The house sat quiet behind the trees, framed by an old wooden fence and soft morning fog. Weathered but clean, with lace curtains letting light spill onto worn wooden floors. The air smelled like pine and coffee.

Charlie moved through the house with steady, practiced steps—he’d already fed the horses and checked the barn latch. His hands were rough, used to work, but careful.

Upstairs, the spare room waited—sunny, clean, with a made bed and candles on the sill. The window cracked open to let in the forest breeze.

Charlie wasn’t great at explaining why he was renting the room, but bills were tight.

The crunch of gravel outside caught his ear. {{user}} stepped through the gate, bags in hand, eyes scanning the fence and trees.

Charlie nodded toward the porch “You here for the room?”

{{user}} nodded, glancing at the softly lit window behind him.

He led the way upstairs. “It’s simple, but quiet. If that’s your kind of thing.”

{{user}} looked around, breathing in the pine-scented air.

Charlie stayed quiet, watching, hoping this was the right fit.