Page 30 of A Spot of Trouble
“Yes.” Griff gave him a grim nod. “Emmett stole it. The Marches all live in that huge beach mansion at the end of the island, and one night while he was there visiting Violet, he just made off with it.”
“Please tell me he saw it lying around and had a severe lapse in judgment.” Not that stealing the playbook under those circumstances would have been in any way acceptable, but it wouldn’t be as deceitful as taking advantage of Violet’s trust in such a premeditated way.
“Nope, I’m afraid not. In fact, he snuck into her dad’s bedroom through a sliding glass door on the deck while she was inside making lemonade.” Griff pulled a face.
Bile rose up the back of Sam’s throat. He closed his eyes for a prolonged moment, feeling significantly less smug about his overwhelming victory in their latest Dalmatian altercation.
“The only reason he was dating her was to try and get inside information on the police department’s softball strategy. He thought it would be a quick way to impress Chief Murray and snag a promotion to Captain,” Griff said.
Sam swallowed hard. “I’m assuming it didn’t work since he’s no longer part of the TBFD?”
“Correct. Chief Murray was really angry when he found out. He fired Emmett on the spot, along with another firefighter who’d known about the plan and had egged Emmett on. Despite the whole police versus firefighter thing, he’s always had somewhat of a soft spot for Violet. Everyone around here does. Like I said, she’s always been the sweetheart of Turtle Beach.” Griff reached out to stroke Cinder’s smooth ears and cast a knowing look at Sam. “Until you came along.”
Sam’s throat went thick as he sat and watched another of his fellow firemen swing and miss.
“You’re out!” the umpire yelled.
The players on the bench rose from their seats and headed to the field for the next inning. Cinder stood, panting while she waited for Sam to follow suit.
He took a deep breath, raised himself from the bench and strode toward left field—the very opposite direction he should have been headed, given that he’d been assigned to first base.
“Dude.” Griff threw his arms up in the air. “We’re in the middle of a game. Where are you going?”
“Cover first base for me. I’ll be back in a minute.”
***
Violet technically should have been too busy to notice Sam marching toward her across the softball diamond. She still had a long line of customers waiting at her window. The cupcakes were selling like crazy, especially the cookies-and-cream flavored ones that she’d decorated with vanilla and chocolate frosting in a Dalmatian-spotted pattern. She called them the Sprinkles Special, because for reasons she didn’t want to think about—at all—practically everyone in town had seemed to forget that Sprinkles was Turtle Beach’s favorite Dalmatian. The other day, a tourist had even stopped Violet on the street and wanted to know if the dog at the end of her pink cupcake leash was “Cinder the fire dog.”
Violet had been speechless with indignation. Sprinkles might not be able to wield a fire extinguisher with her spotty little paws, but she would always be the town’soriginalDalmatian. Everyone just needed reminding, that’s all. Violet wasn’t about to stand by and let Sam steal Sprinkles’s thunder.
Hence the special spotted cupcakes, although she had a feeling their immense popularity had more to do with the sudden explosion in the Dalmatian population than Sprinkles alone. She tried her best not to think about that, though, just as she tried her best to concentrate on her customers and whipped buttercream instead of Sam Nash and the deliciously snug fit of his softball uniform.
But Sam and his perfectly tailored Hoses team jersey proved impossible to ignore. Her gaze kept straying toward the softball diamond while she handed customers their cupcakes, while she took orders, while she made change. When he went up to bat and hit the ball with an earsplitting crack, the sound hummed through her and goosebumps pricked her arms. She forgot what she was doing as she watched him round the bases and ended up wasting an entire pastry bag of frosting on a single cupcake. So…
When he pushed away from the bench, it didn’t escape Violet’s notice one bit, even though she was in the middle of a multi-cupcake transaction at the time. She couldfeelthe intensity of his stare, trained on her with the heat of a white-hot poker.
What was hedoing?The game was far from over. Wasn’t he supposed to be on first base?
“I’ll have two of the special Dalmatian cupcakes, please.” Her next customer in line held up two fingers. “Just like Sprinkles and Cinder.”
“Coming right up.” Violet forced a smile. Oh, goody. Now people were linking her dog with Sam’s, like they were the spotty equivalent of the dynamic duo.
She placed the cupcakes on pink gingham paper napkins and absolutely forbade herself from glancing in Sam’s direction. If he had something to say to her, he could wait in line with everyone else presently crowded around her busy cupcake truck.
But of course the second Sam fell in line, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, urging him forward so he could take care of his apparently urgent buttercream business and get back on the field as quickly as possible.
“After all, you’re the star player!” someone gushed, followed by a round ofamensandyes, sirees.
Violet glanced at Sprinkles.Can you believe this?
The Dalmatian’s tail beat against her cozy window seat. When Violet shifted her attention back toward the order window, Sam stood on the opposite side with Cinder sitting nobly at his feet.
“Hello,” he said, as if a player leaving the field mid-game to visit a food truck was the most normal thing in the world.
Every single person in line behind him crept forward, all ears. Even sweet Mr. Beverly who worked the grill at the Salty Dawg Pier gawked at them with open curiosity.
“What are you doing, Sam?” Violet said as a trickle of sweat ran down the back of one of her knees. The interior of the Airstream seemed unbearably hot all of a sudden.
