The Final Rose

Chapter Thirteen: Magic

A/N: This week I've added a four-chapter preview to my Wattpad account from the first novel of my best-selling series, Winter Jacket.

Be sure to check it out, and if you've enjoy the excerpt, consider purchasing the full novel on Amazon. The fourth book in the series, Winter Jacket: All In, will be available May 2016.

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"So? How did it go?" Candace was practically salivating when I returned to our shared room.

I set down the single rose a little too aggressively on the dresser top. My knuckles rapped loudly against the wooden top.

"Does that answer your question?" I posed.

I sat down on the bed. The heavy pit of guilt and misgivings had sat heavily in my stomach ever since I'd accepted Jacob's rose.

"Well done, Young Grasshopper," she approved.

Candace, like the other women in the house, was busy getting ready for that night's cocktail reception and rose ceremony. She stood before a full-length mirror, bobby pins trapped between her teeth, as she piled her long brown hair on top of her head.

"God, if I never have to wear another dress . . ." she murmured. Tonight she wore a tight red gown, a shade darker than the roses Jacob handed out. Satin fabric had a tendency to be unforgiving, but her tight figure was in no danger of bulges. I would never tell her that, however; she'd never let me hear the end of it.

"You're so lucky," she observed. "You could wear sweatpants to this thing tonight if you really wanted."

"I'm sure the producers would be thrilled about that," I drolly remarked.

"So what did you two crazy kids do?" Candace probed. "I want all the dirty details."

"He took me fishing."

"Oh yeah? That sounds right up your alley. Did you set your hooks in him?" Candace grinned. "Does Jacob think you're a great catch? Did you fish for compliments?"

"You can stop at anytime," I told her.

Despite my words, she kept going, building speed and momentum. "Do you still feel like a fish out of water on this show?"

"Are you done yet?" I asked.

Candace's response was another fish metaphor: "After getting that rose, you must feel like a big fish in a small pond." Her grin threatened to cleave her face in half. "Okay. I'm done. Wait-one more," she said, changing her mind. "If it doesn't work out with Jacob, remember there's plenty of other fish in the sea."

"You're ridiculous," I deadpanned.

"I'm hilarious," she countered.

I tried to change the subject. "How many women do you think are going home tonight?" I knew talking about the game and strategy was the only way to get Candace to stop teasing me. She, predictably, had a one-track mind.

"It's hard to say. We're at fifteen women right now. At next week's ceremony we'll have to get down to eleven before we take off to a tropical destination." She paused, counting in her head. "So maybe two tonight and other two next week?" she guessed.

"Are you worried that any of those women might be you?" With the exception of when she was trying to get Jacob to notice me, I'd never really seen Candace interact with Jacob.

"Don't worry about me," she said as she applied a layer of red lipstick. "Now that I know you're safe for another week, I can work my magic at tonight's cocktail reception."