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

by Kellie Hailes

‘It’s an ingrained thing.’ Sam didn’t want to go into details with a guest, especially not one she could trust to keep her life to himself. ‘Are you right there?’ Her hands itched to get in and push the mixture together in a more forceful manner than the gentle way Stefan was handling it. ‘Do you need a hand?’

  ‘Uh, do you need a hand?’ Stefan shooed Sam away. ‘You’ve got a feast to prepare; I think I can manage some biscuits by myself, now that you’ve told me exactly what to do and forced me to do it for my own good.’ His lips, so often downturned, lifted up in a smile that lit up his eyes, and for a second Sam could see what Flo saw in Stefan.

  Not a perfect man. But a good one. Which was as much as a person could ask for.

  ‘It’s kind of you to offer.’ She pulled a bowl of softened butter towards her, took a clean fork out from the drawer, and began mashing the butter along with finely chopped garlic, readying it to be slid under the chicken’s skin, before popping it in the oven to roast in a few hours’ time, ‘but I find it easier if I do things myself. I know that way it’s done right.’

  ‘I can understand that. It’s why I watch soccer but like to game. I can trust myself when it’s just me doing my thing, but I don’t like the idea of letting down a team of people.’ Stefan glanced around the room. ‘Baking tray and baking paper?’

  Sam twisted around and grabbed a baking tray from the cupboard next to the Aga and then the baking paper from the third drawer down. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thanks. And thanks again for everything. You’ve been brilliant. Truly. You and Reuben both. And, uh, I know it’s not any of my business—’ a blush hit Stefan’s cheeks ‘—but if I’m seeing what I think I’ve been seeing, well, I think you two would be good together. He’s what my mum calls a silver fox, if you’re into that kind of thing…’

  Harry chose that moment to walk in, pad and pencils in hand. ‘You talking about me, Stefan? It’s okay, you’re not the first youngster to admire all this.’ He swept his hand down the length of his body. ‘Is it the short legs or rotund belly you like most?’ He winked at Sam and settled onto what had become his usual stool over the course of his stay.

  ‘More like your fine sense of humour.’ Sam began slipping the butter concoction under the chicken’s skin. ‘And the way you’re such a gentleman. It’s refreshing to see.’

  ‘I’m just a sucker for a good woman is all, and I knew the moment I met Matilda she was a very good woman.’

  ‘She really is. I’m going to miss her.’ Sam’s smile faltered for a second, then lifted again. ‘At least you’ll be back.’ And hopefully, if all her plans came to fruition and Reuben kept improving as the manager, she’d still be there to cook for them.

  Harry leaned over and patted Sam’s hand. ‘Sounds like a plan. Now…’ He picked up his pencil and narrowed his eyes. ‘Who were you really talking about when I came in? A certain author, per chance?’

  Heat stole over her cheeks as she set the chicken aside. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Where I come from that’s a definitely.’ Harry started sketching, his eyes flicking in Stefan’s direction every few seconds. ‘Good on you, pet. You get what you deserve.’

  Sam shook her head, refusing to entertain the conversation. ‘You know what I have to get? A coffee for my boss before he realises he’s not got it and gets cross.’

  Sam kept an eye on the brown liquid as it threatened to slop over the side as she walked carefully along the hall.

  What. A. Morning.

  It wasn’t even ten and she was already tired. Not that she could afford to be with lunch to get on, not to mention the rest of dinner to prepare, and a few last tweaks to the website before she gifted it to a certain ‘silver fox’.

  Sam paused outside Reuben’s study and listened. She fancied she could hear the tip-tap of his fingers on his laptop. She pressed her hand to her heart, glad to hear their earlier chat had an effect on his writing abilities. He was finding himself again, believing in his talent, and a little part of her couldn’t help but take credit for this change.

  Fathead. She rolled her eyes at herself and went to knock on the study door.

  A whoosh of air and creak of door caused her to jump. She pressed her hand to her chest, her heart racing as she steadied the coffee, and looked up to see Reuben looming over her.

  ‘It’s you.’

  His hands were behind his back and he looked spooked.

  ‘No. It’s not. It’s the ghost of Snowflake B&B. I’m here to haunt you. Whoooooo.’ She held her hand up and waggled her fingers, then brought it down before she overdid the sarcasm and caused Reuben to be annoyed with her. ‘Who did you think it would be? You did ask for coffee, on the hour every hour.’

  ‘Er, no one. I mean, you. Sorry, I was just in my own head. It’s nice to be in there again. Good to be writing. I have you to thank for that.’

  The corners of Reuben’s lips turned up in a tiny smile, and Sam was struck by how much happier he was now that he was doing what he loved.

  ‘It’s going well then? The writing?’

  ‘Better than expected. Your advice has been invaluable. I’m actually having fun again. I don’t remember the last time I felt that way about my writing. You’re amazing. The kind of friend everyone needs in their life.’

  Ugh. Friend. She’d been sidelined, not that she’d expected to be anything else. But if that were truly the case, why was her heart plummeting towards her stomach? Why was she so put out?

  ‘More than a friend,’ Reuben amended.

  Hellooooooo, hope. Welcome back.

  ‘And I feel like I owe you an apology for earlier. The whole mistletoe malarkey…’

  Sam waved her free hand, indicating he didn’t need to go into details, that she understood his reasons for not wanting to kiss anyone else, especially her. ‘Honestly, it’s nothing. I mean, why would you want to kiss me anyway? It’s not like there’s any reason for you to be attracted to me. I’m just a cook from a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it village. No fancy university education. No brilliant mind. I’m not going to light your life on fire with talk of… I don’t know, philosophy and politics and whether I think the world will fall to climate change or a giant asteroid or a massive hand coming out from white fluffy clouds to splat us all for not being kind enough to each other.’

  Reuben inched closer, took the mug from her hand and set it down on the floor, then took her hand. His thumb ran over her skin, sending a delightful shiver through her.

  ‘And what you said right there is why I like you. A lot. I don’t need intellectual conversation. It’s fine and all, but it doesn’t keep me on my toes the way talk of a good hand-splat from a mysterious being does. That is more brilliant and interesting to me than all the political discussions and artistic debates I’ve had to endure rolled into one.’

  Sam couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Reuben thought she was brilliant? Enjoyed listening to her blather on.

  No, not blather. That was the men in her life who’d done their best to put her down speaking.

  She didn’t blather; she conversed, entertained, filled tense spaces with mood-lightening words.

  ‘But, you’re also my boss. We’re going to work together. I mean, gosh, if we’d kissed it could make things… awkward. To put it mildly.’

  ‘It would. Perhaps. If we let it. Though I’d have thought that one simple kiss doesn’t have to change anything between two people. Not really.’

  Sam didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Reuben was aware he was talking a load of bollocks. One simple kiss between two people who weren’t attracted to each other wouldn’t change anything, but a simple kiss between two people who were drawn to each other like moths to flames? Explosive. Or a recipe to get burnt.

  ‘You’re making it sound like you want to test that theory.’ Sam bit her lower lip as heat flamed her cheeks. Apparently she felt like playing with fire.

  She glanced up at the ceiling, hoping she’d find her common sense up there. Her breath caught
in her chest at what hung above them.

  A small sprig of mistletoe. Its white berries gleaming in the hallway’s low light. Almost enticing them to do what tradition insisted must be done.

  Reuben followed her gaze. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh indeed.’

  Their eyes locked, their shoulders lifting then dropping in perfect time with each other.

  ‘I’m going to deny Matilda and Flo tonight’s dessert for this.’

  ‘And they’re going to be sorely disappointed if they think they’re getting the good wine again.’

  Sam grinned. ‘We both sound so angry right now. Absolutely furious.’

  Reuben nodded. ‘I’m fuming – can’t you tell?’ His other hand reached for hers, and with a gentle tug he brought her to him. ‘And I’m rescinding that free weekend prize.’

  ‘As you should. You made it quite clear you didn’t want to kiss me. So to force us into it?’

  ‘Guest fireable offence.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Sam lifted herself up on her tiptoes just as Reuben dipped his head towards her. Their hands holding each other tight, as if they were afraid the other would let go.

  ‘I’ve never been so attracted to the scent of garlic,’ Reuben murmured.

  ‘And I didn’t think old man jumpers could be sexy.’

  Her snicker of laughter was cut short by soft but firm lips brushing against hers, stealing her breath, dousing her amusement, igniting a feeling deep down. One she’d pushed away, chosen to believe could no longer exist. An emotion, a feeling that her past experiences had deemed hurtful, dangerous…

  Desire. Slowly unfurling, it tentatively danced its way through her body as she raised herself further, increasing the pressure of their kiss, demanding more from Reuben. Demanding all he could give her.

  As if feeling her need he slid an arm around her waist and held her tight against him, so every taut muscle from those running up his thighs, to those in his stomach bracing her against him was very much apparent.

  Her suspicions had been correct. Beneath his cords and chunky jumpers there was a body that was naturally muscular without being bulky. Her fingertips itched to reach under his jumper and stroke his skin, discover the valleys and ridges of what lay beneath; instead they found purchase in his hair – softer than expected but thick and lush.

  His lips parted, giving her access. Their tongues met, slowly slipping over each other, tasting each other. Each deep, probing kiss peppered with smaller, quick ones punctuated by Reuben’s teeth teasing her bottom lip, driving little moans out from deep down within her.

  This was more than she could’ve ever imagined. More than she’d expected. She felt Reuben’s hand splay out and move towards her bum, sending a ripple of need through her.

  Yes, she wanted him kissing her. Yes, she wanted him caressing her. Yes, she wanted that damn hand on her bum. On all of her.

  He paused at her tailbone.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered against his ear as he investigated the line of her neck.

  He pulled himself up and met her gaze. His eyes amused, with a dark seriousness behind the joy. ‘I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to devour you all in one go. Some things are worth savouring.’

  ‘Kind of like a book you know will end so you eke it out chapter by chapter?’

  His hands cupped her face, making her feel treasured, precious. ‘Exactly.’

  Sam placed her hands over Reuben’s. Her sense of playfulness returning as she glanced up at the mistletoe overhead. ‘So who’s going to tell the guests they’re in trouble? No dessert. No good wine. No free weekend’s stay?’

  Reuben pressed his lips together. His eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Hmmmm. No one. I’m half tempted to offer them a bonus free weekend, with as much champagne as they can drink, on the house.’

  ‘And whatever they want for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’ll design menus around their every desire.’

  ‘There’s only one item on my menu of desire.’ Reuben’s eyebrows rose up then fell abruptly as he closed his eyes and let out a hearty laugh. ‘I can’t believe I said that. Revolting. Cheese pizza with extra cheese. The cheap, stringy, tasteless stuff.’

  Sam wrapped her arms even more tightly around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. Loving the scratch of the wool against her cheek, the cosy scent of the textile that mixed with his aftershave and his warmth, to make her feel – if for only one second – that she was where she was meant to be.

  That she was with the right person, in the right place.

  That she was home.

  ‘I could stay here forever.’

  Firm lips pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  ‘You’ve already promised that, remember?’

  Of course she had. She’d told Reuben she wouldn’t up and leave the job, leave Snowflake B&B.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to push it further. To tell him she meant him, that she could stay with him forever, but it was too soon. And the words wouldn’t sound romantic, they’d sound possessive. Obsessive.

  Two traits that did not exist in her reality, as she’d seen how they transferred to the world around those who were possessive, who were obsessive.

  She tipped her head back to look at Reuben. ‘I have. And I meant it. Speaking of which…’ She disentangled herself and took a step back, unable to break away fully as he caught her hands in his before she was out of reach. ‘I have work to do.’

  Reuben pulled her forward and placed another sumptuous, fall-into-and-drown kiss on her lips.

  ‘If you must,’ he sighed, still not letting her hands go.

  Clearly, she was going to have to be the staunch one.

  She tugged her hands out of his, then darted up and placed one more quick peck on his cheek. ‘I must. Now go and write. I’ll take care of everyone downstairs.’

  He saluted her. ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘That’s Miss Boss, to you,’ she amended. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling once more. ‘Meet you under the mistletoe?’

  ‘Promise.’ With a lingering heavy-lidded look that echoed not just the promise of another kiss, but so much more, Reuben picked up his coffee, backed into his study and closed the door with a quiet click and seductively shy smile.

  Sam squeezed her eyes shut and twirled round and round until she had to hold her hands out in order to stop herself falling over. Once the case of the wobbles passed she opened her eyes, stepped into her room, then crouched over and did a fast-jog, her hands fisted and pumping along with her legs.

  Her connection with Reuben was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. He knew who she was. He got her. He liked her for her. There would be no snide remarks demanding she change, then covered up and renamed ‘helpful suggestions’ when she questioned the ‘requests’. No claims on her time when she ought to be elsewhere. Claims that turned to tantrums when she didn’t or couldn’t relent. No harsh words aimed straight at her confidence, or her heart. No raised open palm ready to make the mark words could not when she didn’t bow down and do as she was told immediately.

  This was fresh. This was wonderful. This was the chance, the hope of the kind of relationship she’d believed she deserved as a child, and had given up on as an adult.

  She and Reuben?

  That kiss? Just now?

  There was one word for it… Promising.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  She was everything he’d never realised he wanted, and the realisation terrified as much as it exhilarated.

  Reuben’s fingers flew over the keyboard as words he didn’t know he had inside of him, words he’d never expected to write, poured out. Of all the genres in the world he could have chosen to write, he was writing a love story, a re-coming of age one at that. The tale of an emotionally stunted man forced to break down his barriers in order to truly love.

  He was reminded of the exhilaration he felt when he wrote the book that saw him first published. The feeling, the sense of intuition that he was onto some
thing, that magic was being made.

  A fresh bout of wonder struck him as he saved his work. Was there a chance he could write and run a B&B? Did that mean he wouldn’t have to sell, especially as he now had Sam on board and she was going to live and work with him? The possibility sent a thrill of excitement down his spine.

  ‘What are you writing?’

  He glanced up just as Sam leaned over his desk and tried and tried to take a look at his screen.

  Picking up his laptop, he held it out of reach before she could. ‘Nope. Private. Naughty.’ He shook his head vehemently, laughing as she dramatically pouted and gave him pleading eyes. ‘No reading until I’m done. Maybe no reading at all. It’s probably a load of tripe.’

  ‘Tripe can be delicious if cooked a certain way.’ Sam smacked her lips for emphasis.

  Reuben grimaced as he set his laptop down and saved his work before he accidentally lost it while keeping it out of the clutches of Little Miss Curious. ‘Don’t test that mad theory of yours on me.’

  ‘Consider it done.’ Sam leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his lips. ‘What will your agent or publisher or whoever you authory types deal with say about you indulging in a mad flight of writing fancy when you’re meant to be pushing out another thriller?’

  Sam’s face paled a touch and her eyes shifted to every area of the room, bar his face.

  Reuben pulled the laptop closer to him as suspicion arose. Did Sam know he was in trouble? About his looming deadline and lack of manuscript? Or was she just being interested in his work? Trying to understand the process so as to feel part of it?

  ‘I wasn’t planning on mentioning it to them. It’s just a way for me to get writing again, remember?’ He sent his suspicions packing as she parked her bottom on the corner of the desk in a manner that told him she was just making conversation, not prying into affairs that had nothing to do with her.

  ‘I know that.’ She crossed her legs and arms. ‘But if it’s as good as I think it will be…’

  ‘You have no idea how good it’ll be because you’ve not read it,’ Reuben reminded her.

  She shrugged. ‘You’re writing it. It’ll be great. And if it is, then there’s no harm in sending through something to your people, right? Maybe it’s a good idea to not have all your eggs in one basket? That way if you tire of writing thrillers, or if half the planet decides they’re sick of reading them, then you’ve another area you still write in? Another income stream?’