He shakes his head, climbs off the bed and goes to a chest of drawers, which is the only other thing in the room apart from a battered guitar. He hands me a pair of pale blue jeans and a black Guns N’ Roses sweatshirt.

‘Cinderella, you shall go to the ball,’ he says with a heart-melting smile. ‘We won’t be going too far so don’t worry about being too glamorous. There’s a great wee pub that does bar food just a few miles away. It’s got sea views, an open fire and there’s always someone in the corner playing a tune so this will be just perfect.’

I lift the sweater.

‘The Ramones and Guns N’ Roses all in one day!’ I say to him in mock horror. ‘Whatever happened to me being a country girl at heart?’

He walks towards me and takes both of my hands.

‘Come on, let your hair down, country girl,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead. ‘It’s a brand-new day and life is for living, plus I think it will look pretty cool with your blue cowboy boots.’

I look at the offering and my heart skips a beat. My brother has the same sweatshirt. Stay present, be happy, I tell myself. Matthew would want me to be happy.

I’ve a feeling he would also have a lynch mob out for me now if he knew who I was with.

‘By the way, just so you know, I never, ever do this type of thing, ever,’ I say to Tom as I pull the sweatshirt over my head to try it on for size. The jeans fit well enough with the help of a belt tied really tight and, although this all feels a lot out of my comfort zone, it does make me feel a bit sexy knowing Tom wears these on his beautiful body.

‘You told me last night you’d say that,’ he says to me, handing me a towel now. ‘Shower is to the left.’

I take a deep breath and make my way out of the bedroom, feeling his eyes on me every step of the way.

It’s a snowy winter’s day in December, it’s the Christmas holidays, so I may as well have some fun with my rock star from Ohio who I’ve dreamed of for so long. I’ve waited forever for this moment and no one, not even my brother, is going to ruin it for me.

Chapter Three

We’re in the cosiest little pub by an angry winter sea, wrapped up like onions with an open fire by our feet, and I’m looking across the table at Tom Farley who still can’t take his eyes off me. And I can’t take mine off him.

I’m not sure what heaven is like, but I’m pretty sure this feeling is as good as it gets.