She laughed, shaking her head. "You already are."
He chuckled, reaching for his phone. "Then I should fix that. How do you feel about sandwiches? The kitchen at the main house makes the best ones. Nothing fancy, just...good."
"Sounds perfect," Noelle said, her smile easing into something more relaxed.
Ren made the call, his voice low and familiar as he spoke to whoever was on the other end. "Yeah—two servings. The usual mix. Thanks."
When he hung up, he glanced back at her. "They'll bring it over in about fifteen minutes."
Noelle nodded, wandering back toward the window where the twilight deepened into a soft indigo. "It's quiet here," she said. "Peaceful. Almost too peaceful."
Ren joined her by the glass, his reflection faintly mirrored beside hers. "That's what I like about it. You can actually hear yourself think." He paused, then added with a crooked smile, "Though, sometimes, that's not always a good thing."
She turned to look at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Why's that?"
He shrugged lightly. "Thinking too much can be dangerous. Especially when you start asking yourself what you really want."
Before she could reply, a soft chime from outside announced the delivery. Ren stepped away to collect it, returning moments later with a tray with two neatly wrapped sandwiches, a small pot of tea and a pair of glasses of iced water.
They sat side by side on the low couch in the living area, unwrapping the sandwiches. It was chicken sandwich, still warm, with the faint aroma of herbs and toasted bread.
Noelle took a bite and let out a small, surprised sound. "Okay, you weren't exaggerating. This is really good."
Ren smiled around his own sandwich. "Told you. My grandmother's recipe. My father refused to let the cooks change it."
"I see," she teased. "So it's a family secret sandwich."
"Exactly," he said, laughing softly. "You're now part of a very exclusive circle."
The air between them lightened as they ate; easy conversation weaving in and out of quiet moments. They talked about work, about how strange it felt to slow down after busy days, about the house and the people who built it.
By the time the plates were empty, the night outside had deepened fully, and the golden glow from the house lamps made everything feel closer, quieter.
Noelle leaned back against the couch, content. "You know," she murmured, "I didn't expect this. I thought tonight would be formal, maybe a little awkward."
Ren was about to respond, but something made him pause.
For the first time that evening, he really looked at her. The way the soft lamplight touched her features, the quiet confidence in the way she sat. She'd dressed simply, but there was an understated elegance to it: a light blouse that caught the glow of the room, a delicate chain at her neck, her hair swept neatly but not too carefully. The blouse was tucked into tailored trousers that moved cleanly when she shifted, the fabric soft but structured. It wasn't the kind of outfit someone threw together at the last minute. She'd made an effort.
And somehow, that realisation settled somewhere deeper than he expected.
He smiled a little, leaning back into the couch beside her. "You dressed up," he said softly, almost teasing but with a hint of warmth behind it.
Noelle glanced at him, slightly flustered but smiling. "Maybe a little. I didn't know what kind of evening this would be."
Ren nodded, his gaze steady but gentle. "Well… I'm glad you did."
Then he asked, voice softer now, "And now?"
She met his eyes, her smile faint but genuine. "Now it just feels… nice."
Ren's lips curved, the expression easy and real. "Good," he murmured. "That's exactly what I wanted."
They lingered for a while after finishing their sandwiches, the kind of comfortable silence that didn't need to be filled. Ren leaned back, stretching an arm along the back of the couch while Noelle tucked her legs beneath her, looking around as though memorising the space.
He reached for the remote, glancing at her. "Want to put something on? Netflix, maybe? Helps digest."
She laughed softly. "Sure. Though I should warn you, I'm terrible at picking shows."
"Good," he said, scrolling through the endless rows of titles. "I'm great at pretending I've already seen everything."
They settled on something light, a comedy neither of them paid much attention to after the first ten minutes. The laughter track filled the pauses in their conversation but their focus drifted elsewhere: small glances, shared smiles, quiet remarks about ridiculous plot twists.
At one point, Noelle glanced over and caught him watching her instead of the screen.
"What?" she asked, amused.
"Nothing," Ren said, smiling faintly. "Just realising this is nicer than I expected."
"Sandwiches and sitcoms?" she teased. "High standards you've got."
"Don't mock the simple things," he said. "They tend to be the best."
The episode ended, the next one queued automatically but neither of them moved to stop it. The room had grown softer, the light dimmer, the edges of the evening blurring into a kind of quiet ease.
Ren shifted slightly closer, his voice low but playful. "You know," he said, "I did mention earlier that no one ever comes over to bother me."
Noelle turned her head toward him, one brow lifting. "Right. I remember that."
He held her gaze, that teasing glint back in his eyes. "Still true," he said. "Even now."
She gave a small, knowing smile. "Is that your way of saying you're bored?"
"Maybe," he said, his tone soft, almost a murmur. "Or maybe I just thought of a better way to spend the rest of the evening."
Her heartbeat quickened, though she tried to sound casual. "And what way is that?"
Ren rose slowly from the couch and extended a hand toward her, that same easy confidence in his eyes. "Come on," he said lightly. "Let me show you how comfortable this place really is."
She hesitated for a breath, half a smile playing on her lips, then slipped her hand into his. The faint glow from the TV flickered against the wall as he led her down the hallway toward the bedroom: the sound of laughter from the sitcom fading behind them, replaced by the quiet rhythm of their footsteps and the low hum of anticipation neither of them tried to hide.
They paused at the bedroom doorway, the soft light casting long shadows across the floor. Ren pulled her hand a little tighter, his smile steady but quiet, like he was savoring the moment before crossing the line.
Noelle's breath caught. She glanced up at him, eyes searching but found only warmth and something like calm certainty.
Without a word, he led her to the edge of the bed. They sat down, just close enough that their knees brushed, the air between them charged yet easy.
Ren reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her skin. Noelle's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, heart thudding loud enough she thought he might hear.
He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away. But she didn't. Instead, she met him halfway, lips brushing softly at first, like a question.
The kiss deepened gently, neither rushing, both exploring the newness of this closeness. It was careful and warm, the kind of kiss that promises more but only when they were both ready.
When they finally pulled apart, Ren murmured, his voice husky but smiling. "Comfortable yet?"
Noelle chuckled softly, her fingers curling into his shirt. "More than I expected."
Ren's hand slid down to rest lightly over hers, their fingers entwining without a word. The quiet between them felt fuller now, like it held something delicate and important.
"Noelle," he said softly, "I don't usually let people in like this."
She looked up, curiosity mixing with something gentler in her eyes. "Why me?"
He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes and softened his whole expression. "Because you make it easy. Because with you, it feels like... I don't have to pretend."
She squeezed his hand, heart humming with the sudden sweetness of that honesty.
"Then maybe," she whispered, "we don't have to pretend at all."
Ren's gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, as if asking for permission. When she nodded, just slightly, he leaned in again. This time with the quiet certainty of someone who's obtained the key to unlock its treasure.