On principle, she thought about fighting him, but they smelled amazing, and she loved M&M’s. For the first time pretty much ever, she complied. So much for him being her subordinate.
Regina couldn’t help the moan that slipped out. No sugar for two months could do that to you. “They’re even better than I remembered.” She snagged another, and then she realized she’d relaxed into Emmett’s embrace. She glanced around, but everyone seemed to be super focused on putting the finishing touches on their houses.
She studied theirs. It wasn’t the prettiest or the most impressive, and she should really stop eating the candy tiles so they’d have enough for the finishing touches, but at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to care. What made it perfect wasn’t how it looked, but how much fun she’d had, and that she was now cuddling with a not-so-grumpy-anymore sheriff.
The loud bing of the timer made her jump, and then Fern used her over-the-top megaphone to demand that everyone put down their supplies and step away from their tables.
Regina quickly snagged a couple of Twizzlers.
“You rebel,” Emmett whispered in her ear.
“I grabbed one for you too.”
“What I meant to say was, you beautiful evil genius.”
She laughed as she spun in his arms, and her breath caught at the way he looked down at her. Time froze while her heart rate sped up. His throat worked a swallow as his hand splayed across her lower back and drew her even closer.
“… to the tables.”
Vaguely, she realized someone had not only neared but was talking to them.
“Judges,” Fern said, louder this time, “if you’ll follow me to the tables.”
“Is it just the two of us?” Regina asked when Fern extended two clipboards.
“Along with me. Judges are best in threes to help with tiebreakers, plus I have the most experience with baking.”
They rounded the zoned-off competition tables that he
ld the numbered houses. There were three categories, each item earning a rating on a scale of one to ten: overall look, originality, and difficulty.
Regina leaned closer to Emmett. “Well, they all look way better than ours, so I’m going to say everyone gets a ten on the difficulty level.”
Fern glared at them. “No discussing scores!”
“Uh-oh.” Regina grimaced. “Next, she’s going to ask you to arrest me.”
Emmett brushed by her, pausing to whisper, “It’d help you achieve your goal of getting arrested by Christmas. Really, I’d be helping you both out.”
She stifled a giggle as they continued down the row. When they reached the last house, she gasped—then she felt like a nerd for gasping, but still. Spree candy tiles made up the icicle-draped roof, and Santa and his chocolate reindeer had parked on the lawn. “Wow, I didn’t realize Peeta lived in your town.”
Emmett glanced at her, eyebrows all scrunched up. “Peter Whibley? I assure you he didn’t decorate this, and how do you know him?”
“No. Peeta.” Since no lightbulb went off, she added, “From The Hunger Games?” She swiped a hand through the air. “Never mind. This house gets my vote.”
“Mark the sheet, dear,” Fern said, a little extra threat in the dear. Yeesh. Funny how the people in the town were the least judgmental she’d ever met, except when it came to Christmas contests.
A few minutes later, her favorite house was declared the winner, and to her surprise, it belonged to a thirteen-year-old girl. She collected her impressive cash prize, and the town of Friendship called it a night.
And even though Regina was far from ready to part ways with the sexy sheriff, she knew that another night like this and her plan to go slow and proceed with caution would be forgotten. Then she’d end up hurt all over again. So she asked Fern for a ride back to the Cozy Cottage, and along the way, decided that she was going to have to put some distance between herself and Emmett Haywood.
Chapter Eight
Over the next week, every time Emmett saw Regina, it was always too brief, and she was always surrounded by people or in a big hurry. She didn’t call him, and although he hadn’t given her his number, she could’ve called the sheriff’s office easily enough. He wanted to call her several times, but she’d pulled away a couple of times now, and he was trying to do the right mix of taking advantage of what limited time they had and not scaring her off.
Still, earlier today he’d dialed her room at the Cozy Cottage. She hadn’t answered.
The phone on his desk rang, and his pulse jumped, hoping to hear a certain voice on the other end, regardless of how unlikely. Undoubtedly, it was a resident wanting him to go tell someone else how they should/shouldn’t do something they were doing, about to do, or considering doing.