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

by Kellie Hailes

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Because writing was everything to me.’

  ‘Did you ever consider giving up? Perhaps after the fifth, or tenth or even twentieth rejection?’

  ‘Just before I finally got a yes I seriously considered giving it all up. I was tired. I didn’t know that I’d ever succeed and the “thank you for your submission but unfortunately it’s not right for our list” replies were beginning to feel like daggers to my heart, to my soul.’ Reuben was beginning to see what Flo was hinting at. There was pain you could break through and pain that could break you.

  ‘Exactly. And that’s not to trivialise situations where far greater emotional damage has been done, but it might help you see where Sam is coming from, why she feels the way she does. The love she gave to someone, the work she put in to make that person love her was thrown back in her face, possibly time and time again. It’s hard – perhaps impossible for some – to come back from that.’

  Reuben stood, shoved his hands in his pockets and went to the window. The dark had yet to retreat and all he could make out were the shapes of the fir trees, and the blanket of snow that was still settled over the grounds. ‘I don’t suppose you can tell me what to do? How to get through to her? A step-by-step guide perhaps?’

  The chair creaked as Flo stood. ‘I don’t have a guide, I’m sorry. But my advice would be that a bit of space and time can work wonders, but not too much. If she cares for you as deeply as I think she does, she’s going to be filled with regret, and you’ll be the only person with the power to raise her up out of that emotional quagmire. Also, keep putting yourself in her shoes – feel her feelings, feel what she might need from you in order to show her you aren’t like anyone in her past who hurt her. Then prove it again and again until she truly believes it. And should she want to talk about the past, give her space and simply listen.’

  Reuben turned and leaned against the sill, then folded his arms. ‘Sounds like I’ve a lot of hard work in front of me.’

  ‘You don’t strike me as a man who’s afraid of hard work, Reuben. You’ll be fine.’ Flo went to the door. ‘See you downstairs in a bit?’

  ‘Of course. And, Flo? Thank you for giving me that insight. I appreciate it more than you can know.’

  Flo smiled softly in reply then left, shutting the door behind her.

  Reuben closed his eyes and went over the night’s events, worked it through with the lens Flo had given him.

  It would be so easy for him to leave Sam alone. To go about his life. To bury his head in the snow and ignore his feelings until they went away. Or, if not go away, dulled enough that he barely noticed them, but Sam was a woman worth fighting for.

  No, not fighting, loving for.

  Yes, winning her back would be hard work. Yes, he’d be the one putting the effort into a relationship – a complete one-eighty to how his marriage had worked, but he knew better now. Knew that things worth having required dedication, care – and love.

  Not only because Sam had inspired him to write again. Shown him that his voice didn’t have to lend itself one style of tale. That it could be different, new. Perhaps even better. But because life with her made his heart sing.

  She’d seen his barriers, then ripped them away. Given him the confidence to run his business, given him the ability to be himself without worrying what others would think. A man who was generous, who could share a laugh, who didn’t block people’s enquiries into his wellbeing.

  Sam had made him a better man.

  He only hoped she would give him the chance to return the favour.

  A knock disrupted his thoughts. Before he could answer it, it opened and Matilda’s head poked around its corner.

  ‘Just wanted to let you know we didn’t need breakfast. We’re all packed and ready to go in case you wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘Of course I want to say goodbye. I’ve enjoyed having you all stay, more than you could know.’ He ushered Matilda out and followed her down the stairs to the grand hall where suitcases were lined up, along with four brilliant people dressed in coats, hats, scarves and gloves, ready to make their journeys home.

  Matilda stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace. ‘Thank you for having us. Despite the challenges the weather presented, it was a wonderful stay.’

  She pressed a kiss to his cheek and Reuben found himself inhaling her musky perfume mixed with talcum powder. Soft and sweet, rich and deep. Like the woman who was now untangling herself, a warm smile on her face.

  ‘I’ve loved every minute of it. You’ve looked after us so well.’ Harry stretched out his hand and Reuben gave it a hearty shake.

  ‘You’ll be coming back, won’t you? It’s on the house, remember? It’d be rude not to.’

  ‘Just try and keep us away, son. Perhaps we’ll try and time it for another snowstorm so we get an extra-long stay.’

  ‘You do that.’ Reuben moved over to Stefan, who looked vaguely horrified.

  ‘Bugger that,’ Stefan said, shaking Reuben’s hand. ‘Flo and I will be coming in summer, if that works with you Flo?’

  Flo nodded her assent. ‘But only if we come for winter as well. I promised Matilda.’

  Stefan’s smiled dropped for a second before raising once more. ‘Fine. It’s a deal. If we have to come in winter then we must come in summer. If I’m going to be stuck somewhere where the owner refuses to give up the Wi-Fi password, I at least want to be able to head into the great outdoors and find a coffee shop that does have Wi-Fi on offer to its guests, like any good establishment in this day and age does.’

  Reuben shook his head and laughed. ‘Who am I to break tradition? Besides, had your head been buried in your phone these past few days then we’d never have gotten to discover your brain-bending attempt at Christmas decorating, or seen what a romantic you were underneath all that chuntering.’

  Stefan grinned and slapped Reuben on the arm. ‘And we’d have never known what a good guy you were if Sam hadn’t forced you out of your office and into our lives.’

  ‘Oh my God, Stefan.’ Flo face-palmed herself, shaking her head. ‘Did you really just say that?’

  Stefan turned to her, his face screwed up in confusion. ‘What? It’s true, isn’t it?’

  Reuben smiled through the pain in his stricken heart at the honesty of Stefan’s words.

  Sam had pulled him out of his office, pulled him out of his head. Made him connect with others. Shown him what a life filled with connections felt like.

  A life he now realised he could never let go.

  Snowflake B&B had brought meaning into his life. Brought people, laughter. Love. And he was going to do everything in his power to keep it going, keep it alive.

  Even if Sam never spoke to him again. If she never brightened his doorstep with her quirky humour and riotous laugh, he would always be grateful to her for showing him another path. One that didn’t involve him being left, but rather one where he could embrace people as they came into his life. No matter how short the period of time.

  Reuben reached out and took Stefan by the arm. ‘You’re right, Stefan. I’ve a lot to be grateful to Sam for.’

  ‘Too right.’ Stefan nodded. ‘And don’t go firing her in the meantime. I’ll be gutted if we come back and she’s not here making those pancakes of hers. They were delicious. Everything she made was.’

  ‘I’ll do my best to keep her here. I promise.’ He looked around, realising Sam wasn’t there.

  ‘You looking for our girl?’ Matilda shook her head. ‘She’s not being rude if that’s what you’re looking so worried about. We said our goodbyes earlier and left her to finish up cleaning the kitchen. The girl works too hard. She wouldn’t let us even lift a finger to help.’

  Of course she wouldn’t. Sam was doing the only thing she knew how – regaining her equilibrium by controlling the situation.

  Harry went to lift his case and Reuben stopped him. ‘I’ve got it, and you’re right – she does work too hard. I’ll have to learn how to get
her to let me help out more often.’

  He caught Flo’s eye and she nodded her approval.

  After packing their cases into their cars, he waved them off. He was just about to head inside when a flash of colour caught his eye, and he caught sight of a red-hatted figure trundling a small suitcase behind her, keeping out of sight as much as possible by sticking to the shadow of the trees.

  His heart broke as determination settled on his shoulders. He was going to make things right with Sam, but he’d do it on her terms.

  No pushing. No prodding. No cajoling or coaxing.

  The next time Sam walked through the doors of Snowflake B&B it would be because she wanted to, she felt safe to, and that in walking through the doors she knew, once and for all, she had come home.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘Sam, you’ve got to slow down. You’ll spill something and slip over. Or burn yourself. Or, I don’t know, have your head whizz off your neck because it’s spinning so fast.’

  Sam looked up from beating cream, eggs and sugar together to see her mother’s worried face. Lines bracketed her mouth; her narrowed eyes were emphasised by the deep grooves either side. The crease between her brows was more furrowed than ever.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. I just have a lot to catch up on. I’m behind in my work, and you know how old Mr Dreaver gets if he doesn’t get his weekly chocolate cake. He makes all the other men in my life look like angels.’ Her attempt at a joke failed in the face of her mother’s lack of laughter.

  Sam eyed the electric mixer on the kitchen bench and wished she’d chosen to use that instead of deciding arm power would be the way to go. A way to work out the frustrations. A way to tire her body until it was ready to sleep, and in turn settle her whirring mind.

  She’d quickly realised no amount of physical activity was going to still the self-recriminations that had kept her up late at night, woke her up in the silly hours, then started bleating at her again well before the sun rose since the day she’d left Snowflake B&B.

  Left? More like ran away from. An act that had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but felt more and more cowardly as time went by.

  ‘Here. Give.’

  Her mother took the bowl and spoon from her before she could protest, scraped the contents in the mixer and turned it on.

  ‘There. Good. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Usually you come back from Snowflake with a light in your eyes, a spring in your step. This time?’

  Her mother’s gaze travelled up and down Sam’s body, and Sam found herself wishing she could find a place to hide as she felt a deep and meaningful mother–daughter conversation coming on.

  For a long time after her father had passed, her mother had kept her chin up and carried on. Never saying a word about his behaviour, just making small changes here and there until she’d created a life she was happy with. One where no one could tell her what to do or make her feel small if she made a mistake. One where she could blossom and grow.

  It wasn’t until Sam had turned up on her doorstep with a tear-stained face and a suitcase bulging with clothes that they’d finally had a heart-to-heart about their shared past.

  Sam’s heart wrenched. The difference was her mother had managed to build a fulfilling life, but somehow she had not.

  She was stuck. Unable to move on from her past. Unable or unwilling?

  Could she too blossom and grow?

  She shook her head in self-irritation. She thought she had grown. Thought she’d put everything behind her. Until Reuben.

  Her mother’s eyes locked on hers, and Sam saw a fierceness that made her step away until her back hit the bench, keeping her in place. Making escape harder.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  Sam’s mouth made to move, but she didn’t know what words ought to come out. ‘Yes, he hurt me. I trusted him and he lied’? ‘No, he kept his hands to his self, it’s only my heart that’s in pain’? ‘I hurt myself by making the same mistake’?

  The ominous silence that stretched between them was broken by a knock at the door.

  ‘I’ll, ah, just go get that.’

  Sam didn’t miss the pointed glance her mother gave her that spoke of ‘we’re going to talk about this, whether you like it or not’.

  She approached the door, trepidation bouncing around her heart. She didn’t get a lot of guests. Especially of the unexpected variety. Usually just her mother, who always rang beforehand, or her brothers who tended to text before turning up.

  Could it be?

  Would she be greeted by a shock of grey hair and rich brown eyes that could turn from solemn to smiling in a second?

  Surely not. Reuben had no idea where she lived and she couldn’t imagine him coming for her. Not after her performance the previous week. Not when he’d left it so long. She wouldn’t give herself another chance, so why should he?

  Still, she opened the door with the kind of hope that filled her chest and threatened to cut off air supply to her brain. The space before her was empty, but the doormat featuring a cheery ‘welcome’ was half-hidden by a gift wrapping she remembered all too well, and had hoped never to see again.

  She glanced around, looking to see if Reuben was hiding in a bush or behind a stone wall. He was nowhere to be seen, although she could hear a car motor disappearing into the distance.

  Tears prickled behind her eyes as she picked it up and carried it back into the kitchen at arm’s length.

  Why was he so obsessed with giving her socks? Did he really think her socks, her style was that ridiculous?

  She dumped the present on the kitchen table then shoved it away for good measure.

  ‘A gift?’ her mother enquired as she spooned the muffin mix into a tin.

  ‘A reminder that there’s no such thing as a good man,’ Sam retorted.

  ‘Don’t say that, Sam. Don’t give up hope because of two bad eggs.’

  Sam turned to see her mother, arms crossed, brows raised, determination radiating from her. ‘Why shouldn’t I? You know it’s a fact, easily as well as I do.’

  ‘Tea?’

  Her mother had framed the word as a question, but Sam knew well enough that it was an instruction: you make the tea, then we’ll talk over it.

  She let out a sigh. ‘Fine. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  The oven door squeaked open as her mother placed the cake on a rack, then shut it with its customary bang. ‘I feel like I owe you an apology, Sam.’

  Sam filled the kettle with water then flicked it on, grabbed mugs, added teabags, then turned to face her mother. ‘I don’t understand. What do you have to be sorry for?’

  Her mother leaned against the bench and folded her arms over her thin chest. ‘I had no idea how much pain you were in. How much your childhood affected your adulthood. How my decision to stay with a man who was dedicated to causing pain and belittling others through words led you to believe that was what you deserved, or what you’ve come to expect when in a relationship. A belief that was further backed up by that horrid excuse for a human being you moved in with when you were younger. Tell me I’m wrong.’ She widened her eyes, challenging Sam to deny the truth.

  Sam poured hot water into the mugs and went to the fridge for milk.

  How could she tell her mother she was right in her assumptions in a way that wouldn’t cause her pain?

  What mother wanted to know that her actions impacted on her children so greatly that it made their adult life difficult? Or downright impossible, if the truth were to be told.

  ‘What I’ve seen, what I’ve allowed myself to see, Sam, is a young woman who shrugged off everything negative in life. Who made a joke of the hard parts. Who let harsh comments from those around her roll off her like water off a duck’s back. When Mr Dreaver gives you grief you tease him about his bullish ways. When old man McGinnity tells you to brush you hair, you laugh and tell him he ought to grow some. When Stella at the café laughs at you for asking for one shot of coffee in a large mug, you shoot back and t
ell her that her coffee’s so bad watering it down is the only way to make it palatable.’

  ‘Yeah well…’ Sam shrugged as she added milk to the mugs and pulled out the teabags. ‘It’s easy to be like that with people you don’t care about. I mean, not that I don’t care about them. I like them well enough…’

  ‘But you don’t love them. And because you don’t love them they can’t hurt you.’ Her mother came to stand beside Sam. ‘I feel like I’m beginning to understand now. You loved your father, as I did, and he hurt us both. Hurt all of us. I’m sure even the boys have their scars, not that they’re likely to show me.’

  ‘I think they chose to love harder than anyone, to be kinder than anyone, to be better than our father.’ Sam indicated the table and went to sit at it. ‘Not that it’s always done them well. Before they met their wives – and don’t tell them I told you or they’ll put spiders in my bed – they were put through the wringer by the odd woman who saw their sweetness and took advantage of it. But they always got back up, dusted their hearts off and tried again until they met the right kind of women, who treated them with as much dignity and respect as they were treated with.’

  ‘And you?’ Her mother sat opposite Sam. ‘How have you loved these last few years? I assumed you dated, but never found anyone suitable, who could keep up with you. Now I’m having second thoughts.’

  Sam laughed. A harsh, bitter bark. ‘I’ve avoided dating. Avoided men. I decided after He Who Shall Not Be Named that it was better to not get dust on your heart, then there’s nothing to clean off. I’ll stick to making sure the house is spick and span and the fridge is filled with food. Far more satisfying.’

  ‘Far less dangerous.’ Her mother shook her head, sadness deepening the crevices on her face. ‘I truly am sorry, Sam. For all of it. If I knew then what I know now I would’ve found the courage to up and leave.’

  ‘Except it’s not that easy, is it? You were young. You had three kids. You, at some point, loved him. May still have loved him even when he was terrorising us with his emotions and words and attitudes.’