Page 65 of A Spot of Trouble
Violet bent to hug the dog around her neck. “What are we going to do about it, hmm?”
Sprinkles gave Violet’s cheek a gentle lick. It was a puppy kiss, not a scorching hot fireman kiss, but Violet would take what she could get.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said, reaching for her multi-tiered Tupperware cupcake carrier.
She popped open the plastic lid and started stacking frosted vanilla bean cupcakes inside. Violet stood by everything she’d said to her brothers, but she hated the thought of disappointing her father, particularly when she’d had to hear about it from Josh and Joe. But of course her dad would never tell her to her face that he was upset about the wager or that he blamed her for lighting a fire under the opposing team. (Firein the strictly figurative sense…this time.)
He probably thought she was too emotionally fragile to handle that sort of criticism. Everything between Dad and Violet always had to be rainbows and unicorns—except when he was ordering her not to get involved with a firefighter. He never held back when it came to that.
Rainbows and unicorns may have worked when Violet was a little girl trying to come to terms with the fact that her mother had died bringing her into the world, but she wanted more now. She wanted to really know her dad, and she wanted to know her mother too, beyond secret newspaper clippings or collections of pretty pictures pressed into a book.
“Ready, Sprinkles?”
The Dalmatian’s tail beat a happy rhythm against the smooth wood floor.
Violet clipped her leash onto the cupcake collar. “Let’s go.”
Violet could have taken the Sweetness on Wheels truck down to the softball field, but a cool sea breeze had blown in, stirring the sea grass and shallow tide pools along the crest. It was such a nice night, perfect for a bike ride. So she fastened the cupcake carrier into her bike basket, wound Sprinkles’s leash around her hand a few times and took off toward the boardwalk.
Mercifully, Sprinkles trotted politely alongside the bicycle instead of dragging her through downtown Turtle Beach. Violet’s front wheel didn’t wobble a bit for the entire length of Seashell Drive. Obedience lessons? Ha! She and Sprinkles were perfectly fine. No formal schooling required.
Practice was in full swing when they arrived at the softball field. The players were lined up in groups of three, doing relay toss drills while Violet’s dad sat in the dugout, flipping through his playbook. Violet grabbed the cupcakes and kept a firm grip on Sprinkles’s leash as she walked toward him, just in case the Dalmatian mistook the situation for an elaborate game of catch.
“Vi?” Her dad stood, removed his baseball cap and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. At fifty-five, Ed March was quite handsome, in a quiet, understated sort of way. Violet wished he would get out more and try to find someone special. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Dad.” Like she’d be bringing cupcakes to the softball field in the event of an emergency? “I just thought I’d bring the guys some treats and keep you company during drills.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I’d like that.” He nodded as a smile replaced his concerned expression, then sat back down and patted the empty space beside him on the bench. “Have a seat.”
Sprinkles planted herself at Dad’s feet while Violet set the cupcakes down, tucked her dress beneath her and got situated on the old, worn bench. It had probably been there since Turtle Beach first became inhabited back in the ’50s.
The Dalmatian poked her nose at Violet’s father, angling for pats. He obliged with a chuckle.
“How’s the team looking tonight?” Violet asked.
Ed March nodded. “Good.”
She crossed her legs, swinging her foot until her ballerina flat dangled from her toe. A nervous habit. “Good enough to beat the Hoses on Saturday?”
Her dad sighed. “We’ll see.”
“Dad, I’m sorry if you’re upset about my bet with Sam Nash. I certainly didn’t think he’d go out and transform the fire department into a semi-professional softball team in the span of a week.” Or ever, frankly. The man was a miracle worker.
“I’m not upset,” her father said, but he couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. Or maybe he was truly invested in the tossing drill. His head moved back and forth, following the movement of the balls, just like Sprinkles’s did.
Violet smiled, despite the tiny ache in her heart. They made an adorable pair. “It’s okay if you are, you know.”
He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his feet at the ankles. Sprinkles lay down and rested her chin on the toe of one of his cleats. “I just don’t like the idea of you having anything to do with Sam, that’s all.”
“Even a casual wager?”
But was it really so casual anymore? The past few times she and Sam had been in a room together, things had felt anything but casual.
“He’s not good for you. Period.” The matter settled, Ed March was quick to change the subject. “I asked Joe to talk to you about something. Did he get around to it?”
Violet’s swinging foot went into overdrive. Her dad had been behind the whole “shower” confrontation? Awk-ward. “He and Josh both did. Honestly, though, it’s not a big deal, and I told them so.”
“But you’re taking care of it, yes?”
