She sank back into the chair, wondering if just this once she should break her family’s unspoken rule and not hide her pain. Her shame. To be brave, to stop getting in her own way. To shut down the fear that stopped her from living a full life.
Reuben wasn’t one of the village gossips. He didn’t strike her as the kind of person to blab her personal business or her deepest feelings to all and sundry. If anything he’d proved by keeping his financial and relationship problems to himself that he was the kind of man to keep secrets, feelings, pain held as tightly within himself as she did.
Two of a kind. Kindred spirits.
‘Do you ever get angry, Reuben?’
Reuben shrugged. ‘No. Not often. Once in a blue moon, or even less than that.’ He anchored his elbows on the desk, steepled his fingertips together and leaned closer. ‘Why do you ask?’
Sam pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘My father was an angry man. But he was no “once in a blue moon or less” kind of angry man. It was constant. Simmering. Like having a thunderstorm roiling about your head all day every day, never sure when it would release a lightning bolt. Or like living right at the foot of an active volcano.’ With no encouragement needed, every muscle in her body tensed. Even her ears stiffened. Premature protection from a harsh word or a long tirade. Her heart didn’t quicken, but stopped along with the breath that held its place in her chest. Refusing to release until it was safe.
He father had been gone for nearly eight years and still he had this effect on her. She hated herself for it.
‘He wasn’t a violent man. Never lashed out. Never hit.’ No, that was the way of her ex-boyfriend. Ex-slug. Ex-mistake. Final mistake. One and only. Never to be repeated. ‘But he used his words, his temper, his moodiness to control anything and everything he could. Everyone. It was like he took pleasure in seeing us pale. In seeing us cowed. In seeing us run on the occasions my brothers and I found the courage to do so.’
‘And you ran here? That’s how you know the place so well?’
Sam closed her eyes and remembered the first time Bob had found her and her brothers roaming the woods beyond the gardens . His ‘hey, you three’ had been curious, and his ‘should you be here?’ kind. He’d not asked many questions, perhaps sensed a reticence to return home, and instead brought them into the kitchen where Millicent was baking up a storm and was more than happy to have three hungry and appreciative young mouths to feed.
‘We did. The grounds of Snowflake B&B were our escape. We could play for hours here without worrying about putting a foot wrong. I think Bob and Millicent figured things weren’t right. Probably when we took their kindness as an open invitation and came back as often as we could. After school. On the weekends. School holidays. We dreaded the winters. The impassable roads…’
‘Dreaded being stuck at home with your father.’ Reuben filled in the obvious blank. He sat back in his chair. ‘And what of your mother? Did she not tell him to stop? Why didn’t she leave?’
‘Leaving’s not always the easy thing to do.’ No one knew that better than Sam. She ought to have left the moment her ex screamed at her until she was huddled in a corner of their bedroom, hands over ears, eyes squeezed shut. Should have left the moment he questioned the way she folded the towels. ‘And when you’re constantly told you’re useless, good for nothing, that no one would want you, you begin to believe it.’
As her mother had.
As she very nearly had.
‘By the time he had his heart attack and passed away, my mother was a shell. She’d long pushed her friends away, and they’d given up trying to keep in touch. She’d not been allowed hobbies or a social life. All she had was us kids, and we made a point of not being at home as often as possible.’
‘The poor woman.’ Reuben’s lips turned down. ‘And now? Is she still a shell? Has she managed to recover?’
Sam’s heart warmed as an image of her mother drinking pink gin every Wednesday night surrounded by her friends came to mind. ‘She’s slowly built her life back up. It took a long time, but she reconnected with the friends she’d ignored in order to hide the shame she felt at loving a man who treated us all so badly.’ A harsh laugh filled the room. Hers. ‘Loving. More like…’ She pressed her lips together as she tried to find the right words.
‘Stockholm syndrome?’
‘Yes. That. Exactly.’ Sam released her knees, brought them down and stretched her legs out. ‘Now she has a wee gin club going. We have the meals-on-wheels business that we run together. She organises presents for kids in need at Christmas and is in charge of the village’s egg hunt at Easter. She likes to help, to give. And now that my father isn’t breathing down her neck, isn’t filling her with fear, she’s free to be who she wants to be. It’s been a beautiful transformation to watch.’
‘I can imagine.’ Reuben met her smile and shared one of his own. ‘And your brothers? How were they affected by what went on at home?’
Sam’s smile further widened. ‘I read once that children with dysfunctional parents or home lives go one of two ways. They either repeat the cycle, or do everything to break it. It’s safe to say that my brothers treat their wives like queens.’
‘Good men.’ Reuben nodded. ‘Your mother must be proud.’
‘Very much so.’ Sam dropped her gaze to her hands, knotted together in her lap. Awkwardness filled her as she realised how much she’d just shared with a man she barely knew. Not even her few friends knew this much. The shame, the fear that had kept her mother silent had also kept her daughter’s mouth glued shut.
‘And you? How did you turn out?’ Reuben laced his fingers together. Two lines appeared between his brows as he raked his gaze over her. ‘In your opinion?’
‘I think I turned out okay. I think I’m a work in progress?’
‘And I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.’ Reuben leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ve only just met you. And in that time I’ve come to know a woman whose smile – whose presence – lights up a room. Who trades light-hearted insults like she’s ten foot tall and bulletproof. A woman who comes across as easy-going but wouldn’t dare leave a crumb on a kitchen surface, who keeps her kitchen cupboards meticulously ordered, who doesn’t just kick off her boots but lines them up just so. A woman who was hurt by a man who should’ve known better, a man who should’ve behaved better. Yet she came out of that wretched situation not just a survivor, but stronger, more sure of what she would and would not accept in her life going forward.’
Sam rearranged her cardigan, pulled it tighter round herself. She’d never felt so seen. No one had ever drilled down past her quick words and ready smile to see her truth.
Reuben pushed himself out of his chair and made his way around the desk to stand in front of her, so close his intoxicating, fresh soap scent surrounded her. Infused her, gave her strength she no longer felt she had. Not in the face of such honesty.
She turned her attention to her feet, not wanting Reuben to see the trails down her cheeks.
Too late.
He crouched down before her and thumbed the tears away, then cupped her cheek. His hand strong but soft against her skin.
‘I also see how important Snowflake B&B is to you. I see it’s your haven. Your safe place. A place where as a child you could be free to be who you were, where – it seems to me – you experienced love without fear. Where you discovered who you wanted to be and how you wanted to be treated. It’s where you became the amazing woman I see before me. And I can see you’re as important to the manor as the manor is to you.’ Reuben’s hand left her cheek, ran down the length of her arm and took her hand. ‘Which is why I’d love it…’
She glanced up from beneath her lowered lashes to see his chest hitch, like whatever he was about to say was a big deal.
For him? For her? For both of them?
She dared lift her gaze, no longer afraid that he’d see her tears as weakness, to discover Reuben’s cheeks had pinkened in a way th
at was far too endearing for Sam’s heart. Made her want to reach out and cup his cheeks, as he had hers, and soothe them with the cool palms of her hands.
‘I’d appreciate it greatly if you would consider, all things going well, working here on a more permanent basis. It doesn’t have to be full-time; I know you have your other business, and you don’t have to live here, though you’re more than welcome to. And if you did choose to move in, you could use the kitchen here in order to keep your other business going… If that would work for you. If it would make you happy. I know it would make me happy.’
The colour in Reuben’s cheeks had steadily spread across his face and was now spilling down his neck and disappearing under his jumper.
‘I’m rambling, aren’t I? God, the way I built that up you probably thought I was about to confess my undying love for you, ask you to move in with me in a totally inappropriate way or, hell, I don’t know, get down on one knee and propose.’
‘Well it was a proposal of sorts.’ Sam gently tugged her hand out from Reuben’s as confusion threatened to swamp her. Cheek-cupping and hand-holding one minute? Talk of inappropriate behaviour the next? She didn’t believe Reuben intended on sending mixed messages, but the line between them was as blurry as her eyesight had been a few moments ago. ‘A very kind one at that. And I’m so glad it wasn’t a marriage proposal. The last thing I want is to get hitched, not after I saw what a bad marriage looks like. No ball and chain for me, thank you.’
‘That I can understand. Also, I understand that you’ll want some time to mull over the offer. Work out what’s best for you. And if you’d prefer not to take me up on working or staying here, then that’s fine too.’
Reuben took a step back. A symbolic action indicating she could have all the space and time she needed?
She didn’t need a second longer. Her mind was made up.
She wanted to cook full-time at Snowflake B&B. Wanted to live there. It was as close as she was ever going to get to realising her ultimate dream of owning and running the B&B, and she wasn’t going to turn it down. Especially when the offer came from a man who she wanted to spend her days and nights working alongside. A man who was so different from all others, who understood her in a way no one else ever had. Who didn’t judge her. Who accepted her. Whose apologies were as genuine as his acts of kindness.
‘I’ve done all the mulling I need to.’ She stuck her hand out. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’
A smile broke out over Reuben’s face that caused her heart to morph into a trampoline, complete with flip-flopping acrobat.
His hand clasped hers. Held.
Did Reuben’s palm feel as fizzy as hers did? Like tiny sparks of electricity were dancing all over it? Or like miniature magnets were woven tight under its skin, connecting him to her?
‘Really? Truly?’
His voice held all the hope of a child who’d been told Santa was bringing him the one Christmas gift he’d been longing for.
‘Really. Truly.’ She echoed Reuben’s words, realising just how much it had taken for him to ask her to stay. How for a man who’d lost as much as he had – a wife, a marriage, love, perhaps even his writing career if her suspicions were right – to put himself out there was a huge deal.
One she wouldn’t make him regret.
Sam tipped her head back, caught Reuben’s gaze, injected as much solemnity into her voice as she could.
‘And, Reuben, I just want you to know that now that you’ve asked me, you’re stuck with me. I won’t up and leave this place.’ I won’t up and leave you. ‘Promise.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Reuben opened his laptop up and settled into his new favourite spot at the kitchen island. Across from him Sam was busy mixing batter for pancakes. On the Aga a pot bubbled with some kind of tangy mixture.
‘What’s that you’re cooking? It smells amazing.’
‘Raspberry and blackberry compote. The fruit was grown here, of course.’ Sam gave them a stir with a wooden spoon. ‘How’s the writing going?’ She waved the spoon in his direction, then set it down.
Reuben shrugged. It was going terribly as per usual. He’d hoped a change of scenery would help, but now that he was in front of Sam all he wanted to do was talk to her, be with her.
‘You’re stuck aren’t you? Struggling to write?’
Reuben’s head snapped up from staring at the blank page. It wasn’t her blatancy that shocked him, but how evident his writer’s block had become.
‘Is it really that obvious?’ Reuben sank his head into his hands and massaged his temples.
‘Really is I’m afraid. Whenever I see you with your laptop you’re not typing, just scrawling, or gazing blankly at the screen.’
A scrape was followed by a light clunk as a mug of Sam’s delectable hot chocolate was set in front of him, its rich, chocolatey scent causing his body to relax and his mind to mellow.
‘Can I ask, and you can tell me it’s none of my business, but did it happen after your marriage broke up? After you moved here?’
Reuben forced himself to meet Sam’s gaze – equally curious and caring.
He nodded, deciding if she could trust him with her past then he could trust her with his. ‘It did. It’s like the words packed up and left when she did. I used to joke with her, Elise, that she was my muse, but that’s all I thought it was – a light-hearted compliment that you give someone who believes in you, who supports you. Now I’m starting to wonder if she actually was the reason I could write.’
Sam picked up a honey and spice cookie in the shape of a Christmas tree from a plate in the middle of the island and broke a piece off it. ‘It’s hard when you can’t do what you love. I went through a period where I couldn’t cook. Picking up a wooden spoon or a whisk held the same weight as a barbell, it took all my brainpower to get timings right, and it didn’t matter how much time I spent in the kitchen, I never felt like I achieved anything.’
‘So what did you do?’ What happened to you that stole your love of cooking? Reuben left the question unasked. He’d seen how hard it was for Sam to talk about her father; he didn’t want to push her to talk about other life traumas when she wasn’t ready.
‘I did something else.’ Sam’s chin jutted forward in quiet determination. ‘My focus had always been on hearty meals. Stews and bakes. Roasts and curries. Instead I began to bake. Cakes, biscuits, scones. I went from heart-warming food to heart-healing, and it did the trick. Eventually. Now I can do both as well as each other. It seems even hiccups have a purpose.’
‘So you’re saying I should write something else?’ Reuben picked up the mug of chocolate and brought it to his lips. ‘That if I give another style of writing a go I might find my way back to who I am? Who I’m meant to be? What I love the most?’
Sam shrugged. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? And the best would be that you start writing again, right?’
‘Right.’ Reuben met her smile and sipped his chocolate, watching Sam as she went back to stirring her compote.
He’d always thought the concept of a person’s heart soaring was fanciful. Unbelievable. A load of codswallop. Not anymore. It wasn’t just like a weight had been lifted from his heart, but like a brilliant light had been shone upon it. One that warmed and lifted in a way that kept his heart in his chest, but saw it expand and bloom.
If there was one word that encapsulated the feeling, it was…
Hope.
‘I heard on the radio this morning that the roads will be cleared by this afternoon.’ Sam poured pancake batter into the pan. ‘I guess that means our guests will be moving on.’
Reuben’s heart warmed at her use of ‘our’. Initially he’d found it intrusive, but now he saw it was because she felt at home, part of Snowflake B&B.
‘Do I hear our name being taken in vain?’
Matilda and Harry walked into the kitchen, their arms threaded through each other’s, as was their fashion.
‘I was just saying that the roads are due
to be clear. You can escape your prison.’ Sam grinned and set two mugs and a plunger of freshly made coffee out for them. ‘I’m sure you’ll be relieved to be going.’
‘If relieved means sad and counting the days until we can come back, you’re right.’
Sam went to pour the coffee, but Reuben batted her hand away before she could touch it. ‘I’ve got this, Sam.’
He waited for a thank you, for an acknowledgement of his help, but all he got was a blank-faced stare and a shoulder shrug as she went back to tending the pancakes.
‘No, I’ve got it, son. I can see you’ve work to do.’ Harry nodded in the direction of the laptop, then grabbed the plunger and poured a coffee for Matilda and then himself. ‘I’m almost sad that we weren’t stuck here for Christmas. That would’ve been something.’
Matilda added sugar to their coffee and a dash of milk each. ‘More than “something”, it would have been absolutely magical.’
Reuben managed to catch Sam’s eye when she turned to pour the compote into a vintage cream-coloured ceramic jug with gold trim. A silent conversation went between them. Him suggesting, her agreeing.
‘Why don’t we bring Christmas forward? Celebrate tonight? It’d be a brilliant way to say thank you for making your staying a memorable event. One I’ll treasure forever.’ Reuben was surprised to find he didn’t just mean every word, but was excited by the idea.
‘I think that’s a fantastic idea.’ The frying pan sizzled as Sam began placing bacon in it, sending a savoury aroma into the air. ‘Best ever. I could whip up a festive feast with all the trimmings. I could even try a turducken.’
‘A what now?’ Harry’s face creased in confusion.
‘A chicken inside a duck inside a turkey. I’ve always wanted to do one. If the roads are clear I could get what we need from the shops and make it happen.’
‘No, there’s no need to do that.’ Reuben shook his head at Sam as he mentally counted the cost of the meal, along with all the extras she’d no doubt cook to go with it. There may be light at the end of the tunnel, but until he had words on paper that he could show his publisher, until the website Sam said she was working on along with a social media plan saw more bookings come in, he was still in danger of losing everything. ‘Let’s pare it back a bit. Prawn cocktail to start. Roast chicken and beef, or roast lamb for main. Roast vegetables. Boiled peas. Yorkshire pudding. Gravy, and bread sauce. A dessert of your choosing, Sam. And don’t forget you’re cooking for six people, not sixty. There’s no need to go all out, especially when there aren’t any more guests booked in for another week or so.’
Snowed In At Snowflake B&B: The perfect heartwarming Christmas romance to curl up with in 2020! Page 13