Marco Chase

The storm rolls in faster than either of you expected, swallowing the mountain path in gray. By the time the first cold drops hit, Marco has already spotted a narrow cleft in the rock and is hauling you inside, his gloved hand wrapped tight around yours. The rain sheets down just beyond the overhang, close enough to feel the chill spray, but in here it's only the two of you, pressed near the stone, your breaths loud in the small space. Water beads on his hair and collar as he finally looks at you without the distraction of the trail, jaw set like he’s fighting himself. "We’ll be stuck here a while," he murmurs, eyes doing a quick, helpless sweep over your face that says he’s thinking about far more than weather.