Page 56 of A Spot of Trouble
Sam’s voice sounded rusty, as if he hadn’t spoken about the tragedy in a long, long time. If ever. Violet’s heart twisted, but she waited for him to continue. There was still so much about Sam that she’d yet to learn, but she knew enough to appreciate the fact that he was opening up to her in a way that wasn’t easy for him. It felt like a gift of sorts—beautiful and bittersweet.
He took a deep breath and continued. “Being there just wasn’t the same after that. I guess I came here looking for a fresh start.”
“I’m so sorry.” Violet placed her hand on his knee without even thinking about it.
He covered it with one of his big, warm palms. “Thanks.”
“Do you think you’ve found it?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Found what?” Sam murmured.
“Your fresh start.” Violet tried to smile up at him, but her grin went wobbly. She suddenly couldn’t imagine Turtle Beach without Sam and Cinder. In just a few short weeks, they’d become an integral part of the community. As necessary as bingo night or the boardwalk. Saturday softball and dazzling sunsets at the dog beach.
Violet had never seen it coming. She’d been so consumed with one-upping him and denying any possible spark of attraction between them that she’d missed an undeniable truth—Turtle Beach, North Carolina, no longer felt like a one-Dalmatian town. It had changed into something else—something better. Wasn’t it funny how adding one more Dalmatian to the mix could change everything?
Which reminded her…
Before Sam could answer her question, Violet flew to her feet, heart pounding. “Where are our dogs?”
Chapter 13
The following morning, Sam was a bit worried his most recent lapse in judgment had created a monster. Even so, he had no regrets.
Not many, anyway.
He’d left a large chunk of his heart behind in Mavis Hubbard’s room at the senior center. For a few treasured moments, he’d gotten a glimpse of what life in Turtle Beach could be like if there was no nutty feud between the first responders, no Guns and Hoses softball league, and no carefully constructed wall separating himself from the rest of the world. It made no sense, but sitting beside Violet in what felt like his grandmother’s old apartment had been the most romantic moment of his life.
Which could only mean one thing: he was falling hard for Violet March.
Sam had even told her about the mattress factory fire, something he’d never talked about with anyone else in Turtle Beach. Not Griff. Not even Chief Murray. As far as everyone on the TBFD was concerned, he’d simply been looking to slow down and move to a department with a slower pace. Murray hadn’t asked Sam about the specifics of his time on the Chicago FD during his job interview, and Sam hadn’t offered up any unsolicited information. He didn’t like talking about the fire—to anyone.
Telling Violet had been different, though. He’d felt a little bit lighter afterward. A little bit freer. He hadn’t let his guard down like that in a long, long time.
Letting go had been a mistake, though, as far as the Dalmatians were concerned. When Violet realized the dogs were missing, their brief moment of intimacy had come to an abrupt end. Rightfully so, because Sam hadn’t had a clue as to Cinder’s whereabouts.
How had he let that happen? Sam had been on duty, for crying out loud. Cinder was his partner, and he should never have let her out of his sight. Not for a second.
Cinder hadn’t gotten into any trouble, obviously. Sam and Violet had found the dogs back in the lobby, cuddled up together on the community sofa in front of the senior center’s big flat-screen television. It had been tuned to an old black-and-white movie about a dog of dubious heritage who seemed to be some sort of superhero. The Dalmatians had been enthralled, particularly Cinder. Sam still chuckled when he thought about it. Cinder had never taken much interest in television, especially since she’d once been afraid of it. Half an hour in Sprinkles’s company had apparently transformed his dog into a couch potato. For a second he’d thought maybe he’d gotten the two lookalike dogs confused, but nope. Sprinkles’s trademark cupcake collar was strapped around her spotted neck, as per usual. Even her identification tag was cupcake-shaped.
Sam had only himself to blame for Cinder’s newfound love of television. Again, he should never have let Cinder leave his side at the senior center—for the very same reason he hadn’t let Violet offer her a treat at bingo night. Cinder was aworkingdog, and they’d supposedly been working yesterday afternoon. Regardless of the veracity of Ethel’s call to the station about the fire sprinklers, his visit to the senior center had been official TBFD business. What had he been thinking? Sam may as well have stripped out of his uniform, pulled on a #FreeCinder T-shirt, and called it a day.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Sam said to his dog as he stumbled toward the coffee maker. Morning light streamed through the windows, bathing the interior of the beach cottage in soft watercolor hues, just like his painting of the dog beach.
Sam paused to take it all in. Beyond the sliding glass doors that led to his deck, the ocean lapped against the shore in gentle, foamy waves. The sea was calm today, and as Sam allowed himself to simply slow down and appreciate the beauty of his surroundings, he realized he felt calm too. There was a stillness in his soul he hadn’t felt in months.
Sam didn’t want to believe that whatever he might be feeling for Violet March had anything to do with this newfound peace. It just wasn’t possible. She was pandemonium personified.
“It’s the beach, right?” he said to Cinder. “Everyone feels more at peace at the beach.”
Sam glanced down in search of Dalmatian confirmation, but what he found instead was one of his regulation fire department socks dangling from Cinder’s mouth.
“What the…?” He blinked. Hard. “Cinder! Drop it.”
His Dalmatian spit the sock onto the floor, then let out a squeaky dog yawn.
Sam was stunned. Cinder knew better than to steal socks. She hadn’t done such a thing since she was a puppy.
This is your fault, not hers.
