First kiss

CHAPTER 27: FIRST KISS. 

RACHEL'S POV

The sound of the front door clicking shut breaks the silence in the living room. I glance up from the book I’ve been pretending to read for a while since I heard his car drive in, my fingers frozen against the page. I am wondering if he is just going to ignore me and walk away or maybe something might come up.

Noah walks in, his tie loosened, his gaze steady as he looks at me. There’s no immediate irritation in his expression, no sharp words waiting on his tongue. Just silence.

   "Welcome back," I say to him and he nods. Well, that's a first.

    "Are you busy?" His voice is even, unreadable.

I blink, unsure if I imagined the question. I look down at the book I am holding - do I look in any way busy?!

   "No... why?"

He exhales as if debating his next words. "Get dressed. We’re going out."

I stare at him, waiting for a smirk, a sarcastic edge—some indication that this is another joke. But to my surprise, none comes. Instead, he shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the couch before walking past me towards the stairs, leaving me there with my pulse suddenly unsteady.

I should question this even further because I need the answers. But curiosity outweighs logic. So, I move.

In my room, I stand before my closet, torn between overthinking and just throwing something on. He didn't mention where we were going so I guess I will just have to go with something less formal. I settle on a soft off-the-shoulder sweater and fitted jeans—casual but... nice. I don't know why I care, but I do.

  "I wonder where he is taking me to. Maybe to see his parents?" I mumble as I step out of my room.  When I finally descend the stairs, Noah is already waiting by the door, dressed down in a dark sweater and slacks. His eyes scan me briefly before he turns and steps outside.

The drive is quiet, except for the soft hum of the car’s engine. We are not going with the driver. This is my second time getting into his car even though it isn't the same car as that night. 

I steal glances at him as he drives, but his focus stays on the road, his expression unreadable. I am tempted to ask him where we are going but I decide against it. It would be better if I just enjoyed the silence like any normal human would. The city lights blur past, and I stop trying to guess where we’re going. Instead, I am curious to know how the night will unfold.

When the car finally slows down, I realize we’re near the outskirts of the city. A private hilltop view stretches ahead, a glass pavilion nestled on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the skyline. The place is almost empty, just dim lights and a soft breeze cutting through the air.

I am surprised to even know that such a vicinity like this exists. 

Noah leads the way inside. We settle into a quiet corner, the glow of the city sprawling beneath us. The air between us shifts—less rigid, but not quite comfortable. He orders for us without asking me about whether or not I like it. I should be annoyed, but somehow, the weight of the moment keeps me still.

Minutes pass. There’s no forced conversation, no tension of expectations. Just the distant hum of music. I wrap my fingers around the cold can, feeling the condensation against my skin. With a small tug, I pull the tab, and a sharp hiss escapes as the carbonation releases. The soft fizz crackles, filling the air with the scent of citrus. I take a sip, the cool liquid sliding down my throat.

Not bad.

  When he finally speaks, his voice is low. "I don’t do this."

I meet his gaze. "Do what?"

 "This."

It’s not an answer, not really. But it feels like one.

I should push and ask him why. But instead, I sit with it, letting the quiet between us say the things we don’t.

A breeze filters through, and I shiver slightly. Without thinking, Noah moves—so subtle I barely notice at first. His knee brushes against mine under the table, warm through the fabric of my jeans. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.

My heart stutters and I try to focus on my drink, but I can feel his gaze on me. When I glance up, I catch him watching me, his expression unreadable yet intense. A slow, lingering look before his eyes shifts away.

Why is he staring at me like that?

The atmosphere softens in increments. An accidental touch when he reaches for his drink for drinks happens, and I mutter an apology. The warmth lingers even after he moves away.

I tell myself not to overthink it. But it’s impossible not to feel the tension threading between us, light but undeniable.

NOAH'S POV

She doesn’t pry. Doesn’t press for an explanation that I can’t give. And for once, I don’t hate it.

I didn't mean to tell her that "I don't do this,"

What I intend to say is that I don't bring people here to my space. I haven't for once done that. Not even my best friend knows this place but I brought her here because I feel like she might really require it.

I watch her instead—watch the way the candlelight softens the sharp edges of her face, the way the wind plays with the strands of her hair. There’s something infuriatingly peaceful about her tonight like she belongs here in this stillness.

I never intended for this. I don’t even know why I asked her to come. Maybe it was an impulse. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe I was just tired of being alone with my thoughts. Maybe because I believe that bringing her here would sort of make me confirm something that I have always been thinking about.

Her fingers trail along the rim of her drink, "It’s beautiful here."

     "Yeah."

Her lips curve, just slightly, and for the first time, I realize how different she looks when she isn’t bracing for a defense statement against me. It unsettles me. Makes me feel like I should say something to push her away, to break whatever act this is before it becomes something else.

But I don’t.

Instead, I let the silence settle between us again, and for once, I don’t mind it.

The wind picks up slightly, and I shift in my seat, bringing my arm over the back of her chair without much thought. She stills for a fraction of a second before relaxing, her shoulder brushing against mine. A light touch. Just a hint of contact. But I feel it more than I should.

I exhale, tilting my head back slightly as I stare at the skyline. "I come here a lot."

She glances at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I pause. "When I need space so I thought that you might need it." Yeah, I finally say it.

   "Thank you. It's helpful enough."

Silence.

   "Have you ever felt hurt deeply by what it is that somebody is doing to you even though you messed up at first?" she suddenly asks me and I squint my eyes as I prepare my response.

   "Not really. I have been hurt deeply but mine is a little different. It is not because I messed up. I was just too silly to realize that it was all fake and I was a little too late to turn back the hands of time...even though I literally can't."

Rachel rests her head on my stretched arm and tilts her head slightly as if to have a proper view of my face. I look down at her and hold her gaze for a few seconds before lowering my eyes to her wet lips. I stare at them for a while, my eyes going back and forth between her eyes and her lips. 

She parts them slightly, and as if being pushed by an invisible hand, I find myself slowly leaning towards her, and then...my lips touch hers briefly. I pause and glance at her as if seeking permission...as if giving her a chance to step back, but she doesn't, so I take that as a cue.

My hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers curling into her hair as I tilt her face up to mine. The moment our lips meet again, a slow burn spreads through me. She stiffens for a second, then melts, her breath warm against my skin. I deepen the kiss, tasting the faint sweetness of what she was drinking earlier, but it’s not enough—I find myself wanting more instead.

.

.

.

RACHEL'S POV

I stop in front of the door as soon as we arrive home and turn to face him. I do not know what to say. I am surprised that things turned out this way between us. He doesn't move a foot but dips his hands inside his pockets as he looks at me.

Don't think too much about it, Rachel. Just do it. I encourage myself.

I come back to him, tiptoe, and place a kiss on his lips — soft, uncertain, yet intentional. I pull back from him and then lock eyes with him before whispering,

   "Thank you for tonight. Sweet dreams."

Then, before I lose my nerve, I turn and rush inside, leaving him standing there. I don't look back. I don't need to.