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

by Kellie Hailes

Bugger waiting until tomorrow to say her piece and leave, if they were going to have it out, then they were going to have it out then and there. Better to go to bed with a clear mind than toss and turn all night.

  She flung the door open and stepped into the doorway, doing her best to frame the space while drawing herself up to her full height.

  ‘Oh my God, Sam, you look terrible.’ Reuben reached out his hand towards her forehead and Sam jerked to the side.

  ‘I’m fine. More than fine.’

  ‘But your eyes are all bloodshot, and you’re deathly pale. Is there a thermometer about? In the bathroom drawers? Maybe you need to get into bed. Immediately. Get a good night’s rest. You truly do look on death’s door.’

  ‘Is that how you woo a girl?’ Sam let out a barking laugh. ‘Or is this just you showing me who you really are?’

  Reuben’s mouth fell open but no words came out. Good. She had him right where she wanted him. He’d been caught out and he knew it.

  ‘I’m not sick. I’m also not stupid. I can see what’s going on right in front of me. I’ve seen this scenario before. I know how it plays out.’

  Reuben ran his hand through his hair then cupped his neck. ‘I don’t… Sam, I’m at a loss for words…’

  ‘That’s right. You are. Because you’re trying to make me think I’m going crazy. That everything that’s been happening between you and I is all in my head.’ Her hands, held tight at her sides, fisted tighter with every accusation. ‘Nothing’s in my head. I see what you’re doing. I’ve seen it done before. And I won’t – won’t – let it happen to me again.’

  Reuben took a small step towards her, his hand reaching for hers.

  Sam leaped back before he touched her. ‘No, keep away from me. You’re no better than any other man I’ve met. You’re a… a… a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And I was a fool for thinking you were anything else. Any better than the rest.’ Spittle flew from her mouth, and she didn’t care. Wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t deserve an apology.

  Reuben retreated back into the hallway, his hands help up, palms out. ‘I feel like I’ve stepped into a story and I’ve missed an important scene. I’m not trying to make you think you’re crazy, Sam. I don’t know where this is coming from. Perhaps if you could help me understand?’

  She hated how calm Reuben was. How still. His words soft and logical, compared to the flurry of sentences that spilled through her. It’s a tactic – you know that. You’re crazy; he’s sensible. But you’re not crazy, you are in the right. After all who’s the one selling the manor after offering you the opportunity to live in it?

  ‘I can’t believe I let you do this to me. What kind of fool am I?’ She glanced down and registered his Christmas gift to her in his free hand. She pointed to it. ‘And giving me that? For Christmas? It seals the deal, really. Honestly, why do you think I’d want that? I don’t need it. I’m fine with what I have.’ She tangled her fingers through her hair and closed her eyes and, wished that Reuben would go away and leave her be.

  ‘I thought it would make you happy… That you’d.’ A loud exhalation filled the room. ‘Sam, I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m not trying to do anything to you, I promise. I just need you to—’

  Bald-faced lies. That’s what he was telling. To her face. The realisation fired her up once more. She opened her eyes and took a step before him. She had nothing to be afraid of. He couldn’t hurt her with words, or emotions or fists. ‘You need me to what? To calm down? To think? To take a deep breath? To believe you? To do as you want me to do? To bow to your will?’ Sam shook her head, slow, composed. Gone was the manic anger. Icy disdain had taken its place. ‘Not happening. Not again. I’m done.’

  Reuben glanced over her shoulder, his eyes widening as he caught sight of her suitcase. ‘You’re going?’ The words were a harsh whisper.

  ‘Of course I’m going. There’s no way I’m going to stay. Not when my food’s not warm enough. I’m not fast enough. When not doing a few last dishes is cause for you to come looking for me to enquire about them.’

  ‘No, Sam. You’ve got the wrong end of things. Everything you do is right. Your food is amazing, and your speed beyond anything I’ve witnessed in my life. And I’d have done the dishes if you couldn’t. If you’d—’ He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘If you’d told me to, which you shouldn’t have to, because I should be able to do this myself. It’s not you who is wrong, I’m wrong. I’m not right. Or enough. I never was.’ His final words came out a harsh whisper.

  ‘Damn right it’s you who’s not right. I’m fine. F. I. N. E. I was an idiot for thinking anything could change. That men could be different. You’re all the same. All you want is to dominate, to control, to be overbearing overlords of we women types. Not me. Not ever. I promised myself that once. Twice. Who was I to think it’d be a case of third time lucky?’ She hugged herself. ‘What’s worse is that I believed you might be different, and you’re not. You promised me the world – everything I’ve ever wanted – to live here, to work here, and your plan the entire time was to rip it away.’

  ‘Rip it a—’ Reuben shook his head and stopped mid-sentence. ‘I don’t understand? I would never rip anything away from you? I wanted to give you everything.’

  ‘Did you think you could hide it from me? Your selling the manor? I heard the estate agent on the phone. I know everything. Was this some kind of game for you? Something to use in a book down the track? See how far you could push a girl before you broke her? Not that there’s a book, is there? All the hours in your study doing nothing… certainly not doing your job. I’ve seen the contract. I know what it means. You have to sell or become like one of us average types who have next to nothing, who eke out existences rather than have them handed to us on a platter.’

  Reuben’s eyes widened and his chest rose. ‘No. Sam. You’ve got this all wrong. You heard—’

  ‘Oh, so we’re at the “screw with my head” portion of this conversation? Where you make me believe that I heard wrong, that it’s all a misunderstanding, that you did not in fact have Bevel & Son looking for a buyer? Sorry, Reuben, but that won’t work on me. I’m older, wiser. I have enough self-respect that I won’t stick around and hope – believe – that things will be different. I’m getting out before what shred of dignity I have left is ripped away, and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me. And don’t worry your precious little head about tomorrow, I’m professional enough to stay the night and cook your guests breakfast before they leave. Then after that I’m out.’ She held up her hand as Reuben’s lips made to move once more. ‘Don’t say a word. There’s no point. Keep your apologies, don’t bother with flowers, and don’t you dare come and find me or cross my front door. This is all done. We’re done.’

  Sam shut the door in his face, then turned and slumped against it – as much because she was afraid he might come in as because the fire had burned out, the fight had gone out of her. She took in the room that had been hers for seven wonderful years, for three amazing days, and would still be hers for a handful more horrid hours.

  Her vision blurred and she crumpled to the floor in a flood of tears.

  This was it, this part of her life had reached its end.

  She and Snowflake B&B were done.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Six mournful bongs echoed through the halls, emphasising just how still the manor was. Unusually so. There had been no movement from Sam’s room. No squeak of door, no silent patter of feet going down to the kitchen. Reuben was half tempted to check on her, to make sure she was okay, but the desire to respect her wishes and keep his distance stopped him from leaving his seat in the study where he’d spent the better half of the night attempting to write.

  He dropped his head into his hands and massaged his temples. He didn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong, so quickly between them. Yes, he could understand her getting the wrong end of the stick regarding the sale of Snowflake B&B. She’d heard the
beginning of a conversation that had ended with a ‘no, thank you, I’ve decided to stay’, and perhaps had she been in a state to listen they could’ve talked it out, but not when there were accusations being hurled at him. Not when she’d confessed to knowing about the state of his affairs. And not when she believed he was toying with her like two others before, which out of everything bothered him the most.

  That was the mystery that had seen him up all night.

  He knew her father had been an emotionally abusive man, but who else had hurt her? And how badly had they wounded her that she’d not been able to be open about it with him? Not been able to trust him?

  There were too many questions, all unanswerable by him. He only hoped Sam would give them the chance to talk in a rational manner. To clear up their misunderstandings, and to shed light on her past.

  Reuben forced his attention back to his laptop’s screen and found himself once again staring at the gift Sam had given him – his very own Snowflake B&B website.

  His breath caught in his chest, as it had whenever he’d pulled up the site, as he took in the stunning picture of Snowflake B&B looking glorious, surrounded by snow, standing proud beneath an azure-coloured sky, with a wreath on the door and Christmas lights draped across its frontage – some very clever doctoring by Sam as the frontage remained bare, for this Christmas at least. Next Christmas? If he was still here, if he could keep the business afloat, he’d make that image a reality. And hopefully Sam would be there to see it.

  Forcing himself to focus, he flicked back to his manuscript and attempted to get more words down on his latest project. ‘And’. ‘The’. ‘She’. He hit delete for the ten thousandth time since he’d started work, sleep having eluded him, just after four. Two fruitless hours later and he’d had to admit neither the thoughts nor the words were flowing.

  Flowing? They weren’t even trickling.

  Had he repeated history by falling for a woman and then finding himself unable to write when she disappeared – this time emotionally, as opposed to physically?

  Now he was back to square one. A blank page. No words. No feelings. Nothing.

  No chapters. No synopsis. No book.

  No Sam.

  Goodbye writing career.

  Goodbye any chance of successfully running Snowflake B&B.

  Goodbye to the last thread of happiness he had.

  He went to slam the laptop’s screen down, but stopped himself and set it down gently. It wasn’t his computer’s fault he was in this mess. Breaking it would be a stupid idea. Not only because the little village of Clawston was unlikely to have a shop that stocked laptops, but because he could ill afford the cost of a new computer.

  Anchoring his elbows to his desk, Reuben buried his head in his hands and let out a long groan.

  Seriously, how, how, had this come to be his life? How did he go from a successful author with a huge array of acquaintances and a wife who bent over backwards to make it easy for him to continue his career, to a washed-up writer rattling around in a manor in the middle of nowhere with a heart that ached not for the return of his ex but for the need of a young woman who’d unexpectedly blown into his life, torn down the wall he’d carefully constructed around his heart, then set fire to the life he thought he was building with her.

  The moment he put his heart first his life crashed around him.

  Now he was left, once again, with the very real worst-case scenario of having nothing.

  He lifted his head as he caught a small, timid knock at the door.

  Briefly, his heart wondered if it was Sam, but his head knew Sam would never knock; she’d fly in, sit on the edge of his desk and blurt out whatever was in her head and throw in a good insult for the fun of it.

  At least, the Sam he thought he knew would.

  The Sam from last night? He didn’t know how that Sam would approach a door at all.

  The knock returned, slightly louder this time. Followed by a small cough and an ‘uh, Reuben? Are you in there?’.

  A youthful, feminine voice, but not the one he needed to hear.

  ‘Flo, yes, I’m here. Come in.’

  He sat up straight, pushed his hair back from his face and forced himself to look calm, relaxed, welcoming.

  He may not have his writing. He may not have Sam. But he did have his guests and, for the time being, a manor to run.

  The door inched open and Flo’s face – unsure and a touch worried – peeked through.

  ‘Come in. Honestly. It’s fine.’ He beckoned her in and she padded over, then settled into the chair he indicated. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Flo crossed one leg over the other and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Look, I don’t want to appear rude, or nosy, or overstep any kind of boundary, but I…’ She pressed her lips together, looked away, then glanced back.

  In that moment her youthful face had morphed into something more mature… business-like, efficient, aware. It occurred to Reuben he was seeing the Flo the rest of the world got to see. This was professional Flo, not on holiday with her fiancé Flo.

  ‘I may have come upstairs last night to get my phone in order to tell my friends and family the news and overheard your…’ Pink tinged her cheeks. ‘Your conversation with Sam.’

  ‘Oh.’ Reuben felt his own cheeks flush. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that.’

  ‘I am too; also, I’m not. You see I’m a counsellor and I’ve been watching Sam and I was worried about her. She’s almost constantly on edge. Works herself to the bone ensuring everyone’s happy, that their every need is catered for… and I had a feeling it wasn’t simply because she’s a conscientious employee.’ Flo shook her head. Sympathy hit her eyes. ‘I feel sad that my instinct, my experience based on working with other people who’ve been emotionally abused, was right.’

  Reuben slumped in his chair and sent a quiet thanks to the universe for bringing him an ear, and hopefully some good advice, right when he needed it most.

  ‘It must have been hard for you, last night, having Sam say what she said.’

  Reuben shook his head. ‘Sorry, Flo, but I don’t understand where you’re coming from? I’m not the one who felt so pushed into a corner they had to find the courage to confront me. In my experience people find it easier to pick up and take off without a word, rather than have an honest and upfront conversation.’

  Flo raised her brows; fine lines creased her forehead. ‘Except it wasn’t what you’d call an honest and upfront conversation, was it? From where I stood on the stairs, all I heard was a lot of stressed accusations. All of them coming from Sam’s direction. It must have been hard for you having to listen to that?’

  Reuben squirmed in his chair. It didn’t sit right with him that Flo was laying the blame at Sam’s feet. Not when his behaviour, his words had triggered feelings that she’d buried deep down and brought them to the surface.

  ‘It was all my fault…’ He inhaled deeply, knowing if he was going to talk with Flo he needed to be honest. ‘Sam overheard a part of a conversation with an estate agent about me selling this place, and she took it to mean I’d lied to her about wanting her to stay and help me grow the business. Except I wasn’t lying. After the last few days with her by my side I’d changed my mind about selling and I wanted to make a go of things… with her. Except she wouldn’t give me a chance to convince her. I just wish I could’ve said something. I wished she would’ve listened.’

  ‘And a person who hadn’t experienced a traumatic past where they’d been emotionally manipulated would give you the time to talk, to have your say, but Sam isn’t that person. What does a person do when they’re pushed into a corner?’

  ‘Fight or flight.’ Reuben steepled his hands and began to see Sam in a new light. ‘And if a person is always expecting the worst, constantly perceiving a threat, then they’re always ready to take someone on, or run.’

  ‘Exactly. Sam strikes me as a bit of both. She keeps busy, keeps everything under her control, takes tense situations and makes light o
f them as a way of running. You don’t have to fight when people are content.’

  ‘And if she senses discontent…’ Reuben recalled his joke about the food going cold, then asking if she needed a hand with the dessert. The daggers she’d shot when he’d tried to help. His eyes fell on the present he’d intended on giving her. The first three chapters of his new book. Wrapped in all he could find – a bag from a specialist sock store in London that Elise had bought his socks from.

  Innocent enough, if you weren’t giving said present wrapped in said paper to a woman whose preference was for crazy-pattered, brightly coloured socks, rather than socks made from the finest merino money could buy.

  Sam would’ve taken one look at that and seen it as a blatant insult to her sartorial sensibilities.

  A low moan filled the room. One that came straight from his mouth.

  ‘I. Am. An. Idiot.’ He underlined each word with a palm-slap to his forehead. ‘Poor Sam. She’d have seen what I thought were jokes – bad ones in retrospect – were nit-picking insults designed to tear her down, and I’d have thrust her back into her past where…’

  Reuben stopped himself. It wasn’t his place to share Sam’s story. Especially not to a woman, who as nice as she was, was still a guest. Not a friend. Not a confidante.

  ‘Her past where she’d been treated badly by a man?’ Flo filled the words in for him. ‘I don’t need to know the ins and outs of that, it’s not my business. But it does put Sam’s reaction into perspective. Gives clarity to her situation.’

  Men. That’s what Sam had said. The word echoed in his head.

  ‘Do you think, Flo, that if a person had had repeated experience of being hurt by others that it would make it even harder for them to trust than if they’d been hurt by one?’

  ‘I think you know the answer to that. I think it applies to any kind of pain. Was your early writing rejected?’ She raised her brows.

  Reuben let out a small snort. ‘So many times I can’t count.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘Got sad. Got angry. Licked my wounds and carried on.’