Page 6 of A Spot of Trouble
A long, awkward pause followed. The only sounds Sam heard were Cinder’s soft pants and the ocean roaring in the distance. He missed the rattle of the L train, the moaning stops and starts of city buses, and the grind of morning traffic. The constant hum of Chicago’s street noises were in his blood, and he felt adrift without it—yet another thing about his move he hadn’t anticipated. After all, people paid good money to hear waves crashing against the shore on apps for their phones or sound systems. Not Sam, per se, but people.
Normal people…people who didn’t wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, followed by three torturous hours of staring at the ceiling, immune to the calming effects of the nearby sea.
“Huh,” both Griff and Chief Murray said after a beat, as if Sam’s description of Cinder’s duties had been spoken in some kind of foreign language.
Sam’s head pounded. He had a sudden craving for deep dish Chicago-style pizza, the world’s best migraine cure.
“So this dog is like your partner?” Chief Murray bent to take a closer look at Cinder.
“Yes.” They’d covered this already in Sam’s interview. He was sure of it. He wouldn’t have packed up and moved to North Carolina without telling his new chief about his dog. Cinder was half the reason Sam had been able to make the change from fighting fires to seeking a job as a fire marshal.
The job offer from TBFD had been a godsend. After Chief Murray’s email had arrived, Sam had been too busy counting his lucky stars to wonder why such a small department needed to add a full-time fire marshal to its roster. As crazy as things seemed, they were beginning to make sense.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not really interested in playing softball,” Sam said.
He was here to do a job, not to become involved with the community. Besides, it had been a long time since Sam had held a bat in his hands. Nearly a year.
Chief Murray straightened, regarding Sam through narrowed eyes.
“Dude.” Griff shook his head. “Participation in the summer softball tournament against the police force is mandatory.”
Sam sighed. This place was beyond nuts. He should have turned tail and run back when he’d almost been arrested. “Mandatory? Doesn’t that contradict the very nature of extracurricular activities?”
“Griff’s right,” the chief said. “Not only is it mandatory, but it’s also the whole reason you were hired. Guns and Hoses starts Saturday.”
Guns and Hoses. Sam’s mouth quirked into a half grin, despite himself. The name of the tournament was cute, like everything else in this whimsical beach town.
Except maybe the oddly competitive nature of said softball tournament. And whatever unfortunate thing had happened to Violet March.
He knew he shouldn’t worry about it. In fact, all signs thus far had pointed to the obvious conclusion that if he was going to survive here, he needed to stay as far away from Violet and Sprinkles as possible. Had the ongoing Dalmatian situation taught him nothing?
Chief Murray slapped him hard on the back—hard enough to rattle all thoughts of the police chief’s daughter and her troublesome spotted sidekick right out of his head. “Welcome to Turtle Beach, slugger.”
***
In retrospect, Violet realized she’d been a tad hasty at the dog beach this morning. The firefighter had tried to explain what was going on, and she hadn’t let him. As her brothers Josh and Joe had oh-so-helpfully pointed out after the chaos died down and her yoga friends aimed their walkers back toward the Turtle Beach Senior Living Center, she’d treatedafireman like he wasthefireman. The result had been nothing short of a complete and utter Dalmatian humiliation.
The poor man had apparently been a resident of Turtle Beach for a grand total of twelve hours—information which Josh had managed to discern with a single call to the town’s one and only Realtor, who’d conveniently been his prom date back in his days at Turtle Beach High. As much as Violet hated to give the new-in-town fireman the benefit of the doubt, she realized he’d probably never heard of Guns and Hoses.
Yet.
That would change, obviously. In the meantime, she might owe him ateensyapology for trying to get him arrested. Softball season hadn’t even officially started yet. If she was going to get through the annual tournament with a modicum of dignity intact, she needed to try to defuse the situation.
Besides, his dog was awfully cute. Despite the uniform, he clearly possessed one of her favorite qualities in a man—an appreciation for Dalmatians. How terrible could he possibly be?
Careful, there. Remember what happened the last time you let your guard down around a pretty face in a fire helmet.
As if she could forget.
But she didn’t want to date the man. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Never again. Violet was over romantic relationships. From here on out, all she cared about was Sprinkles and her shiny new cupcake truck.
And her family, obviously. And her friends. And the police department completely annihilating the fire department this Saturday in the opening game.
Okay, fine, she cared about a lot of things, but dating occupied the last spot on the list. Absolute rock bottom. The fact that she was currently standing in front of the fire station with a pink bakery box in her hands and Sprinkles at her feet was a simple matter of self-respect. She hated the weird combination of guilt and sadness she always saw in Chief Murray’s eyes when he looked at her, and she knew good and well that every cupcake the TBFD bought and consumed was a pity purchase. Not that her cupcakes weren’t good—they wereamazing, thank you very much. She just wanted to move on and return to despising firemen in a normal, healthy,sports-relatedway.
Violet squared her shoulders and glanced down at Sprinkles. “We can do this. Five quick minutes inside the belly of the beast, and then we’re out of here.”
But when she took a step toward the bright red door of the firehouse, the Dalmatian didn’t budge. Violet gave the leash a gentle tug, and still…nothing.
