For the Right Reasons (14 page)

When we arrived at a park on a sunny day, Emily was waiting for us, holding—you guessed it—a football.
I’ve got this
.

We tossed the football in the park while all the guys tried to impress her. It was hard to figure out the dynamics of a group date, something that would never happen in real life. Because I’m not the type of guy to aggressively pursue women, I hung back as some of the others flirted and joked with her. Then, suddenly, she left.

“What do you guys think we’re going to be doing today?” someone asked.

Well, you have to hand it to the producers. They knew how to put us in uncomfortable—and revealing—situations. Instead of tossing the pigskin, Emily introduced us to a group of her friends. Their job was to interview us individually, to see who would be a great dad for Emily’s six-year-old daughter. Nothing was off limits, so they asked us:
Have you ever cheated? What things do you have in common with Emily? Have you ever dated someone with a child? What is the worst quality about yourself?
And my personal favorite,
What’s up with the guy with the egg?

Watching the guys go before me was nerve-racking—I saw one of the guys dance and another do push-ups on a picnic table. When it was my turn, they didn’t hesitate to start grilling me. After a few warm-up questions—what I did for a living and where I was from—they got down to business.

“So why do you think you have a connection with Emily?” one of her friends asked.

“I think we’ve connected on a few points,” I said.

“Like what?”

“Well,” I began, “I come from a family that’s centered on faith. That’s who we are and what’s most important to us.”

The ladies seemed to like that answer but pressed harder.

“Are you ready to be a dad?”

“Well, I don’t have kids, so that would be new to me,” I said. “But my dad has taught me how to be a man for the past twenty-eight years, so I think I’m prepared.”

The women relaxed a bit after that, telling me I was cute and asking me if I worked out.

“Only occasionally,” I said, probably causing Sagi back home to yell at the screen.

“Don’t lie,” Emily’s friend Wendy said. “What would your superhero power be if you could choose one?”

I knew they liked me because the questions seemed to be getting sillier. “I guess I’d like to fly.”

“Yeah, you’d look good in a cape,” Wendy said. “Or Spandex. Hey, will you take your shirt off?”

I was taken aback by the question and laughed. When I saw she was not laughing, I asked, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Of course, there was no way I was going to be “that guy.” I wasn’t going to be parading around without a shirt on national television. Yet the ladies insisted—and the producers encouraged me from behind the cameras. “Come on, Sean,” they said. “It’ll be fun.”

I certainly didn’t want to be a spoilsport, so I dutifully took off my shirt and did push-ups, as requested. Wendy sat on my back as I did them and said, “This is like a dream come true.”

That’s when I knew I’d officially won over Emily’s friends.

And I’d officially become “the guy with the abs.”

After playing with a couple dozen kids in the park while the ladies compared notes with Emily on us, it was time for the evening portion of the date. We went to a restaurant and club in Charlotte that had two stories. The guys were on the second floor, while Emily was down below. There were about twelve guys on the group date, and they went down one at a time to spend a few minutes with her alone.

I knew I’d killed the date portion with her friends and had a feeling Emily was digging me. I didn’t know what had happened with her and anyone else. I’d been back at the mansion reading my book and taking dips in the pool. But I felt good about my position in the pack.

It was time to make a move.

I made a paper fortune-teller, which is a piece of paper folded into a certain shape that allows you to write questions and answers underneath flaps. The way it works is simple: Someone picks a number and the person with the paper fortune-teller moves the flaps back and forth depending on the answers. Normally, the questions are pretty silly—who’s your favorite singer, what’s your favorite color, and so forth. Every junior high kid knows how to make them to pass time during math class.

Of course, I didn’t care who her favorite singer was. Instead of playing the game by the conventional rules, I wrote, “Can I have a kiss?”—or some variation—under every flap. I was the last bachelor to have alone time with Emily. We chatted for a few minutes, and I could tell it was going really well.

“You’re perfect,” she said, reaching for my hand.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I’m far from perfect.”

“Well, you seem like you’re just the whole package—you’ve got it all.”

That’s when I decided to give the paper fortune-teller a chance.

“Want to play a game?” When she picked a corner, I lifted the paper flap to reveal my question.

“Can you have a kiss?” she read and smiled.

That’s when I leaned in and we had our first—amazing—kiss.

Later, when watching the episode on television, I realized they didn’t show this moment
.
I think the producers decided to build up our second kiss (at the rose ceremony) and portray it to viewers as our first. Nevertheless, I carried that moment in my heart from that point on, and it gave me such confidence. I really wanted the rose to show the other guys where I stood, and that’s exactly what happened.

“I’d like to give the rose tonight to . . . Sean,” she said. “You backed up everything you’ve been saying since day one. And I’m very thankful for that.”

I sat outside by myself the next morning with my coffee, my
Jesus Calling
book, and a million thoughts running through my head. As I settled down
to read my devotional, Alejandro and Charlie came up and sat on the furniture around me.

“What’s Jesus saying today?” Alejandro asked. Charlie laughed.

I realized my Bible study probably was strange to most of the guys there. Few, if any, of them were Christians, so I didn’t advertise that I was having a morning devotional. I never said, “Hey, guys, listen to this.” But I’d definitely oblige if asked.

“ ‘Come to Me with a teachable spirit, eager to be changed,’ ” I read. “ ‘A close walk with Me is a life of continual newness. . . . Seek My face with an open mind, knowing that your journey with Me involves being transformed.’ ”
⁵

Soon, word spread that I had daily devotionals, and guys started showing up. I really liked the guys, and being in such a strange situation bonded us together. Even though most of our time was spent lounging around waiting for dates—or recovering from them—the mornings were dedicated to our little devotionals. Without even meaning to, I found myself leading this Bible study on the set of
The Bachelorette
.

During the next rose ceremony—with the rose firmly attached to my lapel—I had nothing to fear. I watched as the other guys ushered Emily to various locations on the property, competing for time and conversation. As with most of these cocktail parties, there was no shortage of drama. The egg guy finally decided to break his egg, which he had named Shelly. Then, when Emily was talking to one of the guys, he called her situation—the fact that she already had a child—a “compromise.” Of course, this was the same guy who admitted to Emily’s friends that he’d cheated on an ex-girlfriend (his third cousin) and had a one-night stand. When Emily stormed through the house—wearing boots instead of her heels, because she didn’t even care to keep up appearances for the camera—I knew things wouldn’t end well for the guy. She promptly escorted him to the door without waiting for the ceremony.

She was still a little shaken by the time I caught up with her later in the evening.

“It’s only been forty-eight hours,” I said, sitting down beside her near the roaring fire. “But I kind of missed you.”

“You did? Why? Flatter me for a minute.” She smiled, taking my hand. “I need it.”

Emily’s Southern charm was evident, even when she was distressed.

“Normally, if I had such a connection with someone, I wouldn’t have waited two days to talk to you,” I said. “I would’ve texted you to tell you how much fun I had being with you.”

“You wouldn’t play the ‘two-day rule’?”

“I wouldn’t have played a game at all.”

I’d never felt closer to her. Since our kiss, I felt confident in our relationship. I knew in my heart that none of the other guys would have the connection we had. Not only did we already share a special moment after the group date, but faith was also important to her. The other guys were great—I was becoming good friends with Charlie, Alejandro, Jef, Arie, and John Wolfner. But I didn’t get the feeling they shared her Christian faith. In my heart, without losing sight of the fact that we were on a reality TV dating game, I knew we had an undeniable connection.

“I want to talk to you about something your friends brought up,” I said.

“Oh no.” Emily laughed.

“They asked if I could be a good dad to Ricki. For the past twenty-eight years, my dad has taught me how to be the greatest father,” I said. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but if we were to get married, Ricki would be my daughter. She can call me Sean; she can call me whatever she wants. But she’d be mine.”

“That was exactly what I needed to hear. I know you are good-looking,” she said, “but I wanted to thank you for also being so sweet.”

I could tell I’d touched Emily deeply. When I leaned in and kissed her, the producers made it look like our first kiss for the viewers at home. But to me, this was another moment in a fabulous week solidifying our relationship.

Our time together was quickly interrupted. I never had quite enough time to hang out with her and longed for a one-on-one date to spend real time with her. When I relinquished her to whichever guy came in next, I went back out to the mansion’s main room with a full heart. Though it seemed improbable, I felt like I could really be interested in Emily.

When I got back to where the guys were sitting, I could tell they were agitated.

“I saw Emily kissing Arie,” one of the guys said. “Right there, in the hall.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“When?” Of course, I’d just kissed her two days ago—not to mention two minutes ago. How could she also be kissing Arie? Looking back, I realized this was a “How naive could you have been?” moment. But it felt like a punch in the gut. Planet Bachelorette was a new world for me—everything that I’d been taught about loyalty and dating was on temporary hiatus.

When the show broadcast, all the viewers saw between Emily and me was a sweet kiss and a declaration that I’d consider Emily’s daughter my own. But behind the scenes, I was furious.

“It’s offensive she’d kiss Arie in plain sight of the other guys,” one of the bachelors said. This is the convoluted world of the show. In normal life, a guy would be angry if a girl he was interested in kissed another guy, period. But normal rules didn’t apply, so we tried to find new boundaries. Since it wasn’t reasonable to ask Emily not to kiss the other guys—whom she was technically dating!—we drew a new moral line: it was wrong to flaunt it in front of our faces.

During the rose ceremony, I didn’t make eye contact with her and stood as rigid as a soldier. Because I had the rose, I didn’t care what names she was saying. I was safe, but did I really want to be there? After another guy was sent home in the “limo of shame,” the producers passed out the champagne to the guys as they did every week. Then they had us gather in the middle of the room, raise our glasses, and toast with a “Here’s to another great week” type of thing. By the time they got around to pouring the champagne, I was so steamed I couldn’t even raise my glass.

“Sean, aren’t you going to toast?” Emily called me out, playfully.

I gave a halfhearted shrug.

In case you’re wondering, that’s what it looks like when I’m being a baby.

Typically, when the camera crew is done with that final shot, guys linger to see if they can talk to Emily before the producer pulls her away. Face time with her when the cameras aren’t rolling is at a premium. That night when they yelled, “Cut!” I darted into the courtyard, took off my tie, and threw off my jacket.