Page 7 of Marcelo

Every thought, every concern, everything that isn't Winnie fades to the background. All that remains is the pulse of my heart, the taste of her lips, and the overwhelming realization that I've never felt anything quite like this before. The pull between us, both emotional and physical, is undeniable. The storm might be raging around us, but for this singular moment, it's just the two of us, lost in each other.

But then the dog gives a sharp tug on its makeshift leash. Winnie stumbles back slightly, our lips breaking apart. Our gazes lock, the air between us thick with unsaid words and electric tension.

Then, the winds pick up again, a fierce gust sending a spray of rain into our faces, a brisk reminder of the situation. Taking a shaky breath, I step back, putting a respectful distance between us. The dog whines, capturing Winnie's attention, and she crouches down to soothe it.

"We need to get back," I manage to say, my voice hoarse.

She nods, face serious, cheeks still flushed from our heated moment. "I know," she replies, her voice barely audible above the rain. "That was... unexpected."

"Reckless," I correct her.

She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue, her focus now on keeping up with the eager dog and avoiding the debris that litters our path. Every step we take is calculated, avoiding larger pools of water and fallen branches. The kiss lingers heavily between us, an unspoken conversation that will need to be had, but not amidst a hurricane.

As we make our way back, the reality of our situation begins to sink in. That kiss, potent and unexpected, muddies the waters. Our dynamic has shifted, and I'm not sure what the fallout will be.

She stumbles slightly on a loose stone, and I instinctively reach out to steady her. Our hands find each other, a brief but grounding touch. The dog barks, reminding us of our mission. The shelter’s lights appear in the distance, and with it, the promise of sanctuary.

But as we draw nearer, one thought prevails: Once inside, where everything is dry and stable, how will we navigate the storm that's raging between us?

The shelter doors swing open as we enter, both of us drenched from head to toe. The wet fabric of her shirt clings to her, accentuating the gentle curves of her figure, and I'm momentarily struck by her allure, the raw beauty that even the rain can't diminish.

The room is warm, the air thick with the scent of wet fur and the underlying note of concern from the volunteers. They're all genuinely relieved to see us back, Winnie especially.

"Thank goodness you're both safe!" one volunteer exclaims, rushing over to help Winnie with the dog.

Another pats me on the back. "Man, we were worried. And who knew? Marcelo de Leon, going after a girl and her dog in the middle of a hurricane. There's hope for you yet."

Winnie's eyes find mine, a hint of blush coloring her cheeks. The rain has accentuated her features, the freckles on her face standing out even more, making her look both fierce and endearing. But before I can decipher the meaning behind her gaze or find the words to respond, I feel the need to escape, to retreat.

The emotions, the intensity of the last hour—it's all too raw, too fresh.

"I need to check on something," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

I move quickly through the organized chaos, making my way to the office. The door closes behind me with a soft click, the dim room offering a momentary respite.

The muted sounds of the shelter, with its flurry of activity, become distant in the confines of the office. With its spartan desk and scattered paperwork, this space provides a momentary escape. A dim light from the overhead bulb casts a warm glow, evoking a sense of calm.

Leaning against the desk, I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. The memory of the kiss, the heat of it, the sheer unexpectedness, swirls in my mind. I thought I had locked away those feelings, protected myself from potential heartbreak after the last time.

But Winnie—with her fire, her spirit, her undeniable charm—has somehow unlocked a part of me I thought was buried deep. I need time, space, to process.

To figure out what this means and where to go from here.

I let out a heavy breath, fingers brushing the edges of an old, worn-out challenge coin nestled in my pocket. It's an emblem from my Navy days—a symbol of camaraderie, discipline, and duty. Those days shaped me, molded my belief in structure, in the importance of strict protocols. It was a world where everything had its place, where every action followed a specific rule.

There wasn't room for the unpredictable, the unforeseen.

But the raw intensity of today, the unexpected surge of emotions with Winnie, challenges everything I've come to know. Her fierce determination, the shared urgency amidst the storm, and the undeniably magnetic moment we shared—it's as if an uncharted territory has opened up before me.

A soft knock interrupts my introspection, and her voice, tentative but undeniably present, filters in.

"Marcelo? Can I come in?"

I grip the challenge coin a moment longer, drawing strength from its familiar weight before returning it to my pocket. "Yes, Winnie. Come in."

Chapter 5

Winnie