Page 44 of The Relationship Clause

“No. I adjusted the heat, but I think it’s gotten colder since then. It’s having trouble keeping up.”

He shakes his head. “It’s more than that.” He stands up and goes to my thermostat which I’ve checked and double checked. After fiddling with it for a while, he raises his hand to a vent in my ceiling. “Nothing’s coming out.” Okay, that is kind of weird… “Where’s your furnace?”

I motion to a door and take another bite of my noodles.

There’s a pause as he opens my utility closet and rummages around. “Uh…Miss Cousins? Your furnace isn’t even working.”

“What?”

“It’s dead.”

“What do you mean it’s dead?”

“I mean, it’s dead. Dead-dead. Not working. No wonder it’s an icebox in here.”

I squeeze beside him to look at the big metal box that is my furnace. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I gaze at it as if I do. “Um…okay… Let me call someone.”

But I soon find out there’s no one to call. Not unless I want to pay an exorbitant fee to get them out here, that is. Unfortunately, I already used the bulk of the money Mr. Ferguson gave me for the month on the plumber, bills, and other necessities.

“I’ll pay for it,” he says after I get off the phone with the HVAC technician.

I scrape my hand through my hair, starting to pace. “No. No more paying for stuff. You’re already paying me enough. Too much.”

“Well, this is an emergency.”

“Well, I’m saying no.”

Mr. Ferguson sighs in exasperation, looking like he might start pacing alongside me any second. “Fine, then I’ll give you an advance on your pay.”

“No, okay? No! No more money.”

“Why won’t you let me help?”

“Because you’re already helping enough. And I don’t want to feel like I owe you any more than I do.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Juniper.”

I stop in my tracks. He called me Juniper. No one calls me Juniper except my dad…and he doesn’t say it the way Mr. Ferguson did. The way Mr. Ferguson said “Juniper” made an icy-hot firework shoot up my spine. I liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. I liked it too much. Our eyes meet, and he seems to know his mistake already.

“Miss Cousins. I’m sorry, Miss Cousins. You don’t owe me anything.”

But I won’t hear anymore. This night has been too weird, too confusing. I may have a crush on Mr. Ferguson, but I can sense it growing into more, and it can’t grow into more. Only one of two things can happen if I admit my feelings for him: either I risk putting myself out there, admit I like him, he rejects me, fires me, and I’m right back where I started, or he miraculously likes me too, we date, I end up breaking his heart in a few months, then he fires me, and I’m right back where I started.

No. I can’t let that happen.

I march up to Mr. Ferguson and hold my hand out. “Thank you, Mr. Ferguson. Thank you for everything. The food and the help and the offer to pay, but I think you’d better go now.”

“What? Miss Cousins, I—”

“Goodbye!” Then I grab him by the arm—his big, muscular arm—and try to drag him to my door. I will kick him out if I have to.

He digs in his heels. “No. I’m taking you back to my place. Your house isn’t livable.”

My eyes widen, and suddenly it’s plenty warm in this room. “Um, what? Back to your place?”

“Yes. Well, no. Not my place. I have an extra apartment across from mine that I’m not renting out to anyone right now. It’s furnished, so you can stay there until your house is warm and put back together again.”

“Uh, hello? Did you not hear me say I can’t take any more handouts from you?”

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