Page 1 of Marcelo
Chapter 1
Winnie
The wind whips through the outdoor seating area of the Haven Falls Café, rattling the umbrella over our table and sending napkins skittering across the ground.
My best friend, Charlie, grimaces as she stirs her latte, squinting at the sky where dark clouds gather. “Here we go again. The hurricane’s supposed to make landfall tomorrow.”
I sip my chai, feeling the spice mix with the tang of salt air. “It’s a little one. Haven Falls has weathered worse.”
“You’re not even a little concerned?” She checks her phone, scrolling through updates, before snapping a worried look my way.
“To be honest, I’m more excited than worried,” I admit, grinning at her surprised expression. “I’m volunteering at the emergency animal shelter, remember? I finally get to play a role that doesn’t involve political events or hand-shaking.”
Just as I say that, a sudden jerk on the leash I’ve been trying to keep unobtrusive under the table nearly spills my chai. I look down at the golden retriever mix I’d brought from the shelter, currently making a lunge for a toddler’s dropped cookie. So much for my dream of having a dog who sits quietly beneath the table.
Charlie eyes the dog, who is now straining against the leash to nose at a passerby. “Winnie, you sure you’re up for this?”
“Of course,” I say, reining in the dog who looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Well, maybe it’s a learning curve, but I’ll get the hang of it.”
She chuckles, clearly not convinced. “Lennox mentioned one of his EmergenSEA guys is co-managing the emergency shelter with you.”
My heart sinks just a bit. “Oh, really? Any idea who?”
She shakes her head. “No, but you know how they can be. Methodical, by the book.”
Great, a detail-oriented, no-nonsense EmergenSEA type. The perfect foil to my well-intentioned but admittedly haphazard approach.
“It’ll be fine,” I reassure myself more than Charlie. “We’re all just trying to help. Even if Mr. EmergenSEA is all rules and no fun, I’m sure we’ll manage.”
How challenging could it be? A little wind, a little rain, and a shelter full of adorable animals.
I drain the last of my chai, feeling the warmth spread through me, a counterpoint to the rising wind. “I should head to the shelter and get a lay of the land before things get hectic.”
Charlie nods, her eyes showing that mix of amusement and concern that’s become her trademark look for me. “Take care, Winnie. And good luck with your co-manager.”
“Thanks, I’ll need it.” I laugh, clipping the leash back onto my rambunctious foster dog, who has decided to chew on the corner of the tablecloth. “Come on, you. Time to go be heroes.”
Untangling the leash, I wave goodbye to Charlie and start down the sidewalk. The wind has picked up, blowing the scent of salt and impending rain through the air. People are bustling about, boarding up windows and stacking sandbags. There’s tension, yes, but also a sense of community, everyone pitching in before the storm hits.
My furry companion and I make our way toward the community center, which has been converted into an emergency animal shelter. The closer we get, the more my excitement builds. I’ve dreamed of making a tangible impact, of doing something meaningful that’s not tied to my family’s political reputation. This is my chance to prove—to myself, if no one else—that I can make a difference.
The dog, perhaps sensing my excitement or maybe just smelling the presence of other animals, starts to pull ahead, practically dancing in his eagerness.
“Slow down, buddy. We’re almost there,” I say, tightening my grip on the leash.
Finally, we round the corner, and the community center comes into view. The parking lot is already half-full, a mix of cars and trucks and one imposing, very official-looking SUV that I’m willing to bet belongs to my yet-unknown EmergenSEA co-manager. A banner reading “Emergency Animal Shelter” flaps in the wind over the entrance, making it all feel real and urgent.
Taking a deep breath to calm my jitters, I step onto the parking lot. Here I am, about to dive headfirst into the chaos of hurricane prep, armed with nothing but good intentions and a leash.
“Okay, buddy, let’s do this,” I tell my furry sidekick, who wags his tail as if he understands every word.
I step into the bustling animal shelter, the atmosphere inside as charged as the wind outside. Volunteers are racing around, setting up crates, filling water bowls, and checking lists. Amidst the controlled chaos, one man stands out. His height, commanding attention, pairs with distinct jet-black hair that falls just right, framing a face with chiseled features and deep brown eyes. He’s directing people with a clipboard in hand, his posture all business.
This must be my co-manager for this stormy adventure.
Before I can introduce myself, my foster dog spots him and decides this is the best moment to make new friends. Pulling forward with unexpected strength, he shoots off like a fur missile, dragging me behind him.
“Wait! Stop!” I yell, but it’s too late.