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

by Kellie Hailes

  A trick? A lie? A gotcha?

  ‘Thank you.’

  The words were so soft he thought he’d imagined them, but they were accompanied by the softest smile that sent his heart into overdrive and his stomach flip-flopping.

  Reuben tore his gaze from Sam’s, uncomfortable with the feelings she awakened within him, and went back to adding decorations to the tree. A gold harp. A red musical note. A glittery pair of tangerine-coloured angel wings. The two working side by side in thoughtful silence.

  A gold chalice ornament appeared in his line of view.

  ‘Here’s to you learning the ropes. Being willing to learn. Being willing to change.’

  Sam’s tone was warm, but held truthfulness, like she understood what it was to feel fear and then ignore it, to plough on even in the most treacherous of conditions.

  Reuben allowed himself to look in Sam’s direction. Their gazes caught once more. His lips mirrored hers as they lifted into a smile, different from their other ones – one of mutual understanding, and of support.

  A smile that lifted the weight off his heart.

  And he never thought in a million years that the person who would take that weight from him would be a cook from a hamlet in the middle of nowhere who wore an ugly Christmas jumper with a bird decoration still attached.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sam watched as Reuben offered the choice of beer, wine, juice or water to his guests. The fleshy points of his cheeks were high with bonhomie, the reserve she’d heard in his voice was nowhere to be seen, his footsteps as he worked his way around the drawing room – where they’d chosen to eat lunch so as not to ruin the surprise of the kitchen, dining and sitting rooms – were light. Joyful, even.

  Was it the moment of connection they’d experienced earlier causing this change? Or had she imagined that moment, where her skin had prickled like miniature lightning bolts were dancing upon it as they smiled at each other, both ready to work together to save what was precious to them both – Snowflake B&B.

  She set the picnic basket containing lunch down and reminded herself that even if the moment was real, it wasn’t important. It wouldn’t change her stance on men. Perhaps not all men were selfish, or controlling, or cruel, but she wasn’t in the business of finding that out for herself.

  The silent reminder saw her shoulders inch down, but the ever-present feeling of being on edge, which kept her heart sharp and her breath shallow, was still there as she opened up the picnic basket and handed out plates, then pulled out containers filled with sandwiches she’d made earlier.

  ‘Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.’ She offered up an apologetic smile along with the serviettes she was passing out. ‘Just pork, relish and cheese or ham, relish and cheese. I didn’t want to get too extravagant with the meal or Reuben and I would be at a decorating disadvantage time-wise.’

  ‘These are great, thanks. Just what the doctor ordered.’ Stefan raised his sandwich in cheers, then bit into it.

  His compliment nearly knocked Sam over. It was the first time he’d said anything positive since he’d arrived. Let alone looked content. Was Christmas at Snowflake B&B working its magic?

  She thought back to seven years previous, when she’d spent her first Christmas at the manor. It had been filled with guests and Millicent had hired her to help out in the kitchen for the week leading up to and the day of, as many guests had elected to stay through the holiday season. Sam held her hand to her stomach, as even now all these years later, butterflies danced in her stomach as she recalled how nervous she was. How desperate to make a good impression. To be asked back.

  Anyone else would think it silly to be so concerned that waves of nausea regularly overwhelmed them, but not Sam Heatherington, whose whole life had been a masterclass of walking around on tiptoes. Keeping everything perfect. Keeping her father happy. Her mother safe.

  ‘You okay there, Sam?’ A barely lined hand was waved half a metre away from her face. ‘You’re looking a little… strained.’

  Sam set the serviettes down on the coffee table and forced a smile in Flo’s direction. ‘I’m fine. Just going through what I need for a little Christmassy treat I have planned after the competition.’

  ‘You’re not going to force us to take part in a Christmas concert or anything are you? I know there’s nothing to do here but surely that’s taking it too far?’ Stefan’s face paled and his sandwich tipped down as his hands wilted, sending crumbs scattering on the rug.

  Sam made to swipe them up with a serviette and Matilda shooed her away.

  ‘Stefan can get that after he’s eaten – right, Stefan?’ She raised a brow that brooked no argument and Stefan nodded. ‘As for a concert …’ Matilda adjusted the cushion underneath her, then placed her plate on her lap. ‘I wouldn’t say no to charades, but I would have to agree with Stefan that singing’s not my thing.’

  ‘I promise there’s no singing. Trust me when I say you wouldn’t want to hear me strangle a good song with my voice. It’s just a little something we did the first year I came to cook at Snowflake B&B.’ Sam placed extra emphasis on ‘cook’. She was all too aware that she wasn’t trained. Being called a chef made her feel like a liar, even if she’d been told numerous times her meals were as good as any chef’s.

  ‘And how long have you been cooking here?’ Flo took another sandwich and angled her head, waiting for Sam’s answer.

  ‘Seven years. Although I’ve been coming here much longer. The old owners used to let my brothers and I have the run of the grounds when we were younger. They were very kind to us. More than they had to be. If they saw us running through the woods they’d bring out a snack. Once they got to know us, they took us under their wings. Taught us how to skate on the pond out the back, gave us horse-riding lessons. It was Millicent who saw that I had some ability in the kitchen and encouraged me to cook alongside her, to grow my skills.’

  ‘So being asked to cook here must have been a big deal?’ Flo nodded at Reuben as he offered to refill her wine glass.

  Once again Sam was impressed with how Reuben had changed his tune towards hosting. If he kept this up, he was going to be fine. More than fine. He’d be great, and her beloved Snowflake B&B would continue to live, breathe, thrive and – hopefully – employ her for years to come.

  She turned her attention back to Flo. ‘It really was. I was terrified of letting Millicent and Bob down. They’d given me so much that to put a foot wrong? To potentially hurt their business by not being good enough?’ A shiver sprung up out of nowhere despite the warmth of the room. Sam stood and went to stand beside the open fire. ‘I always work hard, but I don’t think I’ve ever worked as hard as I did that week. Up at 4am to organise the day’s food. Staying up until the last of the guests turned in should they want a late-night snack. Looking back I’m glad I was as young as I was. I don’t know that I could pull those sorts of hours these days.’ She closed her eyes and mentally ankle-tapped herself for saying something so stupid in front of her employer. The last thing she needed was Reuben to think she wanted an easy ride, that she couldn’t do the hard yards when required.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever worked those kind of hours in my life.’

  The kindness in Reuben’s tone made it safe for Sam to open her eyes once more. She shot him a grateful look.

  ‘I’m sure you have. Surely the muse has caught you up in her wondrous ways and had you writing from pre-dawn ’til way past dusk?’

  Reuben shook his head. ‘No. The odd extra hours here and there when a deadline loomed, but once I was able to write full-time I treated it as your bog-standard job. Nine to five, give or take half an hour. Routine keeps this writer writing. Any hours spent outside of that are filled with research rather than words. Which I guess is still work, but just a different kind…’ His lips pressed together and his face paled a touch.

  Like he’d said too much? Or what he’d said had upset him? Sam wasn’t sure which, but it hit her that whenever Reuben spoke about writing he became tense.
Withdrew a little.

  A heaviness hung over the small group that hadn’t been there before. Flo was inspecting her pink-polished fingernails. Harry’s focus was on his sandwich, as was Matilda’s. And Stefan was looking at Reuben in the same ‘what’s his problem?’ way as Sam was thinking.

  This wouldn’t do at all. She and Reuben had worked so hard to make the morning a success, to infuse the manor with fun festive feelings. There was only one way to bring them back.

  She picked up her water glass and flicked it with her finger, filling the room with its light and bright crystal ringing. ‘Speaking of nine to five and time passing and all that… Lunch is over, it’s time to get back to work. Each group has three more hours to decorate their room and tree, and then the judging shall commence.’

  Sam set her glass down and began gathering plates and packing up the picnic basket as the others scurried out of the room, intent on finishing and winning.

  ‘Thanks for that, Sam.’

  She glanced up to see Reuben at her shoulder. The colour had returned to his cheeks, but the awkwardness was still there, as ever.

  ‘No problem. Do you always get so stilted when talking about your work? Because you do, you know? Get all funny. Like you’d quite like to fade into the background. Or have the ground swallow you whole.’ She closed the picnic basket and hefted it up as she stood. ‘Do you want me to head anyone off if they ask you about your writing? Distract them with a joke or a silly dance, or I could fake trip over something and cause a diversion that way? Heck, I’d even sing, not that anyone would want me to. I wasn’t joking when I said I was terrible. Which is why I would never, ever suggest a Christmas concert for that one reason… Unless it got you out of a tight spot.’

  The crease between Reuben’s brows deepened as his head angled to the side. ‘You’d do that for me?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I’d do it for the business. I love this place and seeing how contented being here makes people. I can’t imagine not being part of it. It’s my happy place.’

  Her heart all but stopped as she realised what she’d said. How much she’d given away. Good one, Sam. Lay on the desperation nice and thick. That won’t send him running at all.

  ‘Your happy place?’ Reuben took the picnic basket from her and made his way back to the kitchen. ‘Your home wasn’t happy?’

  Sam trudged after him, wishing she could turn back time, zip her lips and carry on the day in the easy-breezy way she’d intended.

  ‘It was fine. But, you know, two older brothers. Mum. Dad. Small cottage. We had our moments.’

  More like her whole life had been one long moment, not that she was admitting that. Even as a little girl she’d quickly learned that what went on in her family’s four walls stayed in their four walls. It wasn’t the done thing to talk about her father’s brooding, his temper. Her mother’s tears. Her brothers’ cowering. Talking was a no-go – even between those who’d suffered under her father’s rule. To this day they didn’t talk about it with each other. Chin up, smile, carry on as if everything was okay. That was the Heatherington way.

  And everything was okay these days. Her father’s heart attack had made sure of that. In truth, though? His passing had sent the main issue off, but the scars – while no longer raw – ran deep. Sam wasn’t sure that any amount of time could heal the emotional wounds he’d inflicted.

  ‘Homes are a bit like that, aren’t they? They have their moments.’ Reuben set the basket on the kitchen’s island, then began unwinding a length of fairy lights. ‘Does anyone really have a truly happy home life?’

  The question didn’t seem directed at her, more a general musing, so Sam let it go. She didn’t want to continue this line of conversation. Didn’t want Reuben to dig, to uncover. Not that he’d have any luck trying. Still, she hadn’t meant to reveal how much Snowflake B&B meant to her and yet she had, so she wasn’t going to risk her lips flapping further.

  ‘Where do you want to put the fairy lights?’ She took one end and held it up, giving Reuben a better line of sight as he unknotted the last of it. ‘We could tape them under the island?’

  ‘Excellent idea. I was thinking we could string another lot round the door?’ He indicated Sam to head towards the island, and they began to shuffle sideways carefully, like they were worried the lights would magically tangle if they moved an inch out of sync.

  Reuben caught her eye as they reached the island. ‘Shall we set them down on the count of three and I’ll find some tape, then we can work our way around?’

  Sam nodded. ‘One.’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Three.’

  In perfect unison they put the lights on the floor, a heavy sigh of relief from both their sides filling the room.

  ‘Honestly, I have no fear when making a soufflé, but the moment I’m dealing with strands of lights I’m terrified.’ Sam opened up the drawer where bits and bobs were kept and passed Reuben a pair of scissors and a roll of tape. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Reuben began snipping away at the tape, sticking it to the edge of the island for easy access later. ‘I’d much rather wrangle plotlines than bits of wire and electrics.’

  ‘Did you always want to write?’ Sam crouched down, took one end of the lights and began securing them to the underside.

  The rasping of tape being pulled out and snipping of scissors hesitated for a beat. Had she overstepped a line in asking? Of course she had. She’d seen how Reuben reacted earlier, knew he was uncomfortable talking about his work. Why would he feel any different talking to her about it?

  ‘Pretty much. From the moment I knew I could. Before that I loved to read. Books are the best escape.’

  Sam fought the urge to pop back up in order to discover the look on Reuben’s face. Not that she needed to, his voice held all the expression: wistful, lonely, resigned.

  ‘What can I say, I was a painfully shy child. Books gave me the friends I struggled to make myself.’

  If Sam wasn’t so terrified of re-tangling the lights she’d have fallen over backwards at his admission. So honest, so frank. So very unlike the Reuben she’d first met.

  ‘So books to you was like this place for me. A happy place.’ A hideaway. A retreat. A place of hope. Not that she was brave enough to admit it to Reuben.

  The dull clunk of the scissors being set down followed, then Reuben was next to her. Shoulder to shoulder.

  Sam inhaled in surprise at having him so close. A musky, soapy scent invaded her senses. Manly, rich. Delicious. She fought the urge to move even closer, to breathe in his scent once more.

  It was how she’d always imagined a man should smell. Safe. Solid. A scent she’d like to make herself at home in.

  Warmth met the side of her thigh. She glanced down to see the lengths of their legs pressed against each other. On purpose? Surely not. She went to move away, but found she couldn’t. Reuben’s touch felt so comfortable, almost secure.

  The feeling of home overwhelmed her once more.

  She turned her attention to the strand of lights she was holding, told herself she was being ridiculous. Reuben wasn’t home. He was a man. And men didn’t equate to home, to safety, to security. Thinking they could, that he might, was fool’s thinking.

  ‘Oh, God, sorry.’ Reuben inched away from her. ‘Didn’t mean to get quite so close.’

  Sam swallowed the lump in her throat that had appeared out of nowhere. Tried to ignore the part of her that missed Reuben’s touch, however innocent it had been.

  ‘No problem. These things happen. Especially when you’re working with the broadness you’re working with and the small space we’re working with.’ She waved away his apology.

  The sound of laughter coming from down the hall met her ears, causing a smile to steal over her face.

  ‘They’re having a good time,’ Reuben observed. ‘All because of you.’

  Sam nudged his shoulder with her own. ‘All because of us.’

  ‘Us? Really?’ Reuben’s eyes searched her
s, like he didn’t believe she was telling the truth. That she was lying.

  ‘Truly.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ Reuben stuck the last bit of tape to the island’s underside, then moved back, plugged the lights into the socket installed under the island, and hit the switch. ‘Idiot,’ he muttered, then sat back. ‘Who puts up fairy lights when the power’s out? I’ll just chalk it up to yet another thing I’m doing wrong.’

  Her heart went out to Reuben. For a man who’d enjoyed so much success professionally, his self-confidence was unbelievably low. Something that would do him no favours in the job. People needed to believe they were going to have an enjoyable stay from the moment they set foot inside the manor. Perhaps, as Millicent had built Sam up and given her the confidence to take charge of the kitchen, she needed to build him up so he could believe in his abilities, see that he was capable of doing the job well.

  ‘Don’t say that, Reuben. I think you do a lot right, and you’re just starting out so you’ve got to give yourself a break and not be so hard on yourself. Besides, the power might come back on in time. We might have ourselves a Christmas miracle?’ She stood and lifted up another tangled mess of lights. ‘Now, with that in mind, shall we tackle these then call it a day?’

  Reuben reached out and took the lights from her, his fingertips grazing hers, sending a tingle up her arm. More electrifying than the comforting warmth of his thigh. More dangerous.

  Almost… desirable.

  Sam shoved the thought away as she rubbed her arm, hoping the action would erase the feeling. There was nothing desirable about Reuben. Sure, he was nice on the eye, in a bookish way. He had manners. Was gentlemanly. And he smelled really, really good. But that didn’t add up to desire. Or want. Or need. Or boyfriend material. And certainly not marriage with a side of happily ever after.

  All it added up to was Sam holding on to the promise she’d made herself years ago:

  No repeating the cycle.