Page 23 of The Final Rose

“It’s a fancy British thing. He insists on smelling the flowers before each date.”

I suck on my lips, closing my mouth so I don’t laugh when Anya shakes her head. “The fucking English…”

When I turn to Sebastian, he has the cutest shocked expression, and I have to laugh.

“She believed you!”

“Oh yes, she did.”

“I thought your aim was to make me desirable, not a lunatic who absolutely must stop to smell the flowers.”

“Smelling the flowers is hardly the craziest request we’ve had,” I say, taking the bouquet from his arms and giving it to an intern who was tracking by. Not before I take the small card on top and hand it to him.

“Still, it doesn’t put me in the best light.” He reads the card, a little smile curling up his lip.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to seduce Anya. You wouldn't survive that.”

“Oh, I’m surely not man enough.” He passes me the card so I can read too.

“Are you ready for your date?” I ask after finishing with the card.

His eyes trace behind my head to the six girls standing not so far from us. They are all dressed in what can only be described as Golfer Chic, the same as him. It’s the first time I see him out of a suit and I’m not sure what to make of it.

The shirt they put on him makes his impossibly blue eyes shine even more. It’s almost immoral how absolutely breathtaking this man can be.

“How can one even worry in a situation like this? A date with six women is surely a recurring event in any gentleman’s life,” he says wryly.

“You put together ridiculous sentences when you’re being sarcastic. That’s my tell.”

“It’s the subtitles you wanted for me?”

I nod. “How I can translate that to the audience is anyone’s guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way. Being capable and all that.”

“Thanks.” I deadpan. “It’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”

“I am a poet in my spare time.”

My lips curve in a little smile, but I hold back. “Please, I hope you brought a poem to share with the ladies.”

“Do you think it could help my chances of charming someone at… mini golf?”

“Please.” I scoff. “Thousands and thousands of men succeeded before you. It’s the standard date activity.”

“It’s unimaginative, you mean.”

I blow a raspberry because he’s so very right. Mini golf is the worst date in the history of dates, but it’s one easily recreated when there’s a little pitch in the back of the mansion. I won’t come out and agree with him, so I offer a new angle.

“Going for an activity is the best option for a first date. There will be no awkward silences, no pauses. You can talk about–”

“It’s a date with seven people, Callie.” His stare punches a blow to my gut. “It’s more of a party than a date.”

I let myself smile a little. A wire is visible on his lapel and I’m fixing it before I think better of it. “You’ll do fine. And you’ll get to know them.”

His neck feels warm beneath my fingers, and they linger, feeling the soft material of his shirt. I frown to myself, his warm breath coming out in puffs over my head.

“Tell me then,” his voice drops, “What’syourperfect first date?”

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