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It had been four days since the tasting in the kitchen. Four days since Victoria had looked at her like she wanted to devour her. They hadn't kissed. They hadn't even touched, save for a few accidental brushes of shoulders in the hallway. But the air between them had changed. The animosity was gone, replaced by a simmering tension that was driving Emma out of her mind.

Victoria was doing it on purpose. Emma was certain of it.

Case in point: the shirt. Victoria had clearly abandoned her strict New York wardrobe. Today she was wearing a fitted striped Breton shirt. For some torturous reason, she had left the top three buttons undone. Every time she leaned forward to check her screen, the neckline shifted, exposing the delicate line of her collarbone.

Emma was going to have a heart attack before the festival even started.

"Do these need the wax inserts now, or later?" Harry asked, holding up a lopsided box.

"Later, Harry, thank you," Emma managed to say, hoping her voice sounded normal.

From the armchair, Victoria shifted. She closed the laptop with a click and pulled her glasses off, slipping them into the breast pocket of the shirt. Her eyes caught Emma’s across the room. A knowing, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of Victoria's mouth. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew Emma had been staring.

Emma felt a furious blush creeping up her neck. She folded another box, flattening the cardboard with unnecessary force. Victoria stood up, picking up her ringing phone from the side table. "I need to take this. Excuse me."

She walked out of the sitting room. The second the door clicked shut, Lucy dropped her box on the table and leaned forward.

"Okay. What the actual hell was that?" Lucy hissed, pointing a finger at the door.

Emma blinked, feigning total innocence. "What was what?"

"Do not play dumb with me, Emma," Lucy whispered, glancing at the Caldwells before lowering her voice. "The two of you were practically undressing each other with your eyeballs. Since when does she look at you like that?"

"I wasn't looking at her like anything," Emma lied, her cheeks burning hot. "I was looking at the fire."

"You were looking down her shirt dear," Martha Caldwell chimed in, not even looking up from the box she was folding.

Emma choked on her saliva, dissolving into a coughing fit. Nate reached over and thumped her on the back, looking highly amused.

"I— Martha—" Emma sputtered.

"Oh, don't mind me," Martha said, tucking a flap of cardboard into place. "I have eyes. And frankly, if I weren't straight and married to Harry for forty years, I'd have a go at that myself. The woman is striking. And she smells like fresh lavender and orange blossoms! "

"Hear, hear," Harry agreed.

Emma wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow her. "Please. I am begging all of you to stop talking."

"No, we are not stopping," Lucy insisted. "Did you sleep with her? Again?! We're getting along for the festival, my foot."

"We called a truce!" Emma hissed, panic lacing her tone. "That's it."

"Right. A truce," Lucy mocked. "Is that why she’s wearing that indecent shirt? Because I saw her staring on Tuesday morning while you reached for the top shelf at the shop. The woman totally forgot how to speak."

Nate took pity on Emma, pushing a stack of boxes toward the center of the table. "Leave her alone, Luce. Speaking of stress, how was your date with Trevor last night?"

Lucy’s expression soured. She slumped back against the cushions, groaning. "Do not speak his name. I am traumatized."

Emma grasped the lifeline with both hands. "Was it that bad? I thought Mrs. Marble said he was a gentleman."

"Mrs. Marble is a liar," Lucy declared. "He took me to the pub. Which is fine. But he didn't buy me a pint. He ordered one packet of crisps and asked the bartender to divide it into two bowls. Two bowls, Emma. For fairness, he said."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Frugal lad."

"I am giving up," Lucy announced, throwing her hands in the air. "I want what Emma has. I want a New Yorker who looks at me like I'm the main course."

The door swung open. Victoria stepped into the room, her phone in hand. She paused. Her gaze swept over the group. Nate was biting his lip. The Caldwells looked interested. Lucy was frozen with her hands in the air. Emma was glowing the color of a tomato.

"Did I interrupt something?" Victoria asked, her eyes locking onto Emma with a spark of amusement.