Page 35 of A Spot of Trouble
And there it was.
Joe, Josh, Mavis, Ethel, and Opal all turned and looked at Sam. Funny how Violet’s brothers seemed to have fewer objections to a wager now that they knew it could end in Sam dressed as a baked good on the busiest street in Turtle Beach. The cupcake suit would be pink, obviously. He didn’t even have to ask.
“You would be providing the costumes, I’m assuming.” Sam raised his eyebrows at Violet.
She nodded. “Naturally. I’m the cupcake expert, after all.”
Definitely pink, then.
“And as you’ve pointed out on numerous occasions, I’m the dog training expert.” Sam paused as Violet’s eyes narrowed. Even though every shred of common sense he possessed told him to stay as far away from this wager scenario as possible, he couldn’t. “So if the fire department wins the tournament, you’re signing up for obedience lessons.”
“Obedience lessons,” she echoed.
“Those are my terms,” Sam said.
Josh laughed under his breath. “For her or the dog?”
Violet aimed a murderous glare at her brother.
“For Sprinkles, obviously,” Sam said. “At the obedience school of my choosing. I assure you it will be based on positive reinforcement techniques—treats, mostly. Knowing your position on treats, you can’t possibly object.”
Violet grew quiet, no doubt weighing the odds of whose pride would take the biggest hit if they lost. As far as Sam was concerned, it seemed like an equitable arrangement. Also, he seriously doubted anyone in Turtle Beach would be walking around in #FreeSprinkles attire if her Dalmatian started obedience training. On the contrary, the good citizens of their fair beach town would probably heave a collective sigh of relief.
“Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.” Sam rose from his chair, fully prepared to go back to the table of firefighters and get on with his normal, uneventful life.
But before he could walk away, Violet flew to her feet, eyes blazing with defiance.
“Fine. It’s a deal.”
They shook on it, and Sam pretended not to notice how soft and right Violet’s hand felt in his, a perfect fit. Because the Dalmatian negotiation was complete and now it was official—Sam and Violet were on opposing teams, and there could only be one champion.
He wasn’t going to coddle her like everyone else did. If a wager was what she wanted, then a wager was what she was going to get.
From now on, Sam was playing to win.
***
Violet lingered as long as possible at Island Pizza. Was it fun watching the firefighters celebrate their victory with pitchers of beer and obnoxious chants that centered around cop jokes and donuts? Hardly.
She couldn’t go home yet, though. Going home would mean facing her dad, who she’d been carefully avoiding ever since Sprinkles’s romp around the softball diamond.
He was going to be furious. The chiefs took Guns and Hoses just as seriously as the players did, if not more so. To Violet’s knowledge, her dad and Chief Murray had never shown up for post-game pizza. All the players did, along with their family members, and the community’s numerous softball fans. The chiefs? Never. Not once.
Their absence had never made much sense to Violet. The only time she’d asked her father why he and Chief Murray always skipped the summer pizza parties, he’d said just one word—“tradition.”
Well, that just makes things clear as mud now, doesn’t it, Dad?
Traditions had to start somewhere, didn’t they?
In any case, Violet didn’t want to unravel that particular mystery at the moment. Her team had lost, and yes, her dog was at least partially to blame, even if she’d been somehow lured into leaping onto the field by Sam’s mesmerizing charisma.
Dalmatian antics aside, by the time Violet left Island Pizza, she felt rather victorious herself. The bet with Sam had given her new life. She was tired of the weird and wholly inappropriate push-pull between them. Tired of never knowing if he was her enemy or her friend. Tired of having to try so hard to ignore him when his presence was a like a fire burning in the middle of the pizza parlor, consuming all her oxygen.
Now the battle lines had been definitively drawn. She was on one side, and Sam was very clearly on another. There would be no more placing cupcake orders in the middle of the game, no more unplanned heart-to-hearts, no more lingering glances in Sam’s direction when she thought no one was looking. Sam was going down. The next time she’d allow herself to ogle him, he’d be dressed as a cupcake. As soon as that happened, she’d take a good long look, and then she’d document it for the Sweetness on Wheels Facebook and Instagram accounts. Because of course she would.
Meanwhile, she still had to slink back to the family beach house and somehow avoid her father. This was why grown women weren’t supposed to live at home anymore, despite the sprawling serenity of the crest and the fact that she liked to make sure her dad took all his prescriptions and ate something other than grilled meat seven nights a week.
“Look at the time.” Mavis glanced at the non-existent watch on her arm. “We should probably be getting back to the senior center.”
