The Feature

XVIII

'He wasn't you'? God, what the hell had this man done to you?

You'd never been the type to let men hold the power in your relationships; to afford them the satisfaction of knowing they had you in the palm of their hand. It would be like giving someone a gun, pressing your forehead against the barrel and telling them to shoot. Suicide. So you'd always preferred to be the one with your finger on the trigger.

But no man had ever had a hold on you like this before, no man had ever been able to make you feel so vulnerable by doing nothing but simply adore you. It was uncharted waters, and you'd somehow found yourself sailing blindfolded without a compass right into its terrifying waves.

He wasn't you. Had you really just said that?

He smiled down at you, the kind of smile that bloomed slowly until it crinkled at the corners of his eyes. "God, you're just crazy about me, aren't you," he teased.

"No," you replied stubbornly.

"Sure. You forget I heard everything you said to my front door. I don't know why you still insist on denying it."

"I'm not denying anything."

A laugh rattled in his throat. "Now you're denying denying things..."

You rolled your eyes and stepped away from him. "Where's your boiler?"

"Over there."

You walked across the kitchen to the door he'd pointed at, the one you'd always assumed led to a pantry or utility room or something equally as fancy. But instead, you opened it to find the boiler sitting inside a dark, dusty cupboard.

You could feel Ben's eyes on you from the other side of the room as you looked at it, humming thoughtfully to yourself as you moved a few dials and fiddled with the pipes, pretending to know exactly what you were doing despite not actually having a clue. After a moment, you found the reset button, smiling triumphantly as you pressed it down with your thumb.

"Try switching the heating on now?" you said.

He pressed a button on the thermostat, and within seconds you heard the boiler rumble to life, the entire house groaning and squeaking as the cold pipes began to thaw.

"Oh yeah," you said smugly, closing the cupboard door and turning towards him. "Just call me Quinn the handyman."

He shook his head with a smile and made his way across the kitchen. "Thank you very much, Quinn the handyman. Would you like a cup of tea for your efforts?"

"Please. It's tiring work, you know."

You watched him quietly as he moved around the kitchen, filling the kettle and taking two mugs from the cabinet. You felt your heart flutter as he brought himself face-to-face with you, placing his hands on your waist and looking down at you with a smile. You tilted your head back to look up at him - waiting, anticipating - but instead of a hug, or a kiss, or a 'Quinn I was wrong, let's have sex right here, right now on this counter', you felt him gently move you aside.

"Sorry, you were in the way," he said as he reached for the tea and sugar canisters behind you.

You let out an unimpressed huff and folded your arms over your chest. But instead of rising to it, he simply began to whistle to himself, ignoring you with a smirk as he pulled a spoon from the drawer and glided past you to the fridge.

"Oh," he said, his disappointed face illuminated by the stark white light.

"What?"

"The milk's off."