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

by Kellie Hailes

  Harry’s lips quirked to the side. ‘Who said I was talking about you and your ex-wife? Second chances take many forms. Perhaps if you look at what went wrong last time, you can figure out how to make it better next time?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Reuben nodded, but didn’t pay much heed to the advice. He’d learned his lesson – he’d given his heart to a woman and she’d taken his words. He wouldn’t let that happen again.

  ‘Here you go, lad.’ Harry offered the axe back. ‘I’ll take these two. Will you be right with the last one?’

  Reuben tried not to take offence, but it was hard not to. Did he really come across as that useless? That ineffectual that he couldn’t drag two trees back to the house?

  ‘I’m fine. You keep the axe. I’ve got these.’

  Shaking the snow off the boughs he began the slog home, his teeth gritted in a smile the whole way. As much because he refused to show how every muscle in his body was strained and begged to be left alone, as because he didn’t want Harry to know their conversation had got to him. That he was facing a disturbing fact – that he was in the wrong. That he was so busy loving his work he didn’t know how to love another person.

  ‘Finally. We thought you’d gotten lost, or worse, done some bodily damage with a little help from the axe and a lot of help from an unpractised swing.’ Sam bustled up to Reuben, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she went. ‘Do you need a hand putting them up? I’ve pulled out the stands. Well, all two of them. We’ve never had three trees before. Usually just the one in the sitting room and one in the drawing room. But I’ve emptied out the copper bucket used for firewood. Figured it would do for the third stand, and we could fill it with wood to help steady the tree. Now, would you like a hot chocolate? You must need one after being out there. I’m truly amazed you’re not limbless.’

  ‘Limbless by axe or cold.’ He tutted and shook his head, half in amusement, half in amazement at how Sam always seemed to be three steps ahead of everyone else. ‘Honestly, for such a ray of sunshine, you do have a dark side, Sam.’

  ‘It’s my reading habits, remember?’ Sam placed her hands on her hips and frowned. ‘And I’m not sure about this “ray of sunshine” business, here I was going for “force of nature”.’

  ‘Can’t you be both?’ Reuben followed her retreating form deeper into the kitchen and took a seat at the island, where gingerbread men were cooling on racks.

  He reached out to take one and was stopped by a light slap on his hand.

  ‘Oi. Not for you. Not yet.’ Sam’s brows rose, matching her fierce gaze. ‘I have a plan for those.’

  ‘Definitely a force of nature.’ Reuben slid his hands between his thighs and the seat so as not to be tempted or hand-slapped again.

  Sam wrinkled her nose in that cute way of hers, then lifted a saucepan and tipped its contents into a mug, dabbed it with a spoonful of whipped cream and sprinkled chocolate powder on top. ‘There you go. Enjoy.’

  Reuben took a sip under her watchful eyes. They held the same guarded look about them as they had the day before when she’d been ready to accept marching orders he’d not planned to give. It was like Sam spent her life waiting to be cast off, to be let go, to be rejected… Or was he just projecting? Seeing himself in her?

  He set the mug down with a mental shake of his head. It was the season, his divorce, his failures as a husband and, potentially, as an author rearing their head, bringing up feelings he preferred to forget. He needed to ignore them. Focus on the here and now, on what he could control. What he could change.

  ‘So? You like it?’ Sam’s chest lifted as she waited for his answer.

  ‘Beyond delicious.’ Reuben found a smile that he hoped would erase the worry in Sam’s eyes. ‘Far better than the packet variety. I half-wonder if I could hire you just to make me hot chocolate whenever I wanted. You’d have to live here of course, and be available 24/7.’

  Her chest relaxed and her eyes brightened in a way that told Reuben Sam was taking him seriously. Too seriously. There was no way he could afford a full-time cook. And no way he wanted anyone living in his space all the time either. He had to defuse this, and quickly. In a way that wouldn’t upset Sam.

  He waved his hand airily about. ‘But then, I couldn’t possibly deprive the people you make meals for. They’d hunt me down and do away with me for stealing their meals-on-wheels woman. Beat me to death with their canes. And we couldn’t have that.’

  Sam’s smile faltered, became more polite, less real. ‘No, we couldn’t have that.’ She turned her back and began setting up more mugs. ‘Better get a hot chocolate ready for when Harry’s back from getting changed. What a trouper going out there to help you out, unlike Stefan who’s been hogging the Aga all morning while complaining about the lack of power and internet. Honestly, I’m so glad I sent him out to get more wood – it’s the only break I’ve had all morning from his moaning.’

  ‘Who’s been moaning?’ Matilda entered the kitchen, arm in arm with Flo. The two women had taking a liking to each other having discovered a mutual love of Scrabble, and had been holed up in the sitting room playing game after game.

  ‘Oh, just me. Moaning about how I’d love to drink hot chocolate all day and night but a small sense of self-preservation stops me from doing so. Speaking of, would you like one?’ Sam waved a mug in the air, then went to work filling it when Matilda and Flo gave her a double dose of enthusiastic nodding.

  Reuben hid a grin as he took a long sip of his drink. He had to admire Sam’s quick thinking. Had he been sprung like that he’d have gone beet red and stammered his way into an excuse. One that would be as obvious as the high colour in his cheeks. He made a mental note to thank her, then turned his attention to the back door that was now open, allowing frigid air to whip through the kitchen, cutting the warm air like one of Sam’s knives.

  ‘I can’t believe you had me lug in all this wood.’

  Stefan’s eyes were mutinous as he entered the kitchen, and Reuben bet his lips were tight and mean. Not that he could see them as they were hidden by the pile of firewood.

  ‘Buck up, son. It’s just a bit of wood and wind.’ Harry entered the kitchen and jogged over to take the load off Stefan.

  ‘Wood and wind. And snow. And wet. And miserableness,’ Stefan grumped as he stomped through the kitchen towards the sitting room with his reduced load, Harry in tow.

  Flo shook her head and let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘He’s not usually this horrid, honest. He’s just… not good at being out of his comfort zone. Likes everything just so.’

  Sam set a mug in front of Flo. ‘As long as he doesn’t take it out on you when things don’t go his way. If he does, come see me. I’ll put him in a headlock and send him packing.’

  Reuben searched for signs Sam was joking, but her eyes were serious, her demeanour even more so. Her protectiveness was endearing, but it also felt misplaced. Over the top. Or maybe, in her experience, it was anything but? Perhaps her quiet fierceness was the result of dealing with a man who took his anger out on those around them? He laughed silently at himself. He was being ridiculous. His writer’s brain was taking things to the extreme as it had a habit of doing.

  The thought cheered him a touch. The words may be missing, but at least his imagination was as vivid as ever.

  Sam’s palms drum-rolled on the island as Harry and Stefan re-entered the kitchen picking bits of bark off their clothing. ‘So? Is it time we thrashed it out? Couple versus couple in a battle of Christmas cheer?’ All hints of her former sobriety disappeared as she danced a jig on the spot. ‘I’d better warn you, when it comes to Christmas I’m all for more is more.’ She turned her attention to Reuben. ‘You with me, Rubes? Are we going to win? Er… Actually, what do we win if we win? It’s not like you need the champagne or the stay – it’s yours anyway. And I’m not much of a drinker, so I don’t want it. And I get to stay here when I work here… assuming you’ll have me back.’

  ‘If you call me Rubes again then you’ll have yo
ur answer on the coming-back front.’ He waggled his brows up and down to show her he was joking. Or at least half-joking.

  Sam drew a cross over her heart with her finger. ‘Promise never to call you that again. I was just trying it out. Seeing if it fits. It fits like too-tight shoes. I’ve thrown that name in the bin already.’ Her hands went to her hips, her shoulders squared in determination. ‘Right, back to the competition… The decorations are in the entranceway. Stefan and Flo, the sitting room is yours. Harry and Matilda, work your magic in the dining room. Reuben and I will be here Christmasifying the kitchen. You’ve got until three this afternoon. May the best man and woman win. On your marks, get set… go!’

  Sam made to run with the guests but Reuben snagged her jumper – a forest green monstrosity featuring a cartoon reindeer and sparkly pompoms that were designed to be a necklace around its neck.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ She attempted to shrug him off.

  ‘We’re being polite by giving them a head start. We’re the hosts. Or, I am. Although you’re doing an excellent job of acting the part. Better than me.’

  Sam ceased struggling. ‘That’s very kind of you to say, and I hope you don’t mind me overstepping my mark. It’s just you look like you need a hand every now and then. Not that you’re doing a terrible job.’

  Her lips settled into a straight line that trembled every now and then.

  ‘You’re a horrible liar. I’m doing a terrifically terrible job, but you’re showing me how to be better.’ Reuben realised his hand was still on Sam’s arm. ‘And I’ve had my hand on you for far too long. Apologies. Not very boss-like of me man-handling my staff.’ He grimaced as he pulled his hand away.

  ‘I hadn’t noticed, and you were hardly man-handling me. Just reining in my enthusiasm for winning. Blame it on being one of three.’ Sam skirted the island, made her way to the tree and hefted it up with a gentle ‘oof’.

  ‘Hold on, Sam, let me give you a hand. I don’t want you hurting yourself.’ Reuben grabbed hold of the tree and held it steady as Sam positioned it in the bucket, then began racing back and forth grabbing wood from the kitchen’s pile and stacking it around the trunk until it was holding itself up.

  ‘There you go. No chance of it tipping over, and now I’ve an excuse to send Stefan out to the woodpile once more.’ Sam shuffled back from the tree and came to stand beside him, a mischievous smile on her face.

  ‘I like your thinking.’

  Sam’s head tipped to face his, her grin growing wider, sending a skitter of something warm, bordering on electric, through him. Nothing to get excited about, he decided. Nothing to overthink. Just a mutual dislike of a person, combined with a shared sense of humour.

  Sam refocused on the tree and tapped her petite chin with her finger. ‘Hmmm, shall we go see what decorations are left over? Fingers crossed it’s not some horrible hotchpotch of colours and themes.’ Sam rubbed her hands over her apron, her eyes squinting as a shudder shook her small frame.

  ‘Anyone would think you were a stickler for order, Sam.’ Reuben meant it as a joke. A funny observation meant to be at odds with her riot of curls and her crazy-patterned socks. Rainbows yesterday, he’d noticed. Today poking out between her jeans and canvas shoes were glittery-horned unicorns.

  Her eyes narrowed further, like she were in pain. Or offended. Reuben couldn’t be quite sure, and he didn’t understand why his joke would hurt her.

  Before he could further enquire, a bright smile was on her face, her shoulders pulled down and back, not unlike a young soldier marching into war: they knew what was to come but weren’t going to let it stop them.

  ‘It’s the cook in me. An organised kitchen is an organised mind. I guess it extends to my tree decorating too.’

  Before he could respond she was striding out of the kitchen towards the entrance. Reuben jogged a couple of steps until he caught up to her. She was already bent over the boxes, rifling through them with an almost manic determination.

  ‘Orange and gold suit you? With a splash of red?’ She didn’t turn to face him, just kept piling decorations into an empty box, like she didn’t even care what his answer was.

  ‘Are we matching the decorations to your hair?’ He squatted beside her and picked up a sequined maroon-red bird with a golden feathered tail.

  Their knees touched, sending a shock up his thigh. He all but frog-leapt to the side to give her space. To give him space. To stop that shock of… whatever it was – static electricity? Opposing electrons? Definitely not attraction, as there was no way he could be attracted to a woman wearing sparkling unicorn socks – from happening again.

  He met Sam’s gaze. Her eyes twinkled in amusement. Her head was angled in a refined manner to one side, revealing a smooth length of skin. Who knew Sam with all her enthusiasm and get-up-and-go could be elegant?

  ‘Er, well, it’s hard not to notice your hair. It’s very… er, there.’ He turned his attention to the box in front of him and made a show of digging around for decorations to match Sam’s colour scheme.

  ‘If I were a teasing kind of person I’d have you on right now for noticing the different shades of my hair. Suggest you had a crush on me, or something like that. Most people just see the orange, not the darker strands of red and the lighter strands of gold.’

  If Reuben could bring himself to look at Sam he’d have bet her lips were quirked to one side as she held in a giggle.

  ‘Well I thank you for not being that kind of person, even if by saying what you just said you kind of are. And, I’ll have you know, that as a writer it’s my job to notice the little details. Little details bump up the word count.’

  ‘And here I was romanticising writers noticing little details. Like they genuinely care about such things, when really you’re just working on making a target.’ Sam let out a dramatic, disappointed sigh.

  Romanticising?

  ‘You were romanticising a thriller writer? You’re a funny one, Sam.’ Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he took the bird and clipped it to the arm of Sam’s ugly Christmas jumper. ‘And now you’re even funnier. That jumper’s awful. All those pompoms. I’m amazed you haven’t caught fire while cooking. In fact, since it’s a fire hazard perhaps you could take it off and torture me no longer with its hideousness?’

  ‘Not on your Nelly. The jumper stays.’ Sam yanked a length of golden tinsel out from a box and flung it around his neck. ‘Besides, who are you to criticise my jumper? Your scarf is terribly inappropriate for this weather. You’ll freeze to death if you go out in it.’

  ‘Well, I promise not to. Wouldn’t want to freeze to death on you. What would you do without me?’ Reuben’s breath caught in his throat. What would Sam do without him?

  Exactly what she was doing. Going about her life, and doing well for herself. She didn’t need him. He meant nothing to her. He was just her boss for a set amount of time.

  ‘Correction. What would I do without you?’

  Sam hefted the box of decorations into her arms and stood. ‘I think you’d be fine without me, Reuben. You’re a smart man – you’d figure this job, this place out.’

  Reuben pushed himself up and took the box from Sam before she could protest. ‘That’s a very kind thing to say, but I think we both know the truth.’

  Before she could reply he started back to the kitchen, her quick steps following him.

  ‘We all have to start somewhere, you know.’

  His ‘scarf’ was dragged off him and arranged around the tree before he could answer.

  ‘I mean, I didn’t always know how to cook. I started as a way of helping my mum, and found I enjoyed it. Then Millicent saw how I loved helping her in the manor’s kitchen and took it upon herself to teach me everything she knew. I know I’m not classically trained or anything, but I didn’t let that stop me. Just because you’ve not studied hospitality doesn’t mean you can’t be good at it. You just have to give it your best. Learn from where you went wrong. Don’t make the same mist
akes again.’

  Reuben flinched at Sam’s words. She hadn’t meant them to be hurtful, but for the second time that day the truth of them stung. First Harry unknowingly offering up the revelation that the demise of his marriage was very much his fault, and now Sam reminding him that mistakes had been made, but mistakes in business – much like relationships – could be learned from.

  But this wasn’t a case of teaching an old dog new tricks, he knew nothing about running a B&B. The proof of that was in the rightfully shoddy reviews. He hadn’t given the B&B his best when he was first forced to open it. He’d done the bare minimum. His focus on the money not on the people. Not on the experience.

  Was it possible that he could change? Not just the business, but his attitude? Could he push aside his introverted tendencies and become the kind of person who could run a successful B&B?

  His thoughts went to his laptop in which an empty-worded manuscript sat. His livelihood was on the edge of a precipice, but he could come back from the edge. Even if he never produced another book again, it didn’t mean he had to lose everything. He had an opportunity to create something special here at Snowflake B&B, and he had a person sitting next to him who believed in him. In his ability to do better.

  He’d be a fool to toss it – to toss her – aside.

  ‘Do you think you could guide me, Sam? Teach me how to be better at hosting? At running this place?’

  Sam hung a star on the tree, her eyebrows rising in surprise. ‘You’d listen to me?’

  Reuben made a show of looking around the empty kitchen. ‘Who else would I listen to? You’re the only person here with any B&B experience, and from what I’ve seen so far you could run this place with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back.’

  A pretty flush blossomed on Sam’s cheeks. He waited for a joke, a punch on the arm, something to make light of the compliment, but instead Sam did something very un-Sam like.

  She stilled. Her whole body. Her lips didn’t twitch or quirk. Her hands didn’t flutter. Her feet remained glued to the ground. Only her eyes moved, just a little, as she searched his face as if looking for something…