Recipe for Disaster
Walking to Granny's on foot (even though she could drive the few blocks, but that method would provide no exercise and definitely no room to think) on one of her regular 'coffee walks', Regina has just turned the corner at the end of the street when she comes face to face with another unfamiliar sight. Those seem to follow Emma Swan around wherever she goes. Her train of thought, which was up until now passing through a valley of Gold seems to think he has some kind of influence in this town right next to Henry needs to focus more on biology and less on the anatomy of unicorns, comes to a sudden halt as she takes in the image. It's no one other than Emma Swan, the person that likes to occupy her thoughts too so very often with her constant imbecile remarks and inability to not stick her nose where it doesn't belong. Normally, that wouldn't be too much of an issue, but it becomes one when the blonde Sheriff - unsuspicious of the mayor watching her every move from afar - hops onto the stranger's bike.
The first thing Regina thinks is that the bike looks like it's jumped out of a not too critically acclaimed 60's movie, and that Emma and the one it belongs to complement each other perfectly with their horrible taste.
The second thing Regina thinks is that this is the same man who's not only been in her son's presence much more than she would like, but now he's also befriending Emma Swan, who seems to have forgotten that she was asked to investigate his motives. She can't help but smell a conspiracy brewing.
The third thing Regina thinks is how inappropriate it is that her arms are wrapped around the mysterious man's waist. Emma is beginning to trust him way too much way too soon and Regina deems that unfit for her position. This entire affair is a recipe for disaster.
Last but not least, as the motor rumbles and the two disappear behind the antiquarian bookstore, Regina's brain wonders - without her meaning for it to or even allowing it - what it would feel like to be in the stranger's place, to have those slender arms circling her own waist, holding onto her own body. And then something akin to a $50 fork stabs somewhere underneath her ribs.
Unable to accept such an uprising from her own mind, Regina curses under her breath - or what they call cursing in this world, anyway - and turns on her heel, a sullen stormy cloud hovering above her head. She's just lost her appetite.