Emma had gotten there early enough to give Regina a hand with the massive amount of food, but given her mediocre skills in the kitchen, she'd been relegated to sous chef duties only. That was fine with her, honestly. She might not have an eye for spices, but she could chop, snap, and stir with the best of them.

With Regina in such high spirits, and the warm, homey scents of good food filling the whole apartment, it was easy to find the holiday spirit (even if Emma had been very, very insistent that they distance themselves from the actual origins of the holiday). She even accepted a glass of apple cider from Regina to go with her pie (pecan, not apple--for Emma, pretty much all apple pastries were forever ruined) and found a spot on the couch to curl up after the food had been demolished. She should've probably offered to help with dishes. Maybe she would in a minute. But for the moment she felt too full and sleepy and content to uncurl from the cozy spot she'd claimed as her own.