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

by Kellie Hailes

  He tried not to see how her face fell further and further as he rattled off the list of meal suggestions. He wasn’t meaning to be rude, he was just doing his job – the job that she’d coaxed him to be more involved with. Owner and manager of a B&B. Which meant also keeping an eye on what food was being cooked so as to avoid wastage and save money, while saving Sam from running herself ragged.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Sam saluted him with a brave smile that didn’t hit her eyes, then turned back to the bacon. ‘Shall we start at five? That way the evening won’t run too late and everyone will wake up fresh for their drive home tomorrow?’

  ‘Excellent idea.’ Matilda went to stand by Sam and put an arm around her waist. ‘Unlike Flo and Stefan, we’re no spring chickens. A good night’s sleep before a long drive is just the ticket.’

  ‘Speaking of spring chickens.’ Harry jerked his head to the empty doorway. ‘Haven’t seen hide nor hair of the young ones. I hope they’re all right up there.’

  Their heads swivelled as the back door opened bringing with it a chilly breeze, and Stefan and Flo walked in each carrying a bunch of twigs and leaves and berries that suspiciously resembled mistletoe.

  Suspiciously similar, but surely not? Reuben inched back, causing Matilda’s bawdy laugh to fill the room.

  ‘Oh, bless your woollen socks, Reuben. Anyone would think you’re terrified of a little kissing bush.’

  ‘I didn’t think it grew this far north.’ Reuben’s heart quickened as the possibilities of having a sprig hanging overhead came to mind.

  ‘Turns out it doesn’t,’ Flo pulled off her beanie and placed it on the island along with the mistletoe. ‘Well, not very much of it.’

  ‘Enough to do the job, though,’ Stefan added. ‘I swear we traipsed around most of the property before finding this on an apple tree in the orchard. I wasn’t entirely sure of the direction back but Flo caught sight of the smoke coming from the chimneys and set us on the right path. I always said she’d be great on one of those survivor-style shows.’ Stefan wrapped Flo in a big hug. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘You’d become a gamer zombie who couldn’t get a date if he tried, let alone a girlfriend.’

  Stefan picked up the mistletoe and turned it over, one way then the other. His eyes twinkled mischievously, and uncertainty stirred in Reuben’s stomach. He had the feeling something was up, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing if it involved Stefan.

  ‘Remember our first kiss?’ Stefan turned to Flo. ‘On our first date?’

  ‘As if I could forget. Under the mistletoe at some revolting pub you insisted we stop into because a football match was playing on the big screen and you absolutely had to watch it or you’d die.’ She clutched her chest and inhaled dramatically.

  ‘I very nearly did when my team lost, but you gave me the kiss of life.’

  Reuben couldn’t believe his ears. Stefan was being romantic? He was capable of such a feeling?

  ‘Hang that thing up and I’ll give you the kiss of life again.’ Flo winked.

  Reuben cringed. They wanted to hang mistletoe up? Not in his manor.

  ‘Nope. No. Sorry. There’ll be no mistletoe in the communal areas of this manor. ‘Those—’ he pointed at the sprigs of mistletoe ‘—need to get gone, now.’

  ‘Oh, Reuben, it’s just a bit of fun.’ Matilda shooed Reuben out of the way, grabbed a sprig and hung it over Harry’s head, then pulled him in for a loud, smacking kiss on his lips. ‘Wonderful!’

  ‘You’ve still got the goods, my love.’ Harry wrapped his arms around her and went in for a second longer, softer kiss.

  ‘Someone pass a sick bowl.’ Stefan shook his head. ‘If I knew I was going to witness that I’d have rethought bringing it into the house.’

  Reuben jumped on Stefan’s point. ‘Exactly. Besides, what if we ended up underneath the mistletoe with the wrong person. It’d be unseemly.’

  His face flushed hot as it occurred to him that he’d made it sound like there was a right person for him to kiss under the mistletoe.

  He turned his back on the group, and busied himself picking up plates of pancakes and bacon, but not before he saw Sam’s mouth fall from an upward tilt of gentle amusement to disappointment.

  Arse. He’d made an arse of himself. He’d behaved like an arse. He was an all-round arse, and right at that moment he didn’t know that he could like himself less.

  ‘Fine, we won’t put it up here.’ Matilda let out a sigh. ‘But could we hang some upstairs? Outside our rooms? It is Christmas after all, it’d be rude not to, especially since Flo and Stefan went to such an effort to find it.’

  Reuben picked up the plates of food and turned to face Matilda. ‘Absolutely you can. Who am I to get in the way of you lovebirds? Just keep bitter old twisted types like me out of it, okay?’

  Matilda took a plate from him. ‘Deal, as long as you stop calling yourself old, because if you’re old then Harry and I are positively ancient. Now, I don’t know about you but I’m famished. Shall we eat and discuss our final night together?’

  ‘Actually…’ A twinge of guilt hit him in the centre of the chest, but he pushed it aside. Had to. His mind was tugging at him with a writing idea. ‘Would you mind if I stayed here and got some writing done? The muse is calling and I don’t want to let her down…’

  He glanced at Sam, who was already pulling out food for that night’s dinner and, managing to catch her eye, he mouthed ‘thank you’, and meant it.

  The return of his muse? It was all down to Sam. And while part of him feared that hanging his writing hat on the confidence of a woman was how he found himself stuck, unable to write the last time, this time things would be different.

  Sam had promised she wasn’t going anywhere, and he believed her.

  More importantly, he wouldn’t do anything to make her want to leave.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘If we’re going to have a pre-Christmas Christmas, we’re going to need gifts.’ Matilda set her knife and fork down. ‘Obviously we wouldn’t make gifts for every single person here, time is not our friend in that regard, but we could do a Secret Santa. Pull a name from the hat and make something for that person.’

  ‘That is a brilliant idea,’ Stefan lifted a piece of bacon and pointed it in Matilda’s direction like he was anointing her idea, much to Sam’s surprise.

  She couldn’t imagine Stefan wanting to do something nice for someone else, let alone being able to make anything anyone would treasure forever, not after what he and Flo had done to the sitting room, which the rest of the group had only entered under duress since. The flamboyance of the room causing – she’d discovered after a couple of covert conversations with Harry and Matilda – an instant headache to those who dared step one foot over its threshold.

  Sam went to the credenza, pulled out a notepad and pencil and passed it to Matilda. ‘There you go. Get your Santa on.’

  She was looking forward to creating a present for someone to open and enjoy. Images of dark chocolate ganache truffles rolled in cocoa powder, alongside cranberry and pistachio nougat bites, flitted through her mind. Boxed up with a rustic piece of string, they would make a fantastic gift for any of the people seated or standing before her.

  For Reuben?

  If she pulled Reuben out she’d want to go one better than chocolates. Give him something that would make a real difference. A smile settled on her lips as her mind pulled up an image of the website she’d been working on whenever she had a chance. He had no idea how close it was to completion. It was still very basic at this stage, but the landing page she’d gotten up at five that morning to finish before starting work captured the relaxing, inspiring essence of Snowflake B&B. She’d also got it to the point where bookings could be taken and emails sent to the address she’d created.

  Minutes later, scraps of paper had been pulled out of the fruit bowl Sam had supplied in place of a hat, and shifty looks were being shared with each other as they tried to figure out who had
drawn which person. Flo had a cat-that-got-the-cream look about her. Harry looked a touch miffed. Matilda had a sphinx-like smile that gave nothing away. And Stefan had leaped from his chair and was now striding up and down the length of the dining room with the urgency of a man who had a big plan.

  As for herself? Sam slipped the piece of paper into her apron’s pocket and thanked the gifting Gods for giving her an opportunity to show the man she suspected – more than suspected – she was falling for that she appreciated him, that she wanted to work with him, that she would stick it out through thick and thin.

  As long as he didn’t try to control her. To guilt her. To manipulate her. To craft her into who he thought she ought to be.

  She’d promised herself ‘never again’ many years ago, and she’d stuck to that rule by keeping out of romance’s way. Now it was time to face that fear while keeping her boundaries intact.

  With the breakfast dishes stacked and in hand she walked them down to the kitchen, Matilda on her heels holding the bowl with the final Secret Santa name upon it.

  ‘Reuben, darling.’ She shoved the bowl under his nose. ‘Pick your Secret Santa. We’re doing gifts tonight to make things extra Christmassy. Lovely way to round off our stay, don’t you think?’

  Reuben ran his hand through his hair, and dodged the bowl, his eyes firmly on the screen.

  ‘Reuben?’ She came to his side and nudged his hip with hers. ‘Matilda is talking to you?’

  He shook his head like he was waking from a dream. ‘Oh, yes, gosh, sorry Matilda. When I’m in it I’m really in it. Secret Santa, you said? Very good.’ He drew out the paper and kept it scrunched in his lightly fisted hand, then stood and picked up his laptop. ‘Sam, can you bring coffee up to my office when you get a chance?’

  Sam bit her lip to stop herself from telling him to make his own coffee, that she had a day’s worth of food to prepare, then remembered the contract in the stables. Reuben needed to be writing; she could handle the B&B for one more day. ‘Absolutely. And let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.’

  ‘Short of downloading my brain into yours and learning to touch type, keeping me fed and watered is more than I can ask for.’

  Sam breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. It was going to be okay. They – whatever this early stage of they was – would be okay. This wasn’t a man using her, taking advantage of her good nature or attempting to assert control, it was simply Reuben being stressed and doing his best to get out of a bad situation.

  Or you’re making an excuse for his bad behaviour.

  She tamped the thought down. She wasn’t making an excuse. She was seeing the truth. Not being overly sensitive. Besides, it was just a one-off. It wasn’t like he told her what to do all the time, or expected the impossible, or demanded she be at his beck and call 24/7.

  ‘Actually, coffee on the hour every hour would be great.’

  Without even a thank you Reuben turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

  Uncertainty knotted her stomach. He had been joking, right? He hadn’t meant to give her an order like she was his slave.

  She pulled the egg carton out from the pantry. She was being ridiculous, overthinking things. Taking one little miscommunication and blowing it out of proportion. He was probably so busy, his mind on his work, he’d forgotten to use his manners.

  ‘I’m working on my present in the sitting room. You have to keep out,’ Flo called from the hallway then ran to the room before anyone could argue the point or lay claim to the sitting room.

  Not that anyone would have. Sam grinned to herself as she got to work cracking eggs and separating the yolks from the whites in order to make the custard for trifle.

  ‘I’ll be in the drawing room.’ Matilda followed after Flo, leaving Harry and Stefan sitting at the island, both with their bottom lips pushed out in thought.

  Harry turned to Stefan. ‘What do you reckon, Stefan? Should we take over the dining room?’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking of working in here, with Sam. Besides, what if I’ve got you as my Secret Santa? Won’t you know what I’m making if you hang out with me?’

  ‘Not until the grand reveal. And you’re right, it’s nicer in here with Sam.’ Harry turned to her. ‘Would you mind, Sam? I won’t get in the way, I promise.’

  ‘Not at all, Harry. Go ahead.’

  ‘Thanks, love. I’ll just get my pencils and whatnot and be back in a tick.’

  Stefan huffed out a huge sigh, making it clear that Harry’s presence would be a huge inconvenience. ‘Sam, would it be okay if I used the kitchen to make something?’

  Sam forced a warm smile. Honestly, Stefan was the rudest person, but he was a guest, and a good word from a guest could bring in paying customers. ‘Absolutely you can, just let me know when you need whatever you need so we can get our timing’s right.’

  ‘Great. Perfect.’ Stefan slid off his stool, went to the cupboard and began pulling out flour, cornflour and salt. ‘You’ve got cayenne and mustard, don’t you?’ He twisted around and gave Sam a panicked look.

  ‘Christmas cheese biscuits?’ Sam guessed, keeping her voice low so anyone passing by wouldn’t hear.

  ‘That’s the one.’ Stefan nodded, then followed Sam’s directions to the cupboard that held about a million and one little glass spice and herb bottles. Each neatly labelled and placed in alphabetical order. ‘Flo’s favourite. Also, I don’t suppose you’ve alphabetical biscuit cutters?’

  ‘I do, and you do realise you’ve just revealed who you’re giving your gift too, don’t you?’

  Stefan shrugged. ‘I do, and I don’t care. Because I need your help.’ He dumped the ingredients on the bench. ‘I was all set to propose to her using that mistletoe until Mr Grump decided he didn’t want a bar of it, so now I’m going to propose to her this way.’

  Sam looked at Stefan with a newfound respect. Yes, he was rude. Yes, he acted spoiled on occasion. But beneath that was a man who truly loved Flo, who would do anything to make her happy.

  ‘I’ll help you. It would be my pleasure.’ She pulled out the food processor and began measuring the ingredients for the biscuits into it. ‘There you go. Blitz it. Pull the dough out, roll it with the pin over there, then—’ she ducked down to the bottom drawer and pulled out the biscuit cutters ‘—start creating.’

  ‘You mean you’re not doing it all for me?’ Stefan wailed. ‘That’s what I mean by helping me. I’ll pay you if you want.’

  Sam waved him away. ‘You’re not paying me, I’m doing this for free. Besides it’ll mean more if you can say you did it yourself.’

  Stefan pouted as he huffed out an ‘I suppose you’re right’, then without another word or whinge he began blitzing the ingredients as Sam whisked the eggs, cornflour, sugar and vanilla together in a bowl in preparation for making custard for the trifle she intended to make for dessert.

  ‘Done,’ Stefan said and went to pull the lid off.

  ‘Not yet it’s not.’ Sam picked up the saucepan containing the warmed cream and milk and began to pour it into the eggy mixture while whisking. ‘Get butter from the fridge and a grater from the second cupboard to my left. Grate one hundred grams – there’s a set of scales behind the grater – then add the butter to the mix and blitz again.’

  ‘Who died and made you Queen of the Kitchen?’ Stefan groused as he followed instructions.

  Sam couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Me. I made me Queen of the Kitchen.’

  Carefully, she poured the custard mixture back into the pot and began stirring it with a spoon, loving how it slowly transformed from a thin consistency to a rich, creamy, thick one.

  In some ways the custard reminded her of herself. She’d once seen herself as being weak, thin, gutless. Afraid to stand up for herself, afraid to put a foot out of line. But over the years she’d become stronger, grown into herself. She was a long way from perfect – she was all too well aware of her propensity for needing to keep situations calm when tension arose, but she was
better than she used to be. Once upon a time she’d have run from a room rather than face an issue head on. Now, at least, she could force herself to stick around. But could she fight back?

  She turned the stove’s knob and cut the heat, satisfied the custard was perfect.

  If Reuben turned out to be someone other than the kind, considerate man she believed him to be, if his niceness was all a show and those momentary demands – the firm no to the turducken, the hourly delivery of coffee – showed who he truly was and evolved into constant demands, could she stand up for herself? Even if it meant leaving the one place where she felt truly at home?

  ‘What next?’ Stefan’s hands were on his hips as he eyed the bread-crumb-looking mixture.

  ‘Wash your hands, tip out the mixture, add a little water to it, then bring it together and roll it out as we discussed.’ She caught the look of worry in his eye. ‘You’ll be fine, Stefan. More than fine. The biscuits will be delicious and she’ll say yes.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so.’ Sam nodded.

  Stefan went to the kitchen sink and began soaping up his hands. ‘Are you always this organised?’ He turned off the tap and took the paper towel Sam had ready for him. ‘I’ve never met anyone who knows where to find anything and everything at any given time, and who refuses to relax until everything is spick and span.’