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

‘That’s better,’ he says, tapping my back and returning to the laptop. ‘You can see the screen properly now. Now, high-interest savings.’ He rubs his hands together then peers eagerly at the screen. I study him affectionately, like a mum watching her kid tear the wrapping off a Christmas present.

‘Unless –’ He turns with a sexy glint in his eye and my spirits rise. ‘What do you say to throwing caution completely to the wind?’

‘I’m all for that,’ I murmur, running my hand along his thigh. I wonder what he has in mind? Sex on a week night, perhaps?

He pats my knee and gives me a cheerful wink. ‘Brilliant. We’ll go for investment funds, then, shall we? Let’s live dangerously.’

‘Oh. Right.’

After a while, my mind starts to wander.

I keep thinking about Erin planning her romantic night with Mark. Perhaps I should do something similar. Harrison always says sex is best left for weekends when he’s got more energy, but I’m sure I can persuade him that a little mid-week spontaneity would be nice.

I spring up off the sofa.

‘Where are you off to?’

I wink at him. ‘Wait and see.’

Upstairs, I rummage in my underwear drawer and find my one pair of black stockings. I’m out of practise so it takes me the best part of fifteen minutes to get them on smooth and straight. But when I wriggle into the close-fitting little red dress I bought to wear at Harrison’s work do last Christmas, I’m feeling really quite sexy. Adjusting my hair, I allow some dark tendrils to fall down, framing my face. A slick of scarlet lipstick and an extra coat of mascara and I’m ready for anything!

I navigate the carpeted stairs carefully in my black patent high heels and strike a pose in the living-room doorway. ‘What do you think?’

‘About what, Puss?’ Harrison is focusing hard on the screen.

‘About this dress you chose for me last Christmas?’ I experiment with a sexy pout in profile.

‘Hm?’ he murmurs, still not looking up.

I sigh, feeling a bit of an idiot standing there in my best harlot outfit, knowing I come a poor second to a graphic of the FTSE 100.

‘Harrison!’

He glances up at the urgency in my tone. His face relaxes and breaks into a smile. ‘Very nice. What’s the occasion, Puss?’ He pats the seat next to him.

I wince slightly at the pet name, which has only recently come into being, but I’m heartened by his positive response.

‘No occasion.’ I smile enigmatically and sit down next to him, crossing my legs artfully to reveal just a glimpse of stocking top. ‘I’m not at the restaurant tonight, so I thought we could – erm – celebrate.’

‘Oh? And what did you have in mind?’ He slides his hand up my thigh and waggles his eyebrows suggestively, which for some reason makes me think of Groucho Marx. I shake the image from my head and lean over to kiss him – just as he turns to glance at his watch, which means my mouth totally misses the target.

‘The news is on in a minute,’ he says cheerfully. ‘How about we watch that then nip along the road for a takeaway?’ Clocking my lack of enthusiasm, he tucks a loose tendril of hair behind my ears and says, ‘Keep that lot on, though. You’re looking very sexy, Puss!’

Sighing, I teeter back upstairs and slip into jeans and a jumper. I don’t really mind. It’ll be another night of falling asleep in front of the telly, but there’s something really cosy and intimate about that, isn’t there? I’m so lucky to have someone like Harrison in my life.

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