Chapter 4: A Balls Up

The next day the cleaned dish reappeared on the sheriff's desk with a snooty note. "You think I can be bought with an inferior clone of a dish I created myself? Perhaps you should quit your kitchen plagiarism while you're behind. R."

Well. Emma had stared at the note for a full half hour before concluding she was officially bummed out. Not the reaction she'd been expecting at all. But when did Regina ever do the expected?

She only knew two original recipes she was any good at. One, the spag bol, she'd already offered. The other, absurdly, was rumballs. One of her foster mothers had always asked her to help her with it each Christmas.

She frowned and pondered whether a rumball offering would be considered ridiculous or acceptable. Her eyes flicked to the calendar. Well it was almost mid-December. Maybe she could get some festive-themed brownie points?

But still, rumballs were pretty commonplace. Regina had specifically called her out on her unoriginality. So…

That evening she rummaged through her box of crap in her bedroom and pulled out the old rumball recipe. It was coated in dust and god knows what else, but after patting it down she could still read it.

Maybe she could tweak it a little? Add a little original zhuzh that Her Majesty might approve of? And then it hit her. She could substitute the rum with something she knew the mayor approved of very much.

She flipped open her phone and texted Henry.

"Can u smugl me a botle of ur moms aple cider?"

He texted back immediately. "Why?"

"New recpe im trying."

"Still? Mom's still mad u stole her lasagne recipe."

"I didn't steel it! I borowed!"

"OK well it was her special thing she was super proud of and u got hold of it and gave it back to her like it was yours."

Oh. When he put it like that…

"Geez, lesson lerned. Look can u get me her cidr or not?"

"Yes."

"Good. Meet u before scool 2morw"

"Your spelling really sucks."

"yeah yeah. thankz kid"

Emma had spent a good three hours preparing her soon-to-be-famous ciderballs - original recipe - and hoped this time the mayor would be more forgiving. After all it had both Regina's booze and Emma's recipe – what's not to love?

Before she could deliver it though, her phone beeped with a new text.

"Miss Swan, would you care to tell me why you've involved my son in a furtive alcohol heist?"

Oh fuck.

Rather than reply - mindful of her atrocious spelling, she hit dial.

"Not exactly a heist - and it was for my next offering for you," Emma began breathlessly, without so much as a hello.

Regina humphed her displeasure. "Imagine my surprise at finding one of the bottles gone from my best vintage. I was wondering if I had a burglar with a refined palate until Henry admitted his part in your nefarious cider-boosting scam."

"Well I'm hoping the finished result will speak for itself."

"What? Moving from recipe plagiarism to liquor theft? You have been enterprising, dear. I suppose you'd better bring it around. If my son is to embark on a life of crime it had better be for a good cause."

"Oh it is."

Ten minutes later Emma passed over her tray of ciderballs and watched hopefully as Regina examined them with an expert eye and then peeled back the plastic wrap. Her nostrils flared. And not in a good way.

"Miss Swan," she asked in genuine confusion, "Just how much cider did you use? These smell like you emptied in the entire distillery!"

"Uh, just what the recipe called for," Emma said slowly, thinking back. Now the plastic wrap had come off, and the Christmas treats were out of the fridge and had been warming up a little, they did seem to have more kick.

She leaned in closer for a whiff and reeled back. Holy shit! By comparison Grumpy's breath seemed less toxic after an all-night bender. She felt around her pocket for the original recipe and pulled it out, as Regina gamely popped one of the coconut-covered balls in her mouth.

"See," Emma said in relief as she held up the paper and pointed. "12 cups."

Regina's eyes had grown progressively wider as she chewed. She shoved the plate back at Emma and rushed inside, coughing.

Five minutes later, brown eyes watering and red-rimmed, the mayor re-emerged, a half-empty bottle of water clutched in one trembling hand.

"Show me that recipe again," Regina snapped, her voice gravelly from excessive coughing.

"It actually says 12 tsps'!" Regina accused. Her manicured fingernail flicked at some gunk on the page. "There was dirt over the 'ts' that made you read it as a 'cu'."

She slapped the recipe back at her in annoyance. "And my cider is at least five times more potent than whatever generic brand of rum you'd normally swill into a rumball recipe."

Emma's face dropped. "Hey, I'm trying here!"

"Miss Swan, if you were really 'trying' you would have tasted your product first before gifting it to me."

Emma blinked a few times, mentally slapping herself that she had indeed forgotten a rather basic fundamental of cooking.

"But there's no time like the present," Regina suddenly said, a disturbing gleam entering her eye. "Here, dear, have a ciderball."

Regina bent down and plucked one from the tray which was now resting on the top step, and passed it over to Emma.

The mayor's fingers grabbed Emma's hand, smoothly flipping it, and dropped the coconutty concoction into it. Emma felt the warmth lingering even after Regina's hand withdrew and her brow knitted in confusion at the sensation. What the hell?

Regina was staring at her expectantly, eyes almost dancing with anticipation.

How bad could it be? Emma popped the ball onto her tongue and chomped down once. Immediately her mouth exploded into fire. Scorching. Holy fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Jesus, dear God. BURNING! Oh hell. NUCLEAR MELTDOWN HEAT! NEED WATER.

She grabbed the bottled water still in the mayor's hand and began to glug.

When she finally stopped swallowing and dropped her head back to level, she saw the amusement twinkling in brown eyes. Regina's lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.

"Has it occurred to you, dear, with all your grand dishes that you're overthinking things? Have you never heard of the saying: 'Keep it simple?'." Regina quirked an eyebrow. "In fact given the cook involved, it might be preferable, don't you think?"

"Hey," Emma wheezed, still trying to get her taste buds back to feeling something beyond molten lava flow. She also felt faintly woozy. In fact was she swaying? Or was it Regina?

"Was that a crack about me being simple?" she gasped out.

Regina smirked. "If the shoe fits." She stepped back inside and closed the door.

Emma looked at her feet where the balls sat on the tray and contemplated whether to donate them to a disgruntled anarchy group for molotov cocktails, or just hand them to Grumpy. She realised perhaps the bin would be better, and deposited them in Regina's on the way past.

Now she was convinced there was serious swaying occurring and she knew she wasn't quite right to drive. So – a walk. To clear her head and consider Regina's words.

"Keep it simple", she'd suggested. Fine. But keep what simple?

Hmm.

Regina ate regularly at Granny's, she knew, so she abruptly changed direction and reeled towards the diner