Second Chances at the Log Fire Cabin: A Christmas holiday romance for 2018 from the ebook bestseller. Catherine Ferguson

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СКАЧАТЬ here.’

      Heart beating fast, I walked over to him, feeling ridiculously nervous. The house was empty. My flatmate and best friend, Flo, was out with her fiancé, Fergus. I hoped Jackson didn’t think …

      But no, I’d had The Conversation with him only the week before.

      He was quite surprised when I told him I believed in taking things really slowly but it didn’t seem to put him off. If anything, he seemed tantalised by the idea of deferred gratification in the bedroom. I wondered if the novelty value had something to do with it. Because, let’s face it, there wouldn’t be many women who’d hold back for long if a tall, blond Greek-god-like man looked deep into their eyes and said, ‘Let’s go to bed. I’m going to make your wildest dreams come true.’

      Jackson says these cute, rather old-fashioned things all the time, with a perfectly serious face. If anyone else came out with them, I’d probably cackle in appreciation because I’d know they were joking. But Jackson will look at me with his mesmerising blue eyes and I’ll just melt and think: it’s the feeling behind the words.

      We’ve only been together a couple of months, but after all the trauma of the past – including having my heart well and truly stamped on by Billy, my first love – I’m finally starting to feel happy.

      I leaned down to kiss Jackson and he grabbed my waist. Then he frowned and glanced in the region of my left boob. I followed his eye and he carefully pulled away a stray thread from the top buttonhole of my silky shirt.

      ‘Better,’ he remarked, before pulling me down on top of him and proceeding to kiss me very thoroughly. When I felt his hands tugging at my shirt and creeping underneath, I broke away, smiling coyly at him.

      He sat back, folded his arms and studied me with a slightly perplexed grin.

      ‘Roxy?’ he said, and my heart lurched at the look in his eye.

      ‘Yes?’ I sounded a little breathless.

      ‘Mulled wine?’

      ‘Sorry?’

      He pointed at the presentation box that was lying on the floor.

      ‘Oh. Yes.’ Smiling, I picked it up and took it through to the kitchen, then proceeded to unpack it with a grimace. As I stirred the ingredients on the hob, I heard the TV go on, blaring with some football match.

      I’m actually not that keen on mulled wine. I remember telling Jackson this but I suppose he must have forgotten, and he looked so pleased with himself when he presented me with the package that I couldn’t bear to spoil his fun.

      In the end, I managed to throw down almost a whole glass of the revolting stuff while we decorated the tree, hiding my impulse to gag fairly well, before depositing the rest in an ornamental jug on a nearby side table.

      And now, lounging back happily on the sofa, gazing at the newly decorated tree, while Jackson makes a business call in the kitchen, I’m feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

      If I’m honest, the reason I’m feeling so blissed out and warm on this freezing late November night has less to do with the real tree (my first ever) or the effect of the mulled wine – and rather more to do with the fact that I think I might be in love.

      In fact, I’m sure I am.

      I’ve never met anyone like Jackson. He’s so gorgeous, brilliant and charming, and he could basically have any woman he wanted. But, for some weird reason, he seems to want to be with me. Plain, ordinary Roxy Gallagher.

      I said exactly this to Flo earlier, before she went out with Fergus, and she gave me a severe look and said, ‘Stop it, Roxy. Jackson’s the lucky one, having you in his life.’

      I laughed and said I was only joking.

      And I was. Sort of …

      We’d planned dinner out but Jackson keeps asking if I mind if we watch a bit more of the football. Until, eventually, I suggest I just make food here then he can settle down to watch the rest of the match.

      ‘You’re so good to me, Roxy.’ On my way out, he grabs my wrist and bestows on me one of his raffish, whiter-than-white smiles – the kind that makes me feel so incredibly special.

      I smile back and head for the kitchen, and he calls something after me that sounds like, ‘I really love your melting green eyes.’

      My heart cantering along happily at such a romantic comment, I pop my head back round the door, but he’s deeply engrossed in a free kick.

      Suddenly aware I’m there, he says, ‘Oh yeah, I said I really loved those melted cheese pies? The ones we had last time. Don’t suppose you could …?’

      ‘Ah.’ I nod, smiling, feeling slightly silly for having heard what I wanted to hear. ‘Yes, I think there’s some in the freezer.’

      He holds out a thumb without prising his eyes from the action on the screen.

      In the kitchen, I manage to find some more pies at the bottom of the freezer and pop them into the oven. Then I pinch a can of sweetcorn from Flo’s cupboard and make a mental note to replace it next day when I go food shopping. Jackson likes plain, unadventurous food, which I find quite surprising in a man with such sophisticated tastes in everything else. I think he would live quite happily on chicken and chips, given the chance – and he can’t stand anything spicy.

      We met two months ago, back in September. Flo had taken me to the pub one night, soon after I was made redundant from my factory job, to cheer me up. We’d already had a few cocktails by the time we walked into The Red Lion and I saw Jackson for the first time. He was standing at the bar with what looked like a group of work colleagues, all dressed in suits. Our eyes met and I smiled, emboldened by the alcohol, and he raised his glass at me.

      Flo had made me get dressed up, so I was wearing my favourite pale blue tea dress and heels, and when Jackson came over to talk to us, I was glad she’d been so bossy.

      I was a bit tongue-tied and awkward, but Jackson was charming and seemed to find me attractive anyway, which boosted my flagging confidence no end. He took me out for dinner the next night and we’ve been seeing each other a couple of times a week ever since.

      At thirty-two, Jackson Cooper is a very successful businessman, having built up a large property management company in the time since he left university. I tell myself he deserves an evening relaxing in front of the football. He works so incredibly hard.

      An evening in will probably be better for me, too, really. I’m out of work at the moment and money is really tight.

      Flo has been so good to me since I lost my job at the factory back in late September. The redundancy package was okay, mainly because I started there when I was twenty-three, which meant I had seven years of service under my belt. But the money is draining away and I’m starting to get worried, having applied for dozens of jobs, so far with no luck at all – not even an interview. Flo has insisted on halving my rent until I get back into work, but I hate being a burden like this. It’s just not fair on Flo. Worry has been affecting my sleep lately and I’m forever nodding off on the sofa in the evenings.

      We eat in front of the TV on trays, and after I’ve cleared away, I join Jackson on the sofa and snuggle into СКАЧАТЬ