Page 6 of Marcelo

A long pause. Marcelo seems to be battling with himself, deciding how much to reveal. I give him a reassuring smile, hoping to encourage him.

"My engagement," he finally says, his voice softer. "It didn't end well. She felt I prioritized my work, my duty, over her."

My heart aches for him, hearing the pain in his voice. "I'm so sorry, Marcelo."

He shrugs slightly. "It's why I've been so... rigid. Fear of getting close, of getting hurt again. But then, life throws curveballs, like volunteering at a pet shelter during a hurricane."

I chuckle, sensing the humor in his voice. "Or meeting a crazy mayor's daughter?"

He smiles, looking directly into my eyes. "Exactly."

As Marcelo opens up, a pang strikes my heart. There's a rawness in his words that resonates with me. His coping mechanism might be order and discipline, but isn't mine unpredictability and a dash of rebellion?

It's oddly comforting to realize that beneath his rigid facade is a heart that's been scarred, much like my own. I want to bridge the gap, to tell him it's okay to let those walls down. Amidst the chaos of the shelter, for the first time, I truly see Marcelo, not just as the strict coordinator but as someone yearning to be understood, just like me.

I notice Marcelo's gaze focusing intently on my lips. I self-consciously touch them, wondering if I've got sandwich crumbs. Before I can react, he's leaning in, using his thumb to wipe away a smear of mayo.

"You had a little something there," he says softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

The world seems to narrow down to just the two of us, the intensity of his gaze and the warmth of his touch setting my heart racing.

A beat of silence stretches between us, charged with a tension neither of us expected. As the distance closes between our lips, it feels like we're suspended in time.

But suddenly, a deafening bang disrupts the charged atmosphere. One of the back doors swings open with a violent gust of wind, letting in the rain and the howls of the hurricane. In a flash, I see a familiar fur coat sprinting for the exit—it's the dog from the café, the one I brought to the shelter.

"No!" I cry out, pushing past the shock of our almost-kiss.

Without a second thought, I'm on my feet, dashing out into the storm, shouting for the dog. "Come back!" The roaring winds drown out my voice. The rain lashes against my skin, but my focus remains solely on the retreating figure of the dog.

"WINNIE!" I hear Marcelo's voice calling out behind me, a mix of concern and disbelief. But right now, all that matters is ensuring the dog doesn't get lost or hurt in this unforgiving storm.

Chapter 4

Marcelo

Marcelo

The rain hammers against my jacket, each drop feeling like a tiny punch as I push my way through the wind-ravaged streets. The sidewalks are littered with debris—upturned trash cans, fragments of signs, even a lone shoe—and the sound of the hurricane is all-encompassing, a relentless roar that seems to come from every direction.

I catch a glimpse of red—Winnie's hair—disappearing around a corner, with the mischievous tail of that dog wagging ahead of her. I increase my pace, dodging a fallen branch, my boots splashing in the growing puddles. The dog's erratic path doesn't make it any easier, leading Winnie—and me—in a zigzag pattern.

Why did she have to run? The logical part of my brain says it's just a dog, but seeing her there, putting herself in harm's way, lights a fire of protective concern in my chest. The sensation is jarring, especially because it's directed toward someone I've just met. But there's something about Winnie, an indescribable pull tugging at me from our first encounter. I can't help but question myself.

Why am I so affected by the thought of her in danger?

Why can't I shake off this nagging need to ensure she's safe?

Up ahead, Winnie's shouts pierce the storm's din, calling for the dog. I close the distance between us, the grip on my resolve tightening with every step. She's not getting away from me this easily—not until I know she's out of harm's way.

The rain beats down on the street corner, creating a rhythmic drumming that echoes off the surrounding buildings. Loose papers and leaves dance in the alleyway, propelled by the wind's unpredictable gusts. Ahead, I see Winnie, finally holding the dog at the end of a leash made from her scarf, her red hair plastered to her face, her eyes scanning the area in a mix of relief and distress.

Closing the distance between us, my relief at seeing her safe gives way to a flash of anger. "What were you thinking?" I demand, my voice rising over the howl of the wind. "Running off like that into this storm?"

Her green eyes flash defiantly. "I had to save him! You of all people should understand duty and commitment!"

For a moment, we stand there, chest to chest, the storm's fury mirrored in our heated exchange. Her hair, plastered wetly to her face, only highlights the fire in her eyes.

And then, without another word or conscious thought, I pull her closer, our lips meeting amidst the rain's deluge. It's a fierce kiss that mirrors the world around us—raw, intense, all-consuming. Her lips are surprisingly warm against mine, soft even against the storm's harshness. The water from our rain-soaked clothes seeps between us, but it doesn't matter. Not in this moment.