Page 78 of A Spot of Trouble
Sprinkles cast a longing glance at him over her spotted shoulder and slowed to a stop.
“Sprinkles, no.” Violet gave the Dalmatian’s leash a gentle tug. “Come on. We arenotstopping to chat with Marshal Sam right now.”
The Dalmatian refused to budge, though. She planted her four paws in place, dipped her head down low, and stayed put.
“Sprinkles, please.” Violet’s chin quivered, and Sam thought it might be the death of him when her tears spilled over and started streaming down her face.
He took a tentative step toward her. “Violet, love, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t call me that. My own father just arrested me because of all those tickets you kept giving me. In no way are you a hero in this scenario. You don’t get to bail me out of jail, call me sweet names, and bring me ice cream.” Her sea-glass eyes darted to the melting mess in his hand. “Are those sprinkles?”
A flicker of hope stirred deep in Sam’s chest. “Of course they are.”
“Nice try, but no thank you.” Violet’s eyes met his, she took a ragged breath, and for a second she looked so uncharacteristically defeated that Sam scarcely recognized her. “Sam, why are you here?”
Cinder and Sprinkles touched noses, greeting each other as if an eternity had passed since they’d last seen one another instead of just a few minutes. Sam clung to hope. Their dogs were two sides of the same coin, but that had never mattered. The Dalmatians were crazy about each other. If they could see past their differences and be the best of friends, couldn’t that mean that he and Violet could do the same?
Sam didn’t want to just be Violet’s friend, though. He wanted to be more—much more. He’d lost his heart to Violet from the very start, way back when she’d accused him of being a Cruella de Vil in fireman’s clothing. He just hadn’t realized it until Mavis had said those fateful words to him as seawater swirled around his feet on the dog beach.
Just remember, Sam. Love is a rare and precious thing. And when it’s real, it’s more than just black-and-white.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said tenderly, and he meant it in so many different ways.
He hadn’t meant to get her arrested. He hadn’t meant to make the current softball season even more embarrassing for her than the previous one. He hadn’t meant to fall in love.
But he had, and now there was no going back. He had no regrets…except maybe all those pink citations.
“Well, it did happen. And just because you bailed me out doesn’t mean it simply goes away.” Violet wrapped her arms around herself, and it looked she was trying her best to keep herself from falling apart. “You do realize that everyone on the island will be talking about this for weeks, right? Just like…”
“Just like Emmett,” he said. “I know.”
The Dalmatians tiptoed at his feet, trying to catch melting drops of ice cream on their pink tongues. Sam pitched the ice cream cone into a nearby trash can. He needed to think. He needed to figure out how to fix things before it was too late.
“This wasn’t like that. I had no idea you weren’t paying the fines. And I definitely had no idea that you’d end up in jail.” Sam’s shoulders slumped.
Fire code violations were like traffic tickets. This would never have happened in Chicago. Turtle Beach was a tiny community, though. Unpaid tickets didn’t go unnoticed, particularly when the offender was the police chief’s daughter.
“We can get past this.” Sam nodded to himself, remembering Griff’s advice from the night they’d sat on the pier together drinking beer and eating peanuts. “Once everyone in Turtle Beach has something else to talk about, they’ll forget all about this.”
She crossed her arms. “If you think that something else will be us going to the Fireman’s Ball together, you’re gravely mistaken.”
Ouch.
“And it doesn’t matter if everyone else forgets about it, because I won’t.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “This wasn’t just your fault, Sam. It was mine too. I feel like a complete fool.Again.”
Violet sighed and began walking down Seashell Drive again. The Dalmatians—who in the absence of the discarded ice cream had stretched out on the ground together side by side—scrambled to their feet and followed, leaving Sam no delusions about whose side they were on.
“Cinder, come back here,” he said as her red leash grew taut.
But as Sam well knew, there was no stopping a stubborn Dalmatian. So he chased after his dog, and when he’d gotten a few paces behind Violet, she spun around again.
“And another thing…” she said, jabbing her pointer finger at his chest.
Sam stopped as abruptly as he could, but they still crashed into one another. Violet toppled, and he reached out to grab her and keep her from falling.
It felt so good to touch her again—too good. He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered her name. A plea. “Violet.”
In a seemingly choreographed effort to keep their owners together, even if just for a short while, the Dalmatians both trotted in circles around Sam and Violet, winding them closer together with the dog leashes.
