Page 15 of A Spot of Trouble
Sam’s chiseled face flashed in Violet’s consciousness, and warmth filled her chest—obviously a reaction to the head injury she’d just suffered.
“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” She untied the bow on the sash of her polka dot apron and re-tied it so she wouldn’t have to look at her friends’ skeptical expressions.
“Maybe you can notice now.” Ethel cleared her throat. “Because he’s here.”
“What?” Violet’s head jerked up. “He’s here at the senior center?Now?”
She glanced out the cupcake truck’s order window, past her three friends and their walkers decorated with quilted hanging pouches to hold their bingo daubers, and sure enough—there was Sam Nash and his trusty spotted sidekick, walking right toward them.
Violet’s heart beat hard in her chest at the sight of him. Ethel wasn’t wrong. Sam was awfully handsome.
Emphasis onawful.
Ugh. What was he doing here?
“You said it yourself, dear.” Ethel shrugged. “Everyone on the island loves bingo.”
***
Sam’s footsteps slowed as he caught sight of the shiny Airstream trailer topped with its pink rotating cupcake parked in front of the senior center.
He very nearly turned around to reverse course. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for another uncomfortable encounter with the island’s beloved Dalmatian enthusiast. Perhaps his evening would be better spent unpacking a few of the moving boxes that were stacked around his rented beach house like a cardboard maze.
No, he thought.This is your job…the whole reason you’re here.
Right. He couldn’t avoid Violet forever. Turtle Beach was a small island. He was just going to have to power through and act like a trained professional, even though the island seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.
Cinder fell in step beside him as he hastened his pace. Already, the enticing aromas of sweet cream and warm vanilla were wrapping themselves around him, heady and lush.
Enough already. Stop thinking about cake, you idiot.
He stepped off the gravel sidewalk to make way for a pair of barefoot teenagers headed toward him with comically huge surfboards tucked under their skinny arms, but they shifted to block his path.
“Bro,” one of them said, frowning at Cinder. “Isn’t that—”
Annoyance spiraled through Sam.This again.
“No…bro,” he said sharply. “This Dalmatian is named Cinder, not Sprinkles. And she belongs to me, not to Violet March. What’s more, she’s ahighly trained animal!”
Super, he was screaming at minors now. Cinder looked up at him, utterly disgusted.
Sam knew he was just projecting. If anyone was disgusted by his behavior, it was Sam himself. But if one more person in this wackadoodle beach town accused him of dognapping, he was going to lose it.
The surfers exchanged dubious glances.
“Bro,” they said in unison.
“I’m sorry.” Sam forced a smile. “This is my dog. Just trust me, okay?”
The teens both glanced at Cinder again.
“Bro,” Sam said again. A plea.
“Whatever, bro,” one of the teens said, clearly unconvinced.
Fortunately for Sam, the lure of the waves proved more enticing to the surfers than a dognapped Dalmatian. They shrugged and resumed their trek to the nearby beach access with their boards pointed toward the sea.
Sam heaved a sigh of exhausted relief. He could take a hint—it was time to pack it in for the day and retreat back to his quiet beach house where no one else could mistake him for a gender-flipped Cruella de Vil. He’d simply have to check out bingo night at the senior center on the following Tuesday evening.
