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

by Kellie Hailes

  Reuben glanced down to see his hands gripping the island’s bench, turning his knuckles purply round the outside and blooming white at their centre.

  The last few months he’d felt like he’d been thrust into a tumble dryer and spun over and over. His conversation with Sam had only served to speed up that feeling. She talked fast, she walked fast, she thought fast. He could barely keep up.

  Did she have an off button? Or was the only way to get her to stop to start talking himself? A horrid idea, as babbling on for the sake of it made him uncomfortable, but needs must and all that…

  ‘Er, so you’ve worked here often?’

  She began piling dishes into the dishwasher. ‘Sure have. Whenever Millicent and Bob needed an extra pair of hands they got me in. When I’m not cooking here I’m cooking and delivering heat-and-eat meals for some of the elderly folk in the area. It’s a business I run with my mum. I’ll also run the odd errand for them too if they’re stuck. Get their shopping. Wrap and send presents to their family…’

  ‘But not cleaning toilets and floors and the like.’

  Sam’s copper curls bounced around her shoulders as she shook her head vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. Does your wife/girlfriend/partner clean? Are they about? Any chance they could give me a hand if you’re too busy?’

  Reuben cringed as part of him went to laugh, to say his wife’s forte was instructing cleaners, not doing the actual work.

  He’d indulged Elise in so many ways. Given her everything. And for what? A sixty/forty split of their estate and the opportunity to run off with a younger, more muscly model?

  He was a fool to think a quiet, keep-to-himself soul like him could contain such a brilliant butterfly. ‘Er, no. El—’ He bit his tongue. He didn’t want to say her name out loud. Hated even thinking it. More than anything, he wanted to forget everything about her in the hopes forgetting would heal the pain and bring back his missing words. ‘We parted ways some months ago.’

  ‘Did you talk her to death?’ Sam shot him a grin over her shoulder, then went back to putting the knives, forks and a million and one teaspoons in the dishwasher’s cutlery stand.

  ‘No. I did not.’

  ‘Consider me surprised.’ Sam looked up and winked. ‘At least I know I won’t have you in here talking my ear off or telling me what to cook and how to cook it. Unlike some of my other employers. A couple of my clients are ex-chefs and passionate home cooks, and they are not backward in coming forward. I blame all those cooking competition shows on the telly. Everyone has an opinion, and they all think they’re right.’ She shook her head then pushed herself up and picked up the sponge sitting on the drying rack. ‘So if you’re not going to do anything then you may as well stop hanging around like a bad smell and go and get the Christmas wreath from up in the loft and hang it on the front door on the off-chance our guests do arrive. I can’t believe this place isn’t even decorated yet. What have you been doing with yourself in here?’

  Rattling round. Being miserable. Not writing.

  Reuben surprised himself by not doing exactly as suggested or by enquiring about her far too familiar use of ‘our’, but by sliding onto one of the stools that lined one side of the island. ‘Do you always insult people? Do you even know you’re doing it?’

  Sam shrugged unapologetically. ‘Not really. Habit, I guess. Two older brothers. We showed our love for each other by being horrible to each other. And once I’ve spent more than a few minutes with someone I fall into the familiar pattern of conversation. Consider it a compliment. I’m already comfortable with you. You’re a loved one.’

  Her neck flamed red. The colour raced into her cheeks and spread over her face.

  ‘Not that I’m saying I love you. Because I don’t. I don’t even know you. It’s just…’ She tipped her head and stared at the ceiling, her fingers drumming the benchtop.

  ‘Habit.’ Reuben filled in the quiet.

  ‘Yes. That. Exactly. Don’t take it to heart. And feel free to be as horrible to me as I am to you. I’ll feel far more at home here, with you, if you do.’

  Her smile was back as she met his gaze. Small, even teeth. They suited her nicely shaped, though not overly plump lips. It was like her personality had been made larger to suit the petite nature of her body.

  ‘At home. Right. Yes. Of course. If you’re to be cooking here all weekend, and with the weather being the way it is, I guess you’ll be staying here. Do you have a room that you usually sleep in? Should I set it up?’ Reuben used the edge of his hand to bring together a scattering of crumbs, creating a small pile to be scooped up and put in the bin.

  ‘Are your bed-making skills as bad as your dish-doing skills?’ Sam wiped away his handiwork with the sponge. ‘Because if they are, I’ll sort it. Last thing I want is to have a Princess and the Pea situation where I can’t sleep due to wrinkles and bumps in the bed.’

  ‘I think you have to be a princess for that to happen.’ Reuben bit his tongue, realising how rude that sounded.

  A rich, throaty laugh filled the kitchen. Warming it every bit as much as the Aga did on the odd occasion that he used it.

  ‘There you go. Excellent insult. I do believe we’re going to get on like a house on fire, Reuben Richards. Now let’s get back to business. Millicent said five bookings. How many people? Did they mention allergies? Or special requests? Do we need to get champagne from the cellar for special occasions? Birthdays? Anniversaries? Honeymoons? Although as we’re a week out from Christmas that should be occasion enough. This place was always booked out at this time of year. People loved the Christmas lights, the roaring fires, the decorated trees. Skating on the pond. Snowflake B&B really is the perfect place for loved-up types to spend time together.’

  Sam’s top teeth sunk into her bottom lip, then released. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to rub your lack of love in. Thoughtless of me. Far worse than my usual accidental insults. I’ll do my best to censor myself. Sorry again. If it helps, I’m not in love either. Would hate it. Love. Engagement. Marriage. Especially marriage. Ugh.’ She stuck her tongue out and gagged. ‘Worst thing ever, right?’

  Not a tumble dryer. A hurricane. That’s what conversing with Sam was akin too.

  Reuben waved her apology away. He didn’t want to talk about his past. Or have it brought up in any way, shape or form. He just wanted to get on with things. Three things to be exact.

  Beat the writer’s block and write the book he’d promised.

  And if his missing words continued their disappearing act… Make enough money running the B&B in order to pay back his advance, at least until the estate agent he’d contacted when he’d realised owning a B&B was a terrible idea found a new buyer.

  Finally, never fall in love ever again. Not even in like. Giving his heart to another meant giving his power away, and he was now paying the ultimate price.

  At least he was in no danger of making that mistake again. Not when the only woman in close proximity was so chatty and out there and incapable of sitting or standing still, that he’d be avoiding her as much as possible.

  Her bright eyes and fluttering hands made him nervous.

  The only thing he could appreciate was her forthrightness. From the few minutes they’d spent together he got the feeling she said what she thought, didn’t pull punches and wasn’t one for hiding things from others.

  He shook his head to try and shake the vision before him. Except it wasn’t a vision. It was… real.

  For some reason Sam was jogging on the spot, boxer style, while fake-throwing a few punches. ‘We could fake-fight if it makes you feel better? I’m a good sparring partner.’

  Reuben shook his head. Fight? Even fake-fight? Not going to happen. ‘Your thumbs aren’t placed correctly. Don’t tuck them inside your fists or they’ll get broken in a fight. Assuming you’re ever in a fight.’

  Sam dropped her hands. ‘Nope. I’m not a fighter. And you can blame my brothers for my bad form. That’s just how they did it. I copied them.’ She shook her head, se
nding her mane of fiery curls swaying. ‘Lucky they weren’t brawlers, their thumbs would be buggered. As buggered as these bookings of ours if we don’t figure them out.’

  Again with the ‘our’. Was he going to have to find it within himself to have a chat about where she stood in the pecking order? The idea made his stomach turn. Perhaps her overfamiliarity was just her way – one he’d sooner ignore than confront.

  ‘What do the bookings have to do with fighting?’ Reuben massaged the area between his brows, which surely had taken on ravine-like properties since Sam and her overabundance of enthusiasm had stepped into the manor.

  ‘Nothing.’ Sam tapped the centre of her lip in thought. ‘I was just wondering about food requests. Same as a minute ago. It’s important to know the small things about people in order to keep them happy. Keeps them coming back.’

  Reuben focused on his feet and hoped it hid the surprise he felt. He hadn’t expected the dynamo in front of him to be so logical, so thoughtful… so business-minded. He’d assumed her mind was as messy as her conversation; prone to skittering all over the place.

  His ex-wife had always told him he shouldn’t take people at face value. That he was too black and white for his own good. She’d proved her own point by having the affair. He’d assumed she was as angelic as her blonde locks and blue eyes suggested. Trusted her when she’d said they’d be together forever. Fool that he was. Forever was an illusion.

  ‘I don’t recall there being any requests, but I can have a look at the notes in my computer just in case.’ Reuben left the stool and made his way to the kitchen door. ‘Before that though, why don’t you show me where your room is so I know not to put a guest there. And you can make the bed yourself if you’re so fussy.’

  Sam’s heart-shaped chin dipped low in respect. ‘Kudos on the second insult. I’m impressed.’

  Despite himself, Reuben smiled. The first real smile since Elise had left. Usually people were turned off by his brusque manner, a shield he used to hide his innate shyness. Sam didn’t seem remotely perturbed. It was a nice change. One he hadn’t experienced since he was a young man and a beautiful woman had seen past his remote ways and brought him into her circle.

  Yes, a nice change it might be, but it was one he knew better than to let himself get used to.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sam stared at the retreating back that belonged to the most confusing man she’d ever met. She’d considered describing Reuben as enigmatic, but that was far too romantic a word for someone she most definitely could not imagine feeling romantic about. Rude wasn’t a word she’d attribute to Reuben, either. Until she’d given him permission to give as good as she gave he’d been careful. Considered. Removed.

  And surprisingly un-spun out considering she’d turned up unannounced, unexpected and, possibly, unwanted.

  Although definitely needed.

  Assuming the guests who’d booked in managed to get through.

  She went to follow him but stopped as an old-fashioned ‘briiiiinnggggg’ rang through the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll get it!’ Not waiting for an answer she ran to the phone and picked it up. ‘Good morning, Snowflake B&B, how can I help?’

  Sam glanced up to see Reuben back again, leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, nestled into his dark grey cable-patterned jumper, one grey-tartan-slippered foot hooked over the other.

  Corduroys, Sam noted. He was wearing dark brown cords. Old-school. Or old-fashioned? And yet they suited him. Emphasised his strong-looking thighs in a way that could be distracting. If strong-looking thighs were your cup of tea.

  She pulled her attention away from Reuben’s sartorial style and focused on the apologetic voice in her ear.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, and we absolutely understand. If you’d like we can rebook you for another date?’

  She opened the diary kept by the phone and flicked over the pages to the month suggested by the guest. ‘Yes, we’ve a room free then. I’ll book you in. And thanks so much for calling and letting us know you couldn’t make it.’

  The usual niceties followed, and then Sam rang off.

  ‘They didn’t cancel? They’ve agreed to come at another time? I don’t have to refund their money or anything like that?’

  Reuben’s iron-grey brows were raised so high they nearly touched his hairline. His eyes carried a hint of desperation.

  He looked like a man who was in trouble, but she couldn’t figure out why. He was a best-selling author. He owned one of the nicest estates in the area. What would a cancellation matter?

  ‘No, they’ve not cancelled. They’ve rebooked two months from now.’ She shook her head as she closed the diary. ‘And your money is staying in your bank. Even better – I’ve kept the customer happy by not enforcing the terms and conditions that says if they cancel within twenty-four hours they can’t have their money returned to them.’

  ‘You mean I could’ve had the money and not had to do the work in two months’ time? Why would you do that? I could’ve let the room out again to another party and had twice the money.’ His brows descended and furrowed, so much so they nearly touched.

  Sam held back a laugh. She’d never seen such animated eyebrows before.

  ‘I could’ve done that. It’s true.’ She kept her tone calm, and forced herself to not to sound condescending, although she was tempted to as Reuben was being a bit of a pillock. ‘But in allowing them to rebook I’ve given Snowflake a good name, which could lead to good word of mouth and, therefore, more business in the long run. Where I come from we say thank you to people who do that. Doubly so when they do it without being asked.’ She set the pen down and crossed the kitchen. She had a bed to make up and while she had time for banter, she had no time for ungrateful people. ‘Excuse me.’

  She raised her eyebrows and waited for Reuben to move out of the doorway.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘My bedroom. I have a bed to make, remember? And then the rest of the kitchen to get in order. Some of us don’t mind working, or, don’t mind that we have to work in order to make a living.’

  Reuben vacated the space, allowing her to pass. Thumping footsteps followed her up the stairs.

  ‘I can make a bed by myself, you know.’ She rolled her eyes at the portrait of a Victorian lady. Sam fancied the black-dressed lace-bonneted woman’s lips further tightened into a smirk, just a smidge, in a ‘you see what I have to put up with?’ way.

  She reached the top, swerved to the left and took the second door on the right.

  ‘That’s your room?’

  Could Reuben sound more freaked out?

  ‘That’s where you’re staying? Surely you could sleep somewhere else? There’s another seven bedrooms to choose from. Not including mine, of course.’

  Apparently, he could.

  Sam pushed the door open to reveal a small, rectangular room. Bare but for a double bed, two bedside tables and, in the corner, a cherrywood armoire.

  The gold brocade drapes were pulled back to reveal a world where everything was covered in white.

  The fir trees that stood sentry along the driveway were now completely draped in snow, as was the box hedging that created a guide for the circular drive. Hedging that was in dire need of a trim, Sam noted, not that she was going to mention that to Reuben. The mood he appeared to be in he’d likely bite her head off and she’d end up a headless ghost, wandering the property, bemoaning the untrimmed hedges and messy kitchen for eternity.

  ‘This is where staff stay if they need to.’ She dropped her voice and adopted a plummy tone that she hoped would humour Reuben out of his mood. ‘The guest quarters are far too luxurious for the likes of the workers, I’ll have you know.’

  His lips quirked, and triumph warmed her stomach. Better mood attained.

  ‘That may be the case, but I can’t have you – anyone for that matter – so close. I have to work, and I work in my study, which is the room opposite. And next to that is my bedroom. The oth
er staff’s quarters. I prefer it to the larger rooms. It’s cosier. Easier to heat. That, and it’s out of the way of other people.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sam’s hands went to her hips, as they tended to do when she was ready to take action, or knew action had to be taken. Though in this case, she wasn’t sure what that action ought to be, because she had no idea what should happen next.

  This was her room. Had been for years. She didn’t want another room. She’d just have to get her stubborn on as politely as she could and see if it stuck.

  ‘Well, I’m staying here, in this room. The mattress is old and soft and a bit saggy, which is how I like it. I may have snuck into the guest rooms on occasion just to sit on the beds and see what I was missing out on.’ She scrunched her nose up. ‘Nothing. Not a darn thing. They’re all firm. Probably so that the guests don’t experience roll-together. Who’d have thought that if you met someone you liked enough to share a bed with that you’d not want to cuddle up with them in bed? Although, maybe if you’ve been together a few years, that’s the last thing you want. I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘You wouldn’t?’ Reuben’s head angled to the side in interest. ‘So you weren’t joking when you were talking about how you didn’t do love, earlier? There won’t be anyone worrying about you at home? Fretting that you’re alone in the house with, er, a single man?’

  His face flushed beet red, and Sam pressed her lips together as the urge to laugh bubbled up.

  Introvert. That was what Reuben was. Though why an introvert would find himself running a B&B she had no idea.

  Ignoring his decision that she couldn’t sleep in her bedroom, she strode in, opened up the bottom drawer of the armoire and pulled out the set of white sheets she’d folded and stored away a month ago before her beloved Millicent and Bob left and Reuben took ownership.

  ‘I promise I’ll be quiet. You won’t know I’m in here. Not a peep.’ She babbled on, refusing to let him get a ‘no’ in. ‘And once the roads are opened I’ll head home and sleep there instead of here.’

  The hum of an engine greeted Sam’s ears. She went to the window and saw a late-model, navy four-wheel drive, negotiating the drive, behind it a tired-looking white estate car struggled in.