Page 25 of A Spot of Trouble
And waited some more.
Finally, she threw her hands in the air. “Would youpleasejust put the shirts on? Surely I don’t have to remind you that the man shut down bingo night.”
“Don’t get upset, dear. If it will make you happy, we’ll wear the tic-tac-toe shirts.” Ethel shimmied into her shirt.
The rest of the seniors followed, and even though it had taken a teensy bit of arm-twisting, the end result was fabulous. At least thirty silver-haired yogis smiled back at her from their mats with #FreeCinder emblazoned across their chests.
Take that, Bingo-Hater.
Violet wasn’t usually quite so confrontational, but this was a matter of simple Dalmatian vindication. She was looking out for Sprinkles’s spotted sister. Girl power and all that…but canine.
That was her story, anyway, and she was sticking to it.
If Sprinkles was overly concerned with the plight of her black-and-white body double, she didn’t let it show. Once class started, she gleefully participated, just like she always did. She planted her chin on top of Violet’s crisscrossed legs during the opening meditation—a quiet, serene moment when Violet encouraged her students to set their intention for the day’s yoga practice. Setting an intention typically involved focusing on some noble quality a yogi wanted to nurture in their life, like gratitude, kindness, or grace. Sincesweet, sweet revengedidn’t exactly qualify as noble, Violet chose to focus on letting go. Which she would totally do…
Right after she had the pleasure of seeing Sam walk into the senior center to find an army of zen octogenarians advocating for his Dalmatian’s rights to treats.Namaste!
“Okay, everyone, let’s transition slowly into downward facing dog. If this pose is difficult for you, don’t forget you can do it on all fours instead.” Violet stretched into a gentle down dog, and Sprinkles did a commando crawl onto the yoga mat until she was positioned directly beneath Violet. Then the Dalmatian flipped onto her back and gazed up at her with her doggy mouth split into a wide grin.
Yoga came naturally to most dogs, because unlike people, they reveled in being present and living in the moment. Violet loved this about her dog, even if living in the moment sometimes involved a tiny amount of chaotic disobedience. That was okay, though, wasn’t it? No dog was perfect. Sprinkles might be a little extra on occasion, but Violet loved her. Everyone in Turtle Beach did.
Besides, it wasn’t as if Sam’s Dalmatian could actually fight fires. That just wasn’t possible. Come to think of it, Violet wasn’t sure what a fire dog’s job actually entailed. Cinder certainly hadn’t written out Violet’s citation with her sweet, dainty paws. When it came down to it, what could Cinder do that Sprinkles couldn’t?
Not much, probably.
Violet glanced at the clock over the entrance to the senior center. Its oversized numbers indicated that Sam would be walking through the door in approximately fifteen minutes. Time to start winding down.
She led the group through a few gentle stretches, finishing in the final relaxation pose, with her students lying flat on their backs and remaining perfectly still for three to five minutes. In recent weeks, the seniors had taken to calling final relaxation “murder victim pose.” Like Joe, they really needed to stop watching so muchCriminal Minds.
Sprinkles sat down beside Violet’s shoulder, and Violet kept her eyes closed. She took three deep breaths and then ended the class the way she always did—with a feel-good inspirational quote.
“May all beings be happy, may all beings be healthy, and may all beings be free from suffering.Namaste.”
When she opened her eyes, she found two Dalmatian faces staring down at her instead of one. She glanced back and forth between them, and for the life of her, she couldn’t tell the two dogs apart. It was as if someone had cloned Sprinkles during murder victim pose. But then a throat cleared somewhere above her and she looked up to find Sam towering over her.
He stared pointedly at her chest, arched a brow, and the stern, ultra-manly knot in his jaw made another angry appearance. “Namaste.”
***
#FreeCinder.
Sam’s entire body clenched as he glared at the lettering printed across Violet’s T-shirt. He’d been dreading this awkward visit to the senior center since the minute he’d woken up this morning and engaged in another back-and-forth with Cinder over the making, unmaking, and remaking of the bed. As unenthused as he’d been about begging forgiveness for simply trying to ensure the safety of Turtle Beach’s elderly population, he hadn’t anticipated having to do so in front of Violet March.
Hedefinitelyhadn’t foreseen the offensive hashtag. Or the T-shirts. Or the forbidden zing that Violet’s saucy little grin sent coursing through him when she opened her eyes and found him glaring down at her. He felt electrified all of a sudden—jittery, as if he’d just downed two or three of her sugary, delectable cupcakes in rapid succession.
Were his hands actually shaking?
Wait a minute.
Sam stiffened. He was supposed to be angry. Hewasangry—thoroughly annoyed, as a matter of fact. The woman was even more of a menace than her unruly Dalmatian, which was really saying something.
But there was something about her that captivated him. He couldn’t deny it and, weirdly enough, the more adversarial their exchanges became, the more he wanted to kiss the obstinate smirk right off of her face.
What the hell was happening to him? Sam had never understood couples who thrived on drama and constant arguing. That sort of relationship had always seemed more like misery than anything remotely resembling love or romance.
Being around Violet made him feel alive, though—more alive than he’d felt in a long, long time. After months of numbness, the shock of adrenaline flowing through his veins was so potent that it made his head spin. As messed up as it seemed, he delighted in the sudden delirium.
It’s simple chemistry, that’s all.He swallowed hard.It doesn’tmeananything.
