing between us could easily evolve into something bigger if I let it. One look at Ryder’s smile told me he was going to ask me out, and I knew I would want to say yes.
But something about waking up in this house kept my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds, at least for long enough that I could admit to myself that taking this further would be a bad idea. I mean, I just got divorced. I was a housewife for ten years, thrown aside by the partner who vowed to love me forever and who left me in the dirt as a shell of the person I once was. I can’t claim that I became half of a whole, because even that’s not completely accurate. The truth is, I became who my ex-husband wanted me to be.
So who am I if I’m not David’s wife?
There’s no way I can find the answer to that question if I’m dating. No, cutting Ryder off before things got serious was the right decision. A one-night stand is one thing, but a relationship is another. And I am not prepared for the latter.
That thought ends up being of little comfort to me. Because even knowing I made the right decision, going about my day only proves to me that I have no idea what I’m doing. What I like. What I’m passionate about. In my confusion, I find myself falling into my usual routine of attending a Peloton class, cleaning up the house, sitting down with a book.
But the moment I settle on the patio with my glass of wine, I’m hit with a flashback of the last time I was on this couch. And who I was with.
And how free I felt.
I drop the book beside me with a heavy exhale. I hate this. I hate being this boring, this indecisive. I used to be top of my class, and the social butterfly in my friend group. I had hobbies. I had a life.
When did I become such a reflection of a man?
Another exhale, this one coming out as more of a growl of annoyance. I don’t want to sit around my big house, I want to do something.
Suddenly, my focus catches on movement out in the ocean. I rarely see anyone out here, since the houses on this street all have their beaches marked as private property, but occasionally one of the neighbors gets carried down with the water. Right now, I can spot a surfer riding the waves.
I watch them for a moment. As they paddle out to catch a wave, as they stand up on their board and ride it along the shore. Their movements are graceful, effortless, even. Even their final tumble into the water is smooth and comes with a ringing laugh.
And it hits me that…I’m jealous. They look so happy. So free . All because they’re doing something that they love.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I make a split-second decision, and I hope that I have enough courage to act on it when the sun isn’t already setting.
It takes a big coffee and pep talk in the mirror, but the next morning, I’m walking up to the nearby surf shop with determination in my step.
And yet, I hesitate as I reach the door. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before that doing something alone could be daunting. Before the other night, I’ve never even eaten at a restaurant alone—and even managing that was likely more due to Ryder than anything else. Why did I think it’d be easy to jet ski by myself?
I suck in a breath, trying to gather my remaining fortitude, when a huge group of young, athletic, twenty-some-year-olds reaches for the door before I can.
And Ryder is one of them.
We both freeze when we see each other. It’s only been a day since…everything, but you’d think it’s been twenty with the way my body reacts to the sight of him.
God, is he more attractive in the sunlight?
He’s not wearing anything special, just some swim trunks and a t-shirt that’s made whiter by his tan, but with his sunglasses pushed up to rest on his wavy brown hair, I get the full effect of his bright blue eyes and a smile that rivals the sun.
“Vanessa,” he greets. And it’s subtle, but there’s a little less warmth in the way he says my name this time, I think to mark the boundaries between us.
I’m as relieved as I am bummed.
“Ryder,” I say with a smile of my own.
Looking around, he asks, “Getting into some watersports today?”
I glance at the shop. “Uh, yeah, I was thinking about it.” And I’m too curious not to ask, “You too?”
He nods. “I had the day off work, so…”
I hate the awkwardness of this moment. It was so easy with him the night we met, part of me actually wishes we hadn’t slept together, just so there wouldn’t be any of this .
But then he adjusts the sunglasses on his head, and I’m distracted by his arm muscles and sweat-slick skin.
I swallow roughly as I’m assaulted by memories of how those muscles felt under my nails.
Ryder must see the thoughts all over my face, because a slow, self-satisfied grin slides across his.
I expect him to call me out on it, either by teasing me or by taking the opportunity to hit on me, but he surprises me by doing neither.
Stepping aside, he opens the door to the surf shop and holds it open.
“After you,” he says. And there’s that familiar twinkle in his eye when he adds, “The world is literally your oyster today.”
I don’t know if he’s what gives me the extra boost of confidence to walk in, but I don’t question it.
Ryder’s friends are already being helped by the employee. And when they include him in their rental jet ski count, I automatically get folded into the mix.
Our group moves through the paperwork and brief instructions, and suddenly I’m standing in the marina, being fitted for a lifejacket.
My nerves reappear instantly.
Ryder notices, of course. When I put my lifejacket on and fumble with the buckles, he gently knocks my hands away and takes over.
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he says quietly. “Say the word, and we’ll go hang out on the beach with a pina colada instead.”
Just hearing him say that makes the nerves dissipate, replaced by the first ripples of excitement.
I take a deep breath. “No, I want to do it.”
Another one of those blinding smiles shines back at me, making every molecule of oxygen I just sucked in whoosh from my lungs. He’s so handsome.
As I smile back, his eyes drop to my lips. And my stomach flips for a whole other reason than nerves.
We’re so close. It would barely take anything to lean forward and kiss him, or for him to pull me in by the straps he’s still holding. It would be so easy to close the distance, to sink back into the comfort of the other night. And based on the heat in Ryder’s eyes, I’m not the only one feeling like this.
I start to lean in, already imagining the feel of his lips against mine?—
Ryder steps back, awkwardly coughing into his fist. “There you go, all secure,” he says, no longer meeting my eyes.
I startle, crashing back down to earth. The rejection hurts, but I’m also not blind to Ryder’s feelings. He did that because I drew the line between us, not because he didn’t want to kiss me. I can’t blame him for that.
To bring us back to normalcy, I grab the handlebar of the nearest jet ski and say, “If I fall in the ocean and a shark eats me, you have to promise to make Sami name a drink after me. I need a legacy in place before I die.”
I love seeing the corner of his mouth twitch with a smirk. “Alright, Miss Dramatic, I promise. Now get on the jet ski. No one’s dying today.” He swings a leg over his own wave runner, making me drool over his effortless state of athleticism. Sliding his sunglasses down with a grin, he adds, “I’ll save my ‘I told you so’ for the end of the day.”
I mount the jet ski with a huff, careful not to touch anything. But with a nod of encouragement from him, I slowly engage the throttle, taking off into the bay. Ryder stays beside me the entire time.
It takes less than five minutes before I’m shrieking with laughter.
“Why have I never done this before!” I yell, dashing across the water. I’m going so fast that the wind against my skin is biting, and I regret not braiding my hair out of the way. I could do this all day long.
Ryder’s boisterous laugh sounds seconds before he comes from behind me and sprays me with water as he takes a turn.
I let out a yelp of outrage. “You did not just do that,” I splutter.
His engine idles, his grin blinding. “My bad. That was an accident.”
“You’re a filthy liar,” I grumble. “If I didn’t think I’d fall off spraying you back, I’d douse you in a tidal wave.”
He throws his head back with another laugh. “I don’t doubt that you would, babe.”
I dart off again, enjoying the feel of the wind in my hair and the sunshine against my skin. The speed is exhilarating, but just the act of riding feels… peaceful . I can’t remember why I was ever scared to do this.
When we finally drop the jet skis back at the marina, I may be tired, but I’m already planning on when I can come back. That was the most fun I’ve had since?—
Since the other night with Ryder.
Who is currently standing beside me with a shit-eating grin.
“I told you jet skis are fun,” he says proudly.
“Hubris is unbecoming, Ryder,” I say dryly.
“I don’t even care, as long as I’m right.”
I shake my head, though I can’t tamp down on my smile while staring up at his playful expression. “You’re insufferable.”
Nope, that grin doesn’t lose any wattage.
“Hey, Ryder, you coming to the Shack with us? We’re starving.”
His friend’s call is what finally dims our smiles. We both turn toward the group standing a few feet away from us.
“I’ll…meet you guys there,” Ryder calls back after a moment.
When they start down the street, his focus returns to me. And then suddenly, he asks, “Can I walk you home?”
When he sees me chew on my bottom lip with indecision, he holds up his hands, palms facing me. “No funny business, I promise. I’d just…like to walk with you for a little bit.” His hands drop, his voice softening. “If you don’t mind the company.”
And because Ryder has yet to be anything but blatantly himself with me, I don’t question him.
And also…I want some extra time with him, too.
I nod, his answering smile bringing out one of my own. Together, we turn in the direction of my house and start walking.
I don’t know if I expected things to be awkward between us, but spending time with Ryder is just naturally comfortable. We settle into an easy conversation.
“So…eat at any amazing restaurants since I saw you last?” he asks.
I chuckle. “None that compare to the Lookout, no.”
“Good. I was about to be jealous.”
I shake my head, a smile on my face that I suspect will be there for the length of this walk. “Did you work at the restaurant yesterday?” I ask.
He nods. “I did. I had to play hostess for yesterday’s shift.”
I let out a puff of laughter that’s louder than I mean it to be. “Why can I picture that being your best role? Being the face of the restaurant? I bet you put people in a good mood before they even taste the food.”
Ryder sighs beside me. “Complimenting me on my good looks and my charming personality? I can’t take it, babe.”
I send him a scolding look, but my heart isn’t in it.
To re-center the conversation, I say, “I’m assuming cooking is your favorite job?”
“Definitely,” he answers without any hesitation. Then he perks up, turning to me with excitement in his eyes. “You should come in on a night I’m in the kitchen. I usually only do it when someone calls out and we’re in a pinch, but I can put myself on the schedule.”
His eagerness makes me giddy. “I can do that. But what happens if I don’t like your food?”
Ryder doesn’t hesitate. “Well, then I’ll need to close the restaurant down and move far away to a random town in the middle of the country. Obviously.”
Chuckling, I pat his arm. “I’m sure the food will be great.”
For a moment, he just stares at the place I touched him. When he looks back up at me, the playfulness has dimmed, to be replaced by the version of Ryder who doesn’t beat around the bush about what he wants.
“Or you could let me cook for you,” he says simply.
I send him a sidelong look. “Ryder…”
Please don’t make me say it out loud. It’s not you, it’s me.
He doesn’t shy away. “What? It’s food. It’s literally my job.”
I quirk an eyebrow in challenge. “Then let me come into the restaurant for that.”
He shrugs as he turns his attention forward. “Okay.” And I think that’s the end of it, but then he adds, “As long as I can show you the best ice cream place afterwards.”
“Ryder…” I start carefully. “I’m not looking for?—”
“A friend?” he interrupts. “I get it. I put a cap on how many friends I allow myself to have, too.”
For a moment, I can only blink. “You…what?”
He turns toward me, his gaze knowing as he holds mine. But he doesn’t say anything, he just waits.
My mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “I—you—Ryder, come on , you don’t want to be my friend.”
“Actually, I do,” he says. “You said you don’t know anyone down here. So why can’t we just be friends?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
“Come on, Vanessa… It’s hardly a marriage proposal.”
“I guess that’s true,” I say warily after a moment.
Which is when he hits me with the full force of his grin. “So it’s settled, then. We’ll be friends.”
“Friends,” I repeat, not loving the way the word tastes to describe him but swallowing it down anyway.
And of course, that’s the moment we reach my house, so I can’t really press him on the importance of just friends. But even as we both look toward my front door, I notice Ryder doesn’t look anything less than happy.
When he extends his hand toward me, I look at it in confusion. Is he seriously asking for a handshake? Is this some kind of reverse psychology?
The corner of his lips curls in amusement. “Do you have your phone on you? I’ll put my number in.”
“Oh,” I mumble, awkwardly digging through my purse. I don’t even know how to handle someone asking me for my number.
And yet, when I press it into Ryder’s hand, it takes him a second to pull it away from me.
He’s too busy looking at my lips.
Our almost-kiss from earlier flashes through my mind, and suddenly, I’m looking at his, too.
But once more, Ryder is more aware of my line than I am. Because he rips his gaze away and starts to punch numbers into my phone. It’s only after he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his own, now vibrating with a call, that he meets my eyes again.
“There,” he says, handing my phone back to me. “Now you have my number. So if you want to come into the restaurant, or…I don’t know…go jet skiing again, just shoot me a text.”
I nod as I look down at the phone in my hand. And then a laugh bursts out of me.
“Ryder ‘Hot Waiter’?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I hold my phone up. “Is that seriously how you just listed yourself?”
Grinning shamelessly, he slides his hands into his pockets with a shrug. “I didn’t want you to confuse me with the other Ryders.”
And maybe it’s the hot sun, or maybe it’s Ryder’s presence, but I hold our eye contact as I admit, “There are no other Ryders.”
Something flashes in his eyes at that, something I like way too much. When he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s been scraped over the rocky beach.
“Good.”