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

by Kellie Hailes

  No making the same mistakes.

  No letting a man in.

  No falling in love.

  Especially in love with a man like Reuben who – on the outside – appeared to be a man who didn’t have it in him to hurt another person. Because Sam knew, had learned the hard way, they were the most dangerous types to fall in love with.

  They were the ones who could break not just your heart, but your spirit as well.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘It’s time, it’s time, it’s time, it’s time!’

  Reuben was afraid if Sam bounced up and down much more she’d bring up her lunch.

  Since they’d finished decorating the kitchen, she’d been bopping around creating sausage rolls, miniature savoury muffins and bite-sized scones to serve alongside celebratory ‘for finishing the decorating’ fizz.

  She’d kept the conversation easy and only managed to insult him twice, and he’d begun to suspect the light patter and joking insults were her way of keeping interactions with others at a surface level, keeping them at a verbal arm’s length, ensuring she never had to get too personal, too honest with another.

  Not that he blamed her for wanting to keep things impersonal. If anything he respected that stance and the way in which she executed it. With her easy manner, quick wit and ability to dance from topic to topic, no one would even think to go deeper, to ask questions.

  Unfortunately for Sam, it piqued his writerly curiosity, and made him want to do exactly that. To see what made her tick, what had caused her to be able to see what people needed before they themselves even knew.

  A tug at his elbow broke his reverie.

  ‘Reuben? It’s time? Please tell me it’s time. I’m bursting to see how they’ve Christmasified the manor.’

  He checked the clock once more, smiled at Sam and tweaked the bird decoration she was still wearing. ‘Yes, you’re right, it’s time. Let’s do this.’

  They half-walked, half-ran to the drawing room – or neutral ground as he’d come to think of it – where the guests had gathered, their expressions expectant, the air about them tense.

  ‘I know we’re all excited to see who’s done what, so let’s get into it, shall we?’

  Beside him Sam jiggled up and down some more and clapped her hands in excitement as he handed out score sheets he’d drawn up while Sam had been cooking, along with a pen to each of the teams.

  ‘I’ve put together some score sheets. We’ll judge on originality, execution and the amount of joy each room and tree brings us.’

  ‘Er, the amount of joy?’ Stefan’s nose crinkled like he thought Reuben’s suggestion stunk. ‘Isn’t that a bit nebulous? I mean it should be easy to see who has put in the proper amount of effort, and originality is easy to spot too, but you’re asking us to judge our feelings…’

  ‘Not hard for those of us who have them,’ Sam murmured under her breath.

  Reuben kept his face the picture of professionalism, even though he was inclined to agree with her.

  ‘Just think of it as happiness. When you see the decorations rate the happiness that surges through your heart from one to five.’

  ‘Surges through our hearts? You’ll be writing romance next, you old sop.’ Harry gave Reuben a hearty slap on his back, then stepped back and threaded his arm through Matilda’s. ‘Ooh, I’m excited to win. Victory is ours, my dear.’ He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, earning him an affectionate roll of eyes.

  ‘Er, what’s to stop others from marking us down, and vice versa?’ Flo shot Stefan a look, her teeth clenching in a quick grimace.

  Reuben sank his teeth into the fleshy bit of his cheek as he thought Flo’s astute question through. While the others seemed honest enough, Stefan was obviously the competitive type, and Reuben wouldn’t put it past him to take advantage of other people’s goodness and honesty in order to get his way.

  ‘If it becomes clear that one team is seriously underscoring the others, they’ll be eliminated.’ Sam piped up. ‘Simple as that.’ Her arms crossed her chest in a way that said she wouldn’t be argued with on the matter.

  Reuben brought his hands together to get the attention back to him. ‘Right, so, shall we start with the sitting room first? Stefan, Flo, lead the way.’

  Sam came to walk beside him. Her joyful demeanour had disappeared, as had the bounce in her step. ‘This is going to be fun.’

  ‘By your tone I take it you think it’s going to be a flop?’ Reuben was surprised to see Sam’s turnaround of attitude. Five minutes ago she’d been gagging to get the competition underway. Now she had the pallor of something walking to their death.

  Sam shook her head like she was irritated with herself. ‘I didn’t realise how competitive Stefan would be. He strikes me as the kind of guy who’s going to lose it if he doesn’t win.’

  ‘So you’re saying I should rig the competition and let him win?’

  ‘Not at all. You don’t reward bad behaviour.’ Sam’s upper lip curled in disgust. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying. I mean, look at Harry, even he’s wound tight.’

  Reuben followed her gaze and saw she was right. Harry’s shoulders were all but hugging his earlobes. His steps were short and quick. Tense.

  ‘I really thought this would be a good idea. A way to entertain everyone while helping them bond, but I feel like I’ve dropped a tinsel-bomb and it’s set to explode.’ Sam clucked her tongue in self-reproach.

  Reuben resisted the urge to put his arm around Sam, to comfort her, to reassure her. To do so would be wildly inappropriate, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Instead he settled for tapping her forearm lightly in a ‘there there’ style.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

  Sam glanced at his hand then looked up at him. ‘My God, you’re terrible at consoling people who are freaking out.’

  ‘And you’re terrible at being grateful when a person who is not the touchy-feely type takes the time to console you when you’re freaking out,’ Reuben shot back, trying to ignore the flood of embarrassment that had his body hot and prickly and was threatening to rise to his cheeks.

  Sam laughed, loud and long enough to cause the others to stop at the boundary of the sitting room and turn to see what had her so amused.

  ‘I really am.’ She hooked her arm through Reuben’s before he could step away or shut her down. ‘What a pair we are.’

  ‘A pair that’s about to lose.’ Stefan punched the air. ‘You should see what we’ve come up with. Prepare to have your minds blown.’

  Sam’s hold on Reuben tightened and he tugged her a touch closer. A silent show of support. He didn’t understand why the raised levels of testosterone and competitiveness were getting to her, but he knew he wanted to make her feel better. To do for her what she’d done for him when she’d stepped in when he’d been faced with awkward questions about his writing.

  With a dramatic flourish Stefan and Flo opened the sitting room door and ushered the group in.

  ‘Oh. My.’ Matilda’s astounded tone said it all.

  ‘Oh my, indeed.’ Reuben echoed as he took in the place where they were meant to somehow relax and enjoy each other’s company for the next few nights.

  The room looked like one of the unicorns on Sam’s socks had thrown up in it. The tree wasn’t so much draped in tinsel as plastered in it. And the few parts that weren’t covered in pink and purple sparkling metallic plastic were hidden by giant pink and purple baubles and bows.

  ‘Wow.’ Sam managed an encouraging nod at Flo, whose bright-eyed enthusiasm had dulled in the passing silent seconds.

  ‘It took us hours.’ Flo leaned against the fireplace mantel, along which ran more pink and purple tinsel, interspersed with ornaments ranging from tutu-wearing pigs holding harps and flutes with Santa hats atop their heads, to pink sequinned hearts that were propped up almost drunkenly against the tinsel.

  ‘So, er, what was the inspiration for the room?’ Reuben asked, hoping to get some idea as to what spurred t
he monstrosity before them.

  Stefan crossed his arms and began to rock back and forth from the heels to the balls of his feet. ‘We wanted to stand out. To show that Christmas isn’t all about red, green, gold and silver. That it can be fun. That it can be out there.’

  ‘Well you’ve definitely succeeded in achieving that.’ Matilda reached out and touched another ornament, her hand snapping back when she realised it was an anatomically correct gingerbread man.

  A remnant from the hens’ party, Reuben guessed.

  ‘Cast your votes.’ Reuben called out, keen to move to the next room, which would be hopefully less garish. ‘Flo and Stefan, if you could wait outside while we confer with our partners.’

  The two shuffled out, their shoulders sloped in the dejected fashion of those who’d thought success was theirs, only to not be greeted with the enthusiastic reception they’d expected.

  Reuben almost felt sorry for them. Almost. Flo he felt sorry for, but it was hard to summon the same feelings for Stefan who’d, just before he’d left the room, turned, pointed his middle and forefingers at the remaining group, spun them towards his eyes and then back again in the universal ‘I’m watching you’ threat.

  Sam pulled Reuben down to sit beside her on the couch. ‘Well, that was unexpected.’ She gritted her teeth together and widened her eyes.

  ‘You can say that again,’ Reuben agreed.

  ‘I guess we ought to be grateful the penis-shaped glasses weren’t stored amongst the Christmas decorations or they could well have made an appearance too…’ Sam tilted her head and waggled her brows up and down.

  Reuben shuddered dramatically and held up his hand like he was holding a mobile, his thumb pressing down on its invisible home button. ‘Note to self, make time for search and destroy penis glass mission.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’ Sam flashed him a smile before turning her attention the score sheet, her brows knitting together as she let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘What mark are we going to give them?’

  ‘Five for originality? Because we never expected this?’ Reuben suggested, earning a nod of approval from Sam.

  ‘Three for the joy it brought?’ Sam’s finger reached into her hair and twirled around a curl. She absentmindedly tugged at it as she concentrated on the paper in front of them. ‘Although, I feel amusement would be more apt. I don’t know that it has my heart singing but it has given me somewhat of a giggle.’

  ‘Three it is. I am tempted to go up to a four. The joy I’ll get from seeing Stefan’s face when he loses will be worth the extra point.’

  ‘Do it.’ Sam tapped the pen he was holding. ‘Go for a four. As for the execution? It pains me to say, but it has to be a one. For all the hours they spent in here, it really does look like they just threw everything about without care or consideration.’ Her face morphed from remorseful to horrified as she sprung up off the couch. ‘Ew. What if they spent their time in here you know? Doing stuff? On the…?’ Her head jerked to where Reuben was sitting. ‘I mean. They barely talk. Sometimes I wonder if they even like each other. But maybe conversation isn’t where their attraction lies…’

  Revulsion ripped through Reuben and he leaped up from the couch. ‘Oh no. That’s not worth thinking about.’ He eyed the couch, looking for signs of amorous behaviour. ‘I’m sure that’s not the case, but just in case it is, remind me to get this cleaned soon as the roads are clear and an upholstery cleaning company can make it through?’

  ‘Consider it done.’ Sam turned to Matilda and Harry, who were still huddled over their bit of paper in deep discussion. ‘You two, it’s just a friendly competition not a summit on how to achieve world peace – time to get a wriggle on.’

  ‘Fine.’ Matilda huffed, quickly scratching down their scores. ‘It’s just very hard to be fair.’

  ‘Especially when you suspect there’s one person in the group who’ll do their best to be anything but,’ Harry added.

  ‘Understood, but just remember that it’s better to rise up than lower yourself to another person’s level.’ Sam gave Harry and Matilda a pointed look, then opened the door to a tense-looking Stefan and Flo. ‘Right, let’s see what Harry and Matilda have come up with, shall we?’

  Without another look she powered on to the next room, leaving Reuben alone in the sitting room, which he had mentally renamed the Raffish Room. Somehow he didn’t see himself taking tea in there for the foreseeable future.

  He cast one more look at the couch.

  Having it cleaned? Not likely. The couch was going to have to be burned.

  ‘Now, before we head in, we just want to explain our point of view on our work.’ Matilda blocked the dining room door; Harry at her side ensured no one could dodge around them. ‘We wanted to create a piece of home since if the weather keeps on like this there’s a good chance we won’t be spending Christmas with our own family this year.’

  Tears sparkled in Matilda’s eyes and Flo reached out and laid her hand upon Matilda’s forearm.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sure the roads will be clear before then.’

  Matilda smiled her thanks. ‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m being a silly old goat. There’ll always be other Christmases. I’m just being sentimental. Anyway…’ Matilda heaved in a shuddering breath. ‘Welcome to our little bit of home.’

  Harry pushed open the door and stepped aside so everyone could shuffle in and Reuben gave his shoulder a reassuring pat as he passed. The poor man looked half-terrified, half-determined – like he was about to enter a war zone. Which, in some ways, he was.

  Despite all the ‘friendly competition’ talk the tension in the air had thickened to a point where he could almost taste the rivalry. Tart, acidic, with a hint of rot.

  Sam’s show of jolliness had retreated once more, leaving him to wonder just how much of her happy-go-lucky nature was, in fact, a show. A way to keep life flowing along, avoiding bumps, humps and no-holds-barred arguments.

  ‘You’ve all gone silent. Don’t tell us you hate it.’ Harry’s laugh filled the room, then stopped as abruptly as it started. ‘Although if you hate it I guess the final score will tell us.’ His lips pressed together and Matilda wrapped her arm around his waist, giving him a loving squeeze.

  Reuben smiled at the small touch. So gentle, so kind. So there. It must be nice to have someone who had your back through thick and thin. Who wouldn’t just up and leave when life got too hard, or when things didn’t go your way.

  ‘It’s good silence.’ Sam moved to the wall on the far side of the room and ran her fingertips over the lettering that had been drawn and strung up. ‘This Merry Christmas sign is amazing. Who drew this?’

  ‘That would be Harry.’ Matilda’s voice brimmed with pride. ‘He’s an illustrator.’

  ‘Retired,’ amended Harry.

  ‘But still brilliant.’ Matilda kissed his cheek. ‘I imagine drawing’s a bit like writing. You can stop, if you choose, but the skill never leaves you.’

  Reuben managed a smile, and hoped the hard, painful thump of his heart couldn’t be heard by the others. Harry’s talent was a harsh reminder that while skill might have remained in Harry’s hands, it had abandoned Reuben’s fingertips.

  For now. He forced the words into his mind. He wasn’t giving up. He couldn’t afford to. His pride, his home, his everything was on the line.

  Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight he’d get some words out. If Harry could produce stunning lettering, in which Nutcrackers stood sentry and elves made toys, then he could write a sentence or two.

  ‘And the tree is a delight.’ Sam stood in front of the tree admiring the handmade decorations fashioned from scraps of paper. ‘I always wanted a tree like this, but my father didn’t like trees to be filled with anything homemade.’

  Her spine stiffened and her shoulders squared, like she regretted her words. Like she’d said too much.

  And she had. Reuben was beginning to get a picture of who Sam really was, where she came from, why she behaved as she did. The pi
cture wasn’t pretty. This time he ignored the small voice in his head that told him not to go to her, not to hold her. Sam may present an independent front, but she needed someone right now, even if only to help clear the uncomfortable air her revelation had brought.

  Before he could second-guess himself, he made his way to her side and placed his arm around her shoulder, keeping the distance between their bodies respectable, but also close enough that his gesture didn’t look awkward or forced.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sam whispered.

  Reuben glanced sideways at her to see her eyes twinkling, not with good cheer but sadness. With unshed tears.

  ‘Least I could do,’ he whispered back. ‘If you need an ear, I’m here.’

  Sam blinked, the action clearing the moisture from her eyes. ‘Thank you. I’m okay. Truly. Just having a moment.’

  ‘It’s okay to have moments. It’s okay to talk about what’s causing those moments too.’ Reuben squeezed her shoulder, then dropped his arm.

  If only he could take his own advice.

  He preferred to take his ‘moments’ and hide them away. Ignore them. Pretend they weren’t still within him, bubbling just below the surface. Talking to someone about his failed marriage? His inability to do the one thing he was born to do? Laughable. He’d sooner glue his lips together.

  ‘It’s a bit… sparse… isn’t it?’

  Reuben’s fists curled at Stefan’s criticism. Had the young man no filter? Could he not see the work that was put into the decorations? Did he even realise how unlikeable he was?

  ‘Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder I think you’ll find, son.’

  Harry didn’t sound offended, but Reuben was happy to be offended on his behalf. As far as he was concerned this room was the winner. No contest.

  ‘Harry, Matilda, out you go. Time to vote.’ Sam scooted them out with her hands, then dragged Reuben to the far end of the dining room to work out the points.

  ‘Fives all the way.’ Reuben went to note the numbers down, but was stopped by a hand blocking the paper.

  ‘We can’t. Can you imagine if Stefan loses? He’s going to go nuclear. He’ll trash the rooms. Or cause them to crumble with his yelling. There’s a petulant toddler hiding inside that man-sized body.’