A Festive Feud: A Holiday Romantic Comedy(46)

Glancing up, I see Oliver walking up with a grin as he follows my gaze to Emma.

Isn’t that the truth.

But I shrug. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you’re not completely wrapped around that girl’s finger, Pearce.” Laughing, he tips his beer back. “You haven’t taken your eyes off of her since she walked through the door.”

“Yeah, well, she’s kind of had me wrapped around her finger since day one. I’m pretty sure fighting over a nutcracker with her and getting tossed in the drunk tank for a night may have been the best thing that has ever happened to me. I never stood a chance.”

He chuckles. “I knew the day you sat in my bar that you were a goner. Hell, you didn’t even know it then.”

The band switches to “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” and that’s my cue.

“Sorry, man, gotta go dance with my girl.”

“Go, go. Stop by the bar next week so we can catch up now that you’re off party-planning duty.”

With a nod, I leave him and make my way across the barn to Emma and Quinn. I slide my hand around her hip, and she jumps in surprise.

“Hi.” I grin. “Sorry to interrupt, Quinn. Can I steal Emma away for a dance?”

Quinn’s eyebrow rises, and she nods, clearly shocked that the two of us aren’t at each other’s throats.

I told Emma I was done hiding, and I meant it. The means here, at our party, I want to dance with her and drown out the damn world.

Turning to her, I ask, “Can I have this dance?” and offer her my hand.

She slides her palm into mine, and I whisk her away to the edge of the dance floor, choosing a less crowded spot in the back so we can talk. Her hands clasp behind my neck as we slowly sway to the music, my arms tight around her waist, pressing her against me. Thankfully, her parents are on the far side of the barn, so we’re hidden from their view by the crowd. They’ve been at a table in the corner all night, not trying to hide their distaste for being here.

“You know, I never got to tell you how beautiful you look tonight,” I murmur.

She grins cheekily. “Oh! That’s right, you didn’t. But I mean, if you want to tell me now… I’m listening.”

“That mouth.” I lean forward, nipping at her lips as she squeals quietly against my mouth. When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed red from laughing, those painted red lips parted. “I can’t stop looking at you, Snowflake. That dress, hugging all of your curves… the red on your lips, the happiness in your eyes. But even without anything else, just you… you’re the most beautiful girl in this room, without question.”

“Are you… trying to get in my pants, Jackson Pearce?” she responds, and I can’t help the laugh that falls from my lips.

This. Girl.

“That depends. How am I doing?”

Her hands tighten in the hair at my nape, and she rises on her toes, pulling me down to her lips. Just before they brush mine, she whispers, “I’d say your chances are looking preeeetttttty good.”

“Um… sorry to interrupt.”

We both pull back to see Mark from the hardware store standing there with red cheeks, looking extremely embarrassed to have interrupted the two of us.

“Mark? Is everything okay?” Emma says as she takes a step back.

Mark scratches his head and scrunches his nose. “Well, I mean, I guess that depends on who you ask, really? Uh… there might be a bit of a disagreement happening over by the bar area.”

Emma freezes, her eyes going wide as panic floods her face. “Shit,” she curses, then brushes past Mark.

I follow after her, throwing a sorry over my shoulder.

The scene is apparently only beginning to unfold as we both stop in front of the bar. Jensen and Dad are having words with Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, and I can feel the tension escalating heavily in the air.

Fuck. I was hoping this wouldn’t happen.

“Yeah, well, it seems like you got exactly what you wanted, then, doesn’t it?” Emma’s dad snorts, turning his nose up even higher if that were at all possible, and I do not foresee this ending well.

Jensen shakes his head before retorting, “Right, like we had something to do with the twenty-five-year-old furnace going out. That thing hasn’t been used in years, and trust me, I’m pretty sure I can speak for everyone in my family when I say that we want you here about as much as you want to be here.”

Emma stiffens as we move our gaze from one side of the argument to the other.

Her dad’s face is turning redder by the second, and even Mrs. Worthington trying to placate him is not helping. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you sabotaged it, just like your family has for years! Don’t act like this is the first time one of you has done something just to spite our family.”

“And your hands are clean?” my dad adds, questioning in his tone. I think he’s trying not to fuel this argument, but his words are terse and his lips flatten into a line as he bites his tongue.

“Cleaner than yours,” Mr. Worthington says. “I mean, if it wasn’t for your son, then my daughter wouldn’t be forced to put this entire thing together or end up in jail or with a damn criminal record!”

The band has completely stopped playing, and the entire room has gone eerily quiet. Not only are our families having a fight in the middle of a party Emma and I have worked our asses off to make happen, but the entire town has a front-row seat to our drama. Again.