Page 21 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show

“Do you have enough material?” I ask, striving to be professional, remembering too late I don’t have a reason to speak to him.

“Yes.”

“Then can we do the floral crown ceremony?”

“You don’t want to drink and party some more?”

“Should I?”

“Most Mr. Rights like that. It’s often their favorite night.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, and he nods and ushers me to a side room. It’s dark and feels cramped, and I inhale his cologne. His arm flicks over me, brushing against my chest, and I inhale, as if I want to commit the scent to my memory for ever and always, along with the feel of his arm against me.

Then the light turns on, emitting golden light around me, and he inhales sharply and steps away.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, pink drifting from his collar over his clean-shaven face. “The light.”

“It’s small,” I say, and he nods eagerly, as if I’ve said something profound.

He still hasn’t mentioned that we know each other.

Sebastian hurries to the other side of the room, but I could easily pull him toward me if I want to. I suppose that’s a strange thing to think about. “This is tiny.”

“I think this is actually a closet,” Sebastian says. “We wanted to give the women the most space they can since they live here.”

“This feels like the closets people go to for seven minutes in heaven,” I say, and his eyes widen.

I’m pretty sure my eyes are widening too because I absolutely shouldn’t be pondering seven minutes in heaven when Sebastian is right beside me and we’re in a closed room.

The air is hot and humid, like we’ve landed in Florida in July. I wonder what it would be like to pull Sebastian toward me and what it would feel like to rest my hands against his slender waist. I could smell him better, I could nestle my cheek against his, and I could taste if his lips are as succulent as they look.

He’s almost as tall as me, but far thinner. He would be easy for me to arrange into all the pleasant positions, and we would slide together, unhampered by pillowy bosoms.

Sebastian turns, but his ears are a red color they weren’t before, and his figure trembles.

I want to calm him, wrap him in my arms, but it’s not my place.

Instead, I’m silent, and when he turns to me, he flashes me his TV presenter smile.

I don’t mind it, and I smile back at him.

“Here are the five crowns to give to the five women you would like to get to know better.” He gestures to some crowns made out of poinsettias. The deep red flowers are placed close together. They’re thick and luscious.

“They’ll love it,” I say.

“You can only give five out.”

“I know.”

“Do you know who you want to keep?”

I tell him the names, but my focus is entirely on the way his throat moves as he swallows, and the slight tremor of his fingers as he reaches for the crowns.

CHAPTER TEN

Sebastian

I am a professional.