Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin: A heart-warming and feel-good read. Catherine Ferguson

kids, and my workaholic brother forced to tear himself away from his natural habitat to join us.’

      ‘Natural habitat?’ I’m intrigued.

      ‘Ryan’s a financial trader in the City of London. He does nothing but work and date ravishing blondes. And he hates the countryside.’

      ‘Ooh, yes. Well, anything could happen.’

      He groans. ‘Precisely.’

      There’s a brief pause. Then he says, ‘Bye then, Poppy. It’s been nice chatting.’

      ‘Who was that?’ asks Harrison as I sit down at the table and start buttering my toast.

      Breezily, I say, ‘Oh, just a friend wanting to know how last night went.’ It comes out a little more snippily than I intended.

      Completely oblivious, Harrison smiles and puts his paper down. ‘And how did it go, Puss? You haven’t actually told me.’

      I plaster on a smile. ‘It went really well, thanks. Can you pass the marmalade, please?’

      He settles back behind his newspaper, then pops his head round again a second later. ‘Dynamite? What was that about?’

      I shake my head and smile, thinking about how hilarious Jed found the name. I did tell Harrison about Erin’s daft suggestion, but he’s obviously forgotten all about it.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ I tell him. ‘Do you want some more toast?’

       Chapter 8

      It’s the night before Harrison leaves for Spain, and I’m keen to talk to him about my future plans. Ever since Mimi took over from Mr Hastings as restaurant manager, my morale has been on the floor, and the idea of catering dinner parties is becoming more and more attractive by the day.

      I make him his favourite steak pie, and afterwards, we settle down cosily on the sofa.

      ‘You know how I went on that cookery course with Erin?’ I begin, feeling actually rather nervous. And excited. ‘Well, I haven’t mentioned this, but I was talking to the tutor and he said there was a big demand for companies catering for events and private dinner parties. And he – well, he actually reckoned I’ve got what it takes. To cook for people.’ Even talking about it makes my heart skip along a little bit faster.

      Harrison’s eyes widen. ‘I thought you’d given up that idea.’

      ‘Well, I never really considered it seriously. But after cooking for Mrs Morelli, I’ve realised I can actually do it. So what do you think?’

      ‘Well, your food is fabulous, there’s no doubt about that.’ He stares at me intently and I can almost hear the cogs whirring as he weighs everything up. ‘Do you know, Poppy,’ he says at last. ‘I think you’re talented and clever enough to achieve anything you set your mind to.’

      ‘You think so?’ I flush with pleasure. I’m always amazed to hear Harrison say things like this about me. A part of me is even starting to believe that what he says is true.

      He kisses my forehead. ‘I certainly do, you clever little Puss.’

      ‘So do you think I could actually run a successful catering business?’

      Harrison stares down at the floor, an intense look on his face. He’s obviously considering the idea very carefully indeed, and my heart lifts. It’s so lovely having Harrison on my side, backing me in everything I do.

      ‘I honestly think I could do it, you know?’ With Harrison’s support, I really feel I can. ‘I mean, obviously I couldn’t give up work straight away. I’d have to build up the business slowly, then—’

      ‘There’s a snag in this carpet. Look.’ He points, still staring down, clearly not having heard a word I was saying. ‘I thought I was seeing things for a minute. I think we’ll go for quality over price next time.’ He looks up and smiles. ‘You were saying, Puss?’

      ‘The catering business,’ I repeat, a touch frostily. ‘Do you think I could do it?’

      He pulls me closer and nuzzles my neck. ‘Oh, there’ll be plenty more chances to show off your talent for cooking, don’t you worry about that. Mum’s coming over from Spain at Easter, remember? She’ll be thoroughly impressed. As long as you avoid sprouts and beans of all varieties.’ He shrugs. ‘Flatulence. Cabbage is okay, though. As long as it’s red.’ Absently, he massages my waist while keeping one eye on the TV.

      I pull away and arrange myself so that I can look at him in the eye. ‘The thing is, Harrison, that’s not really the point.’ He turns in surprise at the unusual sharpness of my tone, and I smile to show I’m not really cross with him. ‘I don’t want to “show off” my cooking. I want to explore the possibility of turning cooking into a business.’ I’m surprising myself here, never mind Harrison, but it suddenly seems really important that I convince him I’m seriously considering Erin’s idea.

      ‘The tutor at the course said I could do it, and I think he might be right. I’ve got a little money saved up, so it’s not as if I wouldn’t be able to pay my way …’

      He nods slowly, and I wait on tenterhooks, subconsciously preparing myself for the put-down.

       She’s far too timid. She’ll never amount to anything.

      ‘You know what, Puss? It’s time.’

      I look at him quizzically.

      He smiles. ‘It’s time you gave up your job at the hotel.’

      There’s a beat of silence.

      ‘Sorry?’ I must have misheard him.

      ‘Give up your job,’ he repeats, taking my hand. ‘They obviously don’t appreciate you. I was going to suggest it, actually.’

      I stare at him in astonishment. ‘You were?’

      ‘Yes.’ He smiles and pulls me towards him again, and I melt into his kiss, my head reeling happily. I should have known my lovely, caring boyfriend would be one step ahead of me. My brain is racing. What a difference a day makes! Me, planning a possible business? Perhaps Mimi Blenkinsop has actually done me a favour.

      ‘We could continue this upstairs,’ I suggest coyly.

      He frowns at his watch.

      ‘You’ve got a full twenty minutes before the news comes on,’ I point out.

      He smiles sheepishly. ‘You know me too well.’

      ‘News junkie! Honestly, I swear you’d get the shakes if you ever missed the late bulletin.’ I smile impishly and start tickling him.

      I can usually tease him out of his serious moods, and tickling is very good for that. There’s a particular spot on Harrison’s side that’s guaranteed to render him utterly helpless, like right now. It makes me giggle to see him so vulnerable. It’s quite sexy, actually, despite the peculiar brays of laughter that my tickling produces, which make him sound like a donkey gasping for breath.

      We end up in bed, and it’s lovely. I even help him when he puts the second condom on over the first. (Harrison believes firmly that the arrival of children should be scrupulously timetabled, just like everything else in life. And until babies are on the agenda, why take a risk when it’s well documented that condoms can tear?)

      As he takes his shower, I linger in bed, marvelling at myself for daring to think about stepping out of my comfort zone and giving up my job. I never thought Harrison would be so relaxed about the idea. But it was he who suggested it! Maybe we’re rubbing off on each other. Perhaps, under my influence, Harrison’s losing his need to plan everything to the nth degree. Loosening up a bit …

      He knows how passionate