Reuben searched Sam’s demeanour for signs that she was joking, or even half-joking. All he saw was fear. Her usually ruddy cheeks were stark, emphasising the smattering of freckles that were scattered over her cheeks and nose. Her chest was puffed up like her breath was caught in there. Her arms were crossed. Her hands crushed into fists, causing her knuckles to strain tightly against her skin.
This wasn’t her trying to be a good host to their guests – his guests – this was her doing everything she could to avoid confrontation, argument, perhaps even violence.
‘Petulant toddlers just need to be told “no”. Have boundaries set. He’ll be fine.’ Reuben went to write the scores down again, but found the pen being snatched from his hand.
‘Please, don’t.’
Desperation dripped from Sam’s words. Desperation. Fear. Pleading.
Like a puzzle where you had to move the pieces within a cube to create the picture, everything came together.
Sam’s perfectionism, her joking-bordering-on-offensive humour designed to keep people at a distance while making her somehow likeable, her hatred of mess – not hatred, fear. Her love of the B&B. The place she’d spent hours as a child. A haven. A home away from the home she was escaping from, a home where the children couldn’t even put up homemade decorations on their Christmas tree.
His initial instinct about her was surely right; a man had caused her pain. That man being her father – a harsh man who’d ruled over his family with an iron fist.
And Sam’s behaviour was the legacy of her father’s ways.
God, how he wanted to bring her to him. To hold her. To tell her it would all be okay. That Stefan wasn’t her father. That he couldn’t hurt her the way her father had. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t push. Wouldn’t demand answers. Wouldn’t even ask for them. If Sam wanted to talk about her past it had to be on her terms, in her own time.
And if that time was never? Fine. He’d still be here, still look out for her. Still… care.
And in the meantime he’d do what he could to protect her from her feelings, from her fears.
‘Not fives, then?’
‘Thank you.’
Sam turned on her heel and went to the door before he could catch her eye, communicate that everything would be fine.
He stuffed the paper into his pocket without writing a thing. Someone had to win in a way that didn’t seem strange or rigged. It was a competition after all. But the question was… how?
CHAPTER NINE
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in… Stop panicking. Stop freaking out. You’re not at home. You’re no longer a little girl. It will all be fine… Deep breath out.
Sam repeated the mantra and continued to tell herself she was in a safe space while inhaling and exhaling as long and slow and quietly as she could while the increasingly restless group waited in the hall for the door to the kitchen to open and the decorating to be revealed.
‘Ready, Sam?’ Reuben’s hand was on the door, ready to push it open. ‘It’s time for everyone to revel in the glory of our work. Take a bow if you’re so inclined.’ He flashed her a grin and stepped inside.
Sam touched her chest as her heart fluttered. Danced almost. Odd.
More than odd.
Plain out weird.
It was the kind of feeling she’d read about; attributed to attraction. But there was no way she was interested in Reuben like that. Surely. Yes, she’d not shied away from his half-hug earlier. Truth be told, part of her had been tempted to lean into it. To let him take some of the weight from her mind, from her soul, but self-preservation had kept her from doing so. Not only was getting involved with a man a bad idea at the best of times, getting involved with your employer? It was a sure-fire way to be permanently out of a job when it all went sour.
Sam took a reluctant step into the kitchen to see Matilda and Flo surrounding the tree, oohing and aahing at the fire-themed decorations, while Harry and Flo stood, arms crossed and bottom lips jutting out – taking in the silver and white wonderland that had become the kitchen.
‘We wanted to show the juxtaposition of out there.’ Reuben nodded towards the window, where outside the snow continued to float down in a seemingly never-ending wave of white. ‘And the cosiness of being here in the kitchen with the Aga going and the fire roaring. It’s quickly becoming my favourite place in the manor.’
Reuben’s smile widened and was turned on Sam. Warmth, that had nothing to do with the heat of the kitchen, filled her.
When Reuben turned his smile on her, acknowledged her, he made her feel good. Feel special. Feel worthy.
It had been a long time since a man had made her feel any of that.
But the one man who had, had built her up then ripped her apart. Leaving her raw. Exposed. Forcing Sam to build herself back up, bit by bit, little by little, until she’d created a bulletproof persona. Rendered herself untouchable.
Which she thought she was until these new unwanted and unexpected feelings for Reuben had shaken the foundations she’d spent years rebuilding.
She’d have to stamp those out quick. Smother them. Because she knew if she let Reuben get close, let him in, she’d be open. Naked. An easy mark.
She turned her attention back to Harry and Stefan who were busy conferring, pointing out the silver snow globes that sat at either end of the kitchen’s island – down which she’d sprinkled a line of faux crystals through the middle – their lips curling, their heads shaking in silent shows of dislike.
She repressed a smile. How funny that the two of them would come together in order to beat her and Reuben, even when they were currently locked in competition too. At least something good had come of her not-so-bright idea. Good that would be destroyed in a few minutes when a winner had to be chosen.
Sam braced herself for the worst and turned to Reuben, giving him the ‘go ahead’ nod.
‘The time has come to hand in your scorecards.’ Reuben held his hand out and, with a curl of fingers, indicated for the cards to be placed in his hand.
‘But we haven’t marked yours yet.’ Stefan held his scorecard to his chest. ‘Give us another minute.’
‘No need.’
Reuben’s smile was almost sneaky, like he was up to something. Hopefully something that wouldn’t see the coming days filled with tension and sniping, or worse.
‘Whoa, young fella.’ Harry waved his finger at Reuben. ‘You may think what you’ve done in here is amazing, but your winning isn’t guaranteed. Not yet.’
Reuben waved their dissent away. ‘We can’t be judged. It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, like we talked about earlier, I can win a weekend here anytime I want. And I don’t imagine Sam has any desire to stay at the place she cooks at. It’d be awkward, wouldn’t it, Sam?’
Sam nodded vigorously. ‘So awkward. I don’t want to cook for myself on my weekend away, and if Reuben here was to cook for me I’d spend the whole time judging his food – and I don’t think he’d get glowing reviews. Or he’d hire someone in and they’d feel uncomfortable cooking for me. Wouldn’t do. So Reuben’s right, we’re out. Give him your scorecards. Here’s ours, Reuben.’ She passed him the folded pieces of paper then took a step back. Another. And one more for good measure. Anything to put some distance between the cause of the dizziness that had sent her head spinning when their fingertips had brushed just now.
Ridiculous. She was being silly. Imagining an attraction that couldn’t possibly be there. An unqualified cook and a somewhat-famous, successful author having anything in common? Finding each other interesting? Being attracted to each other?
A snort filled the room. One that came from one direction. Hers.
She gripped her nose and directed her attention to her shoes as her cheeks flushed red-hot.
‘Something funny?’ Matilda came to stand beside her. Her arm snaked around Sam’s waist then pulled her in close. ‘Or is it private?’
‘Not private.’ Sam squeezed her eyes shut and pulled herself together. �
�Just daft. A fanciful moment that meant nothing.’
Shut up, Sam.
Fanciful moment? Really? Couldn’t she have said that her nose had been tickling and she’d inhaled a sneeze? That had to sound less intriguing, less I’ve-got-the-hots-for-my-boss than having a bloody ‘fanciful moment’. Now she’d given them permission to speculate about what had caused the snort.
‘Well, we’re all allowed to have those.’ Matilda gave her a squeeze then released her. ‘I’ve been daydreaming about those biscuits you made yesterday. You’ll have to give me the recipe.’
Sam opened her eyes and sent Matilda a silent thank you for saving her. ‘Of course. Remind me if I forget.’
‘You don’t seem the type to forget anything, but I will if you do.’ Matilda turned to Reuben. ‘So? Who won?’
With more melodrama than the situation deserved, Reuben peered at the cards and made a great show of counting the numbers up. His brows rose, then fell. A quiet, almost baffled ‘hmmm’ left his lips.
‘Well. I didn’t see that coming.’ He pursed his lips together then released them. Then began counting again.
‘Well, get on with it. I haven’t got all day,’ Stefan tutted.
Flo elbowed him. ‘Technically you have. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.’
Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, Sam tensed up. Her whole body going rock-hard as she waited for a sneer, a put-down, a palm against cheek, the echo of a slap to fill the room.
‘I’m being a dick, aren’t I?’ Stefan rolled his eyes at himself, and laughed when Flo poked him in his side.
‘You kind of are. At least you figured it out for yourself this time. You’re improving.’ Flo leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. The action returned by Stefan.
‘What would I do without you, babe?’
‘You’d be hanging out with a woman who actually likes being called “babe”.’ Flo widened her eyes in disapproval at Stefan and he pinked up and mouthed ‘sorry’.
Sam forced her shoulders down, mentally checked her body, telling each part it was fine, she was safe, it was okay to relax.
Not every man was her father. Not every man was her ex-boyfriend. Some – probably more than she was willing to give credit to – were properly good men.
Men like Harry, who could get competitive, could be assertive, but didn’t feel the need to control others through emotional abuse, or violence of any kind.
Men like Reuben? Did he fall into the Harry category?
She wanted to believe yes. And so far his actions were fuelling the hope that had begun to unfurl deep inside of her.
No raised voice. No demands. No snide asides. No veins throbbing at temples. Or jaws clenched so tight she expected to hear the crack and crumble of teeth.
‘The points have been added. Twice.’
Sam pushed her musings to the side and paid attention to Reuben, who was addressing the small crowd. His face a picture of innocence, giving no hint of who had won.
‘No correspondence will be entered into. Recounts are not permitted.’
‘What is correspondence anyway?’ Flo muttered.
‘No idea.’ Reuben shrugged. ‘But that’s what they always say in competition rules, so I’m popping it in there. Also, the judge’s decision is final.’ Reuben crushed the papers in his hand. ‘And the winning team is…’
Sam leaned over and used her hands to create a drum roll…
‘Matilda and Harry.’
‘Noooooooo.’ Flo’s wail of anguish filled the room.
‘And Flo and Stefan!’
‘Yessssssss!’ Stefan began leaping about the room punching the air with his fist.
Meanwhile a stunned Flo hid her face in her hands. ‘Oh my God, I just made such a dick of myself.’
‘Join the club, babe. I mean, Flo.’ Stefan wrapped his arms around her and began to jiggle her up and down, cajoling her to join him in his celebrations. After a few seconds, Flo relented and the two began a circling, leaping jig that had Harry and Matilda shaking their heads in amusement.
Sam sidled up to Reuben, who was watching the duos with a carefree grin she’d not seen on his face before.
It suited him, causing the lines on either side of his twinkling eyes to deepen like lengths of sprawling fiords. His thick lips became more defined. Stronger. Lusher.
Kissable.
Ugh. No. No way. Not going there. She turned her attention to the crackling fire and watched as spits of light leapt into the air and marching soldiers traipsed over the blackened wood.
‘It was a draw, huh?’
There. Better. Now that she was not looking at him she could interrogate him on the very strange result of their decorating competition.
‘That’s right. A draw.’ Reuben’s tone showed no signs of a lie, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.
‘Prove it,’ Sam challenged him. ‘Show me the scorecards.’
With a flick of his wrist he hurled the scorecards into the fire, where they flamed hot then shrivelled to nothing.
‘Oops. Too late. Can’t. Sorry.’
Reuben gave an unapologetic shrug, and Sam knew – she knew – that he’d rigged the competition to help her. That he’d seen, understood, how uncomfortable the competition with its unbearable tension and potential for tempers flaming as hot and furious as the scorecards had, and instead of sticking to the rules, instead of saving himself time and money by announcing only one winner, he’d chosen to have both teams win. He’d chosen to take the tension away from her.
‘Thank you.’ Tentatively, she slipped her hand into his and gave it a brief squeeze before just as quickly releasing it.
She forced herself to look at him, prayed the strange mix of feelings tumbling about her stomach – awe, surprise, appreciation – didn’t show on her face.
‘You do realise you’re now going to have to host one Mr Pain-in-the-Arse again at some point?’ She glanced over at Stefan, who’d ceased jigging with Flo and was now helping himself to a glass of mulled wine that Sam had made earlier.
Reuben followed her gaze, his grin dying down a tad. ‘Eh, I do. But I don’t think he’s quite as bad as we think he is. He knew he was being horrid earlier, and if he can at least acknowledge that and work to be better, there’s hope for him yet. And if I’m wrong, I made my own bed I’m big enough and ugly enough to lie in it. Judge’s decision is final, no correspondence will be entered into, remember?’
Sam’s hand, clenched tight at her side, uncurled of its own volition. Demanded to wrap its fingers around Reuben’s bear-like paw once more. To be one with his strength, his support, his kindness.
Before her hand could take action, large warm fingers interlaced with her own petite ones.
‘Thank you, Sam. This has been fun. It’s not something I’ve done before. You’re making the festive season special – for them, for me – and I do appreciate it. More than you could know.’
Sam dared glance up, her breath caught in her throat as their gazes connected and she saw herself reflected in Reuben’s eyes. A little lost, a lot hurt, prepared to take life and its knocks head on, damaged but hopeful.
She’d been right to think Reuben wasn’t like any other man she’d met before. There was no duplicitousness, no need to be right, to win, to rule.
No, Reuben was a different kind of beast altogether.
She tugged her hand from his and hugged herself, then glanced up at the kitchen lights as they flickered on, flickered off, then came back, lighting up along with the fairy lights she and Reuben had strung up, creating an even cosier glow.
‘The power’s back.’ Stefan clapped his hands with excitement. ‘Maybe there’s a chance of getting back to civilisation sooner than later!’
‘Or maybe it’s just a Christmas miracle.’
Reuben’s breath tickled her ear, reigniting the sparks of electricity in her veins, creating a gravitational pull that had her body longing to press against his, her hands to be held in his, her lips…
She
hurried to the bench where she’d set up the afternoon’s fun. ‘Ice your own gingerbread men, anyone?’ she called out brightly.
Yes, Reuben may be a different beast altogether… but a beast was still a beast, Sam reminded herself, and beasts could play nice. But the big question was: Could they be tamed? And was she brave enough to find out?
CHAPTER TEN
Sam nibbled at her gingerbread man – now sporting a red and white-iced Santa hat and suit after the previous afternoon’s post-competition biscuit decorating – and revelled in the glorious sight through the kitchen window. The snow had moved on, revealing a cloudless blue sky and a watery sun that promised a day of fun – should their guests be up for it.
Reuben entered the kitchen wearing his customary cords paired with a maroon jumper sporting snowflakes across the front.
‘Look at you getting all festive.’ Sam set the biscuit down on its plate.
‘What? This old thing?’ Reuben tugged at the jumper’s hem. ‘It’s just something I found in a drawer. I’m guessing it was Bob’s, but it seems to suit the season, so I didn’t want to it to go to waste.’
‘Well, I like it. It suits you.’
Reuben’s head angled to the side, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘I’m looking for an insult but I’m not hearing one.’ He reached over and placed his hand on her forehead. ‘No temperature that I can feel. Have you been body-snatched?’
Sam swiped his hand away and stuck her tongue out.
‘Nope. There you are. Wonderful as ever.’
It was Sam’s turn to search for a hint of insult or sarcasm, but there was none to be found. Reuben thought she was wonderful? Despite all her bravado that could be seen as off-putting to a man who preferred a ladylike type of woman, instead of well… her?
Not that she’d ever cared what a man had thought of her quips and loud laugh and rolling-with-the-punches style. She’d never had cause to. Not for a long time, anyway.
‘Well, er, speaking of wonderful…’ Sam did a little happy dance, excited to let her day’s plan loose on Reuben. ‘You might have noticed it’s brilliant out there today. No wind. No snow. Just clear skies and a barely beaming sun. Perfect skating weather.’
Snowed In At Snowflake B&B: The perfect heartwarming Christmas romance to curl up with in 2020! Page 10