A Festive Feud: A Holiday Romantic Comedy(2)

Tug.

Pull.

Yank.

“This is childish. Let go, Emmie. Be the bigger person.”

“Never, Pearce.”

This time, I yank harder than I have yet and lose my footing as I bump into the display behind me. I can feel the air in the room shift before it even happens.

The entire store has gone deathly quiet, and seconds later, there’s the telltale clink of glass as the entire display behind me falls backward and plummets to the floor in a deafening shatter.

Oh. My. God.

A few seconds pass where I’m too afraid to move, like if I do, then I might further the already catastrophic damage that has ensued. Exhaling, I drop the nutcracker as if it’s on fire, my eyes widened in shock as I slowly turn toward the ruins.

Glass ornaments are scattered along the floor in a heap of broken shards.

There are so many of them you can hardly see the floor beneath it.

My eyes dart to Clara’s, her jaw agape in shock and a worrisome dip between her brows, her hand clutched to her chest like she needs to hold on to her heart. Slowly, her hand moves toward the ancient turn-dial phone next to her, and she lifts the receiver, dialing three numbers.

That’s when I realize just how screwed we are, and it’s all because of Jackson Pearce.





“Wayne, come on. You’ve known me since I was in diapers. This feels a little extreme for just a minor… little disagreement,” I mutter.

Wayne scoffs, shaking his head as he adjusts his hat lower, his shiny sheriff’s badge glinting beneath the light of the general store. “Minor, Emma? You two”—he points between Jackson and me—“destroyed over ten thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise! Let’s not even get into the mess that poor Clara is going to have to deal with since the two of you are spending the night in lockup. You almost gave that sweet old lady a heart attack.”

My jaw drops.

Lockup? As in… jail?

Not that Strawberry Hollow has an actual jail. It’s more of just a small four-by-four cell with an old rusty door.

But still…

Surely he’s not actually going to put me in a cell like some kind of… criminal. Wait until my parents hear about this. They might literally kill me.

“You’re throwing us in the drunk tank? We’re not even drunk, Wayne!” Jackson groans. “Come on, man. For once in my life, I have to agree with Emmie. We got into a small disagreement, and accidents happen. You know that. We’ll pay for the damages and get everything cleaned up.”

“Sure, I do.” Wayne nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “But this was no dang accident, Jackson. Look, we’ve all had enough.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling as his eyes fall shut. When he opens them, they’re filled to the brim with frustration. “Both of your families have been at this for years, and everyone in the town has had about enough of it. I mean it. You’ve given me no other choice.”

I can see Jackson shake his head beside me before he retorts, “Yeah? This is going to make for a great conversation at the next poker night. Share a beer and tell all the guys about how you threw me in jail for fighting with Emmie Worthington.”

I snort.

Of course, Jackson Pearce would play poker with the sheriff. Too bad that little detail isn’t helping in this situation since we’re about to spend the night in jail all because he’s got the maturity level of a teenage boy.

Some of us have grown up, but he’s obviously still the same immature boy from when we were in school.

Clearly, this is all of his fault.

If he would’ve just let go of the stupid nutcracker and left me the hell alone, then none of this would have happened in the first place.

But no, he had to go and try and one-up me, as he and his family always have done.

“Yeah, well, maybe both of you shouldn’t have gotten into a fight in the middle of the general store and broken a whole bunch of shit, then, huh? Now, let’s go. Don’t make me handcuff you.”

My eyes widen as panic rises in my throat. “You… wouldn’t.”

His brows rise. “Try me.”

Great.

Add felon to the list of my most attractive qualities.





jackson





You’re a mean one, Jackson Pearce





The sound of the metal door slamming shut echoes throughout the concrete walls, a deafening sound that has an air of finality to it. My gaze meets Wayne’s, and I just shake my head, pushing off the bars in annoyance.

That fucking asshole actually put me in jail.

I didn’t think he actually had the balls to do it, and he sure as hell proved me wrong.

Emma sighs behind me, and when I turn to face her, she’s got her arms crossed over her chest, the tight fabric of her emerald-green sweater clinging to her in a way that I shouldn’t notice. But then again, when have I ever not noticed Emma Worthington?

She’s impossible not to notice. Even if she’s my enemy by birthright.

Her long, honey-blonde hair falls in silky curls down to her waist. The red on her lips has faded slightly but makes her pouty lips no less kissable. Her bright blue eyes are framed by long, thick, dark lashes that kiss her eyelids.

She’s more than beautiful. She’s the kind of beautiful that sucks out all the air in a room the moment she enters.