Snowed In At Snowflake B&B: The perfect heartwarming Christmas romance to curl up with in 2020!

by Kellie Hailes

  There was no flirtation, no interest on Reuben’s side, and even if there was she wouldn’t be returning the interest. Men could be great and all, her brothers were proof of that – kind, caring, attentive. They treated their mum like a queen. And, despite their banter, the love between the siblings ran deep. But getting involved with a man? Marrying a man? Being chained to a person who could make your life miserable with a look? Let alone a tonal change of their voice? Or worse? Hell. No.

  Sam set the knife down, tonged the meat onto the platter alongside the roast vegetables, then hefted it up and made her way to the dining room.

  It didn’t matter that sometimes she wished she had someone to cuddle on cold nights. Or someone who would listen to her worries and woes, while withholding judgement. Or someone to tell her she was beautiful on the days she felt anything but. She’d attempted having a boyfriend, once, and after a few months it had become apparent that it was safer to stay single. To be independent. To keep every part of her self to herself.

  She fixed a smile to her face as she entered the dining room and set the platter down in the centre of the table. Through lowered lashes she took in the mood of the table. On one side sat Harry and Matilda, his arm thrown around her shoulder as he laughed at something she’d just said. Their heads angled towards each other in the subconscious way of people who adored and were in tune with each other. On the other side sat Stefan and Flo, each staring straight ahead. Flo’s arms crossed tightly across her chest, her face pale, her lips pinched. Stefan’s hand was clutched around a glass of beer like it was giving him life. His gaze firmly on the empty plate in front of him.

  Miserable sod.

  Sam gave herself a mental shake. Who was she to judge Stefan? She barely knew him. Perhaps social occasions made him uncomfortable. Or silence. The room really needed some music.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Sam jumped as Reuben’s mellifluous voice brushed past her ear.

  She looked up to see him manoeuvring around her, a bottle of Bordeaux in one hand, Pinot Gris in the other.

  ‘Wine?’ He showed the selection to Matilda then poured her a red with ease. Then continued on to Harry.

  So he wasn’t completely without social graces after all. Good. There was hope for him yet.

  She set down the platter and made her way to the credenza where a small stereo was kept, found a soothing jazz CD and set it going. The air filling with the sound of tinkling piano, chilled bass and a smooth drum loop.

  ‘Nice choice.’ Reuben smiled at her as he set the wine down on the table and took his seat at its head. ‘I remember my grandmother playing this when I’d stay with her. She and my grandfather would dance around the sitting room to it. I used to think their display of affection was sick-making, but now when I look back I love that they still loved each other enough to dance together.’

  As soon as the words were out he ducked his head, hiding his expression, and Sam got the feeling Reuben was embarrassed, or had somehow caught himself off guard. Like he’d said too much or revealed more than he wanted to about himself. Was he ashamed of having a romantic side? Of seeing the good in others? Or maybe he didn’t think it suited his thriller author persona to be so touched by something so simple?

  Sam pushed her musings and Reuben’s reaction out of her mind as she saw the food sitting untouched on the table. Cold food had the potential to raise people’s ire, and that was the last thing she wanted. ‘Well, dig in. We don’t want the meal to go cold or for you all to starve.’

  A flurry of hands followed and soon the table was sitting in comfortable silence. The click of cutlery filling the air, along with the odd slurp of wine, and grunt or mmmm of appreciation.

  Before long stomachs began to fill and conversation entered the room again.

  ‘So, Reuben, I noticed the lack of Christmas decorations…’ Matilda’s words were slow, like she was afraid of offending. ‘Which was surprising as some of the photos on the B&B website we booked on were very Christmassy, as was our experience of Snowflake when we first came here.’

  Reuben set his knife and fork down, his eyes widening in what looked a heck of a lot like embarrassment and, going by his renewed flush of cheeks, panic.

  ‘Oh. Well. Er…’ Reuben glanced up at the ceiling like it would have the answer he was looking for.

  Good luck with that, Sam thought. She’d never known a ceiling to talk.

  Drawn-out seconds passed.

  ‘Yeah, this place is very un-Christmassy, now that you mention it,’ Stefan piped up. ‘We were expecting fairy lights and wreaths and dinky decorations all over the place. Not this. I’ve half a mind to ask for a discount. False advertising and all that.’

  ‘Stefan, don’t be so rude,’ Flo hissed as she elbowed his side.

  Elbowed him? Sam was tempted to pull out some of the wrestling moves she and her brothers had used on each other growing up. What Flo saw in Stefan she had no idea. She made a mental note to slip her some extra homemade chocolates as a subtle thank you for putting him in his place.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ she found herself saying before she thought through her plan. ‘I was meant to be here a few days earlier but I had something come up, so we were thinking…’ Sam clapped her hands together and drew in a long breath using the time to come up with a plan… ‘that it would be great fun to have a Christmas competition of sorts. Where we split up into teams and decorate a tree each and a room each. There’s loads of decorations up in the loft as the previous owners would decorate differently every year, so we won’t be stuck with rooms that look all the same. It’ll be easy to express ourselves.’

  ‘I like this idea, very much!’ Matilda’s hands were clutched at her chest. ‘It’ll be so much fun, don’t you think, Harry?’

  ‘We’re going to wipe the floor with this lot,’ Harry agreed.

  ‘Please tell me there are pink decorations?’ Flo bounced up and down on her chair.

  ‘There are. We had a hens’ weekend here one Christmas, and Matilda was very excited to pink the place up.’ Sam smiled at Flo, glad that her time at Snowflake B&B wouldn’t be completely miserable.

  ‘If it’s a competition, what do we win?’

  The question had come, unsurprisingly given his fondness for gaming and football, from Stefan, who – for the first time since he’d set foot in Snowflake B&B – looked almost excited.

  ‘An excellent question.’ Reuben spoke up. ‘The winner will receive a bottle of champagne and a complimentary stay in summer, where you’ll be able to enjoy the grounds more than you can now.’

  ‘You mean we’d have to come back?’ Stefan flopped back into his chair. ‘Could we just have the champagne?’

  ‘Stefan. Listen to yourself.’ Flo went to elbow him once more but Stefan twitched away at the last moment.

  His petulant expression transformed into one of contrition. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s a very generous offer.’

  ‘Very generous indeed,’ echoed Matilda. ‘So when do we begin? Now? And who gets what room? And where are the trees coming from?’

  ‘We’ll draw the rooms from a hat – I’m thinking the sitting room, this room and the kitchen as they’re the rooms where we’ll be spending the most time together.’ Reuben looked over at Sam as if waiting her approval.

  She gave him a subtle nod to go ahead.

  ‘And I’ll go out tomorrow and chop down the trees. Harry, Stefan, would you mind helping me? Hopefully there’ll be a break in the weather.’

  ‘Absolutely, lad.’ Harry rubbed his hands together. ‘Love a good traipse in the snow I do.’

  Stefan’s head shook so violently Sam expected it to fly off. ‘Sorry. No. I don’t do the great outdoors. Count me out.’

  The temptation to roll her eyes was real, but in the spirit of being professional she managed to keep her eyeballs under control. ‘And if the snow’s still sheeting down there are fake trees we can use.’ Sam picked up her glass of wine and brought it to her lips. ‘I better warn yo
u, I’ve worked here for years, hung out around here longer than that, and I know all the tricks.’

  Matilda’s bawdy laugh filled the room. ‘You may know all the tricks, but I’ve got years of experience.’

  ‘And, despite my wearing boring old jeans and a navy jumper, I’m quite creative.’ Flo grinned, her green eyes dancing. ‘Don’t let the façade fool you.’

  ‘And I’m creative too.’ Stefan straightened up in his chair, not noticing the look of irritation Flo shot in his direction. ‘I work in advertising as a designer. Creativity is my speciality.’

  Sam stared at the couple, puzzled by their being together. Stefan was such hard work and more often than not seemed annoyed when in Flo’s company, which was odd as Flo seemed so nice. She was beginning to wonder if Stefan used words and emotions to control Flo, as her father had to control her mother, his family. But then if that were the case Flo would be too fearful to stand up for herself, let alone to elbow his side or remind him of his manners…

  Sam shrugged. Flo and Stefan’s relationship wasn’t her business, but she made a mental note to have a chat with Flo if she saw Stefan be continually rude or dismissive to her. No woman deserved that, or ought to put up with it either.

  ‘Well, it seems competition will be stiff.’ Reuben scraped his chair back, picked up his glass of wine and stood. ‘Now, how about we retire to the sitting room in order to draw rooms and perhaps even strategise? Sam, would you mind serving dessert in there? I know it’s not the most formal of settings, but I think on such a wretched night it’ll be nice and cosy to sit in front of the fire, don’t you agree?’

  Sam made to stand but stopped short as the room plunged into near darkness. The only light emanating from the candles at either end of the table.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a power cut,’ Reuben announced.

  Through the gloom his eyes met Sam’s. Despite the distance she could see his helplessness. He no more knew what to do in the event of a power cut at the manor than he knew how to run a business.

  Luckily for him, she did.

  ‘Right, you all stay here.’ She pulled her mobile out and turned on the torch. ‘I’ll set up the living room with candles, then I’ll come back with torches so you don’t have to waste your mobile’s battery on the torch function, then we can head in and enjoy the self-saucing pudding, which should be ready to pull out of the oven, with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream in front of a crackling fire. Good plan?’

  Murmurs of agreement were peppered with sighs of relief. She dared allow a surge of happiness to warm her heart. If Reuben could see how much she was needed, how much he needed her, maybe… hopefully… Sam would find herself a more permanent fixture.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Reuben pulled his mobile out of his trouser pocket, his heart sinking as it did whenever the screen didn’t show a phone call from the estate agent. Surely a home and business like this would be of interest to someone, anyone – especially at the price he was willing to take.

  ‘Are you expecting an important call?’ Sam met his gaze as she placed napkin-encased spoons to the side of the serving tray, alongside the bowls of steaming chocolate pudding, around which melting ice cream was creating a moat. ‘You look at that thing more often than I check the contents of the cupboard and, by the way, we’d better hope the weather clears sooner rather than later or we’ll be getting the skis out of storage.’

  He swallowed hard as he realised Sam hadn’t been joking about skiing into the village for supplies. ‘I thought you were having a laugh about the skiing.’

  ‘Not even remotely. That’s why Millicent always kept the cupboards full. It’s not a fun job, and it’s a job for someone who can carry more than I, which would be you.’

  He slipped his mobile away. ‘You’ll just have to stretch the food out like you said you could, because I’m no skier. Also, I’m not waiting on a phone call.’ The white lie slipped out easily. There was no point sharing his plans for the business when there wasn’t even an offer on the table. ‘I’m just checking the time. I don’t think anyone can ring through anyway. There’s no service.’

  Sam checked her own mobile. ‘Bloody hell, you’re right. This snowstorm’s worse than I expected. Power outages happen, which is why there’s a generator available for the kitchen to keep the food and hot drink side of things ticking over, but usually the mobiles don’t get knocked out.’

  ‘Except for when they do? Hence the reason these old-fashioned corded clunkers are still in residence?’

  ‘You’ve got it, and don’t think by saying you’re not much of a skier that you’ve gotten out of getting us food if things get really bad. I’m a whiz in the kitchen, but if the guests end up here for more than a week we could be serving up oats for breakfast, lunch and dinner.’

  Reuben shuddered at the thought. ‘Do you think Stefan knows how to ski?’

  ‘I think even if he did he’d say he didn’t in order to get out of it.’ Sam rolled her eyes. ‘God, that felt good. I’ve been wanting to do that since he refused to chop down the trees tomorrow.’

  ‘He’s an interesting one.’ Reuben lifted a tray up and hooked his thumb over the torch set to the side of it in order to keep it steady as they made their way to the sitting room. ‘So, are we facing a potential disaster here?’

  ‘Are you asking if your reviews are going to get worse than what they already are?’ Sam’s tongue protruded from the side of her cheek as her eyes sparkled mischievously in the torchlight. ‘I don’t think it’s possible. But I do think we have the opportunity to create a memorable experience.’

  Not waiting for his reply she bypassed him and strode confidently down the hall and into the sitting room, leaving him to trail in carefully behind her.

  ‘Right, you lot—’ Sam set the tray down on the coffee table ‘—grab a bowl, tuck yourself up with a rug from the basket to the side of the fireplace and, in the spirit of Christmas, why don’t we tell each other our favourite Christmas memory while we eat?’

  Reuben picked up a bowl and settled into the leather wingback chair. Nerves tangled tight in his stomach as he sifted through his memories for a Christmas memory worthy of sharing. Christmases with Elise had been perfectly fine. They would enjoy a champagne breakfast, exchange gifts, then she would spend the day video-calling her family who were scattered around the globe pursuing careers and raising families, while he would go back to his office to get his word count in for the day. Before that he’d suffered through family Christmases, where people were overly excited, and only got louder the more eggnog and mulled wine they slung back, then as soon as was respectable he would retire to another room to read.

  ‘Reuben? Would you like to start since you’re the host?’ Sam smiled at him in a polite manner that smacked of ‘you can’t say no, so say something’.

  ‘Well, er.’ He stirred some of the chocolate sauce through the vanilla puddle and watched it become a milk chocolate colour. Just like that the story came to him. ‘There was this one Christmas when I was all of six, if I remember rightly, that my mother was given one of those massive Cadbury Milk Trays. The moment I saw it I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My mother wasn’t big on letting me have treats, said it would rot my brain and my teeth, which of course meant they were all I wanted. So while the adults spent the afternoon rubbing their bellies and groaning or taking naps – being soporific in general – I stole away with the box of chocolates, opened them, and ate every single one. Well, apart from the nutty ones. Those I took a bite of and then spat them out. Terrible. Nuts and chocolate don’t go together.’ Reuben spooned a chunk of pudding and ice cream into his mouth and swallowed. ‘Chocolate and vanilla ice cream, however, absolutely do. This is brilliant, Sam. Thank you.’

  Sam waved his compliment away, but her cheeks flushed – although that could have been down to the heat from the roaring fire. ‘What happened when they discovered your treachery?’

  ‘Nothing. I think my mother decided my sore stomach and r
emorseful little face were punishment enough. She did hide all future gifts of chocolate though.’ Reuben shook his head at the memory. ‘Not that she had to, I’ve not touched a chocolate box since.’

  His guests laughed and he felt his pulse slow. He was in the clear, he’d done his bit, now he could sit back and let the others’ stories wash over him.

  Matilda turned to Harry. ‘That reminds me of the time we found our lot down the bottom of the garden on Christmas morning with the big bowl of trifle I’d made for dessert. Three spoons. Three giggly children.’

  ‘Giggly? Don’t you mean tipsy.’ Harry grimaced. ‘And one grumpy husband – your trifle was the highlight of my Christmas day.’

  ‘You fed your kids an alcoholic dessert?’ Stefan’s lip was curled in disgust. ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘We planned to feed them the child-friendly version that Matilda also made,’ explained Harry in a patient tone usually reserved for small children. ‘Except the little blighters stole the adult-friendly version – which Matilda here was known for being very generous with when it came to pouring in the sherry.’ He shook his head fondly. ‘We spent a good chunk of Christmas rubbing their backs while they vomited it all up.’

  ‘Maybe not the best Christmas ever, but certainly the most memorable.’ Matilda wrapped her hand over Harry’s and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Absolutely the most memorable,’ agreed Harry. ‘Although if we’re stuck here until Christmas Day that could well change.’

  Reuben cringed at the thought. All those extra mouths to feed – that it would be wrong to charge for since this weather was no fault of their own – he crossed his fingers and hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Sam might be able to stretch out the food they did have, but that was not a challenge he wished for her to have to undertake. That, and he had no desire to attempt a skiing shopping trip.

  ‘What about you, Sam?’ Flo set her spoon down in her already empty bowl. ‘Do you have a Christmas memory you’d care to share?’

  Sam hesitated, and for a split second Reuben was sure he saw fear in her eyes. She blinked and the expression was gone, replaced with the twinkle she carried with her as she went about her day.