by Teri Wilson
The only things about bingo night that had changed over the years were the snacks. A few years ago, Violet had volunteered to run the concessions stand for her senior friends. She’d replaced the MoonPies with homemade cupcakes, changing the flavors from week to week and giving them silly names like Lucky Streak Strawberry Shortcake, Gimme a Bingo Brown Butter Fudge, and the ever popular I Never Win this Game Gooey Gumdrop. And now, two years later, she was running her own cupcake truck business, all thanks to bingo night.
Violet still ran the concession stand every Tuesday, which meant she needed to get started carrying her cupcakes inside. Tonight’s featured flavor was Beach Blanket Bingo Bavarian Cream. Sure to be a big hit with the over-seventy crowd.
“Did Joe believe you?” Opal shook her head. “His Interrogator Face is so good. I don’t know how you didn’t crack.”
“I managed,” Violet said. She’d seen Josh and Joe play police officers enough times as kids not to be intimidated by Joe’s most commanding facial expression. All she had to do was think about the time he’d accidentally handcuffed himself to the railing on the outdoor deck when he was nine years old, wearing nothing but his Star Wars underpants.
Note to self: remind Joe of Star Wars underpants episode the next time he pokes fun at me for repetitively falling for faux lost dog scenario.
“I think he bought it, but I’m not totally sure. I told him I couldn’t stick around to discuss it because I had cupcakes to bake.” She held up G51 and I18. “Can I offer you ladies a freebie before the crowds descend?”
“Oh, we couldn’t possibly,” Mavis said.
“Speak for yourself.” Ethel inched her walker closer to the window of the cupcake truck and held out a hand. “Don’t mind Mavis, Vi. The only reason she doesn’t want one is because she’s watching her figure.”
Opal waggled her eyebrows and reached for I18. “You mean Larry is watching her figure.”
“What?” Violet propped her elbows on the tiny counter of her cupcake truck’s window and peered down at Mavis blushing fiercely below. “Mavis! Do you have something going on with Larry Sims?”
She probably should have seen this coming. Mavis’s happy baby yoga pose had seemed extra happy ever since the quiet older man with the rotating collection of knit cardigans had moved into the senior center three weeks ago.
“Absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous.” Mavis squared her narrow shoulders. “We have nothing in common. The man barely leaves his room. He’s practically a recluse.”
“Have you tried luring him out?” Violet asked. “Maybe invite him to join us in the lobby tonight. Everyone on the island loves bingo.”
Opal shook her head. “It’s hopeless. He’d have to miss Jeopardy!, and he’s apparently a big fan. When it’s on, everyone in the building can hear him screaming out the answers from behind his closed door.”
Violet offered Mavis a hopeful smile. “He sounds really intelligent.”
Nibbles sighed dramatically, turned three circles, and collapsed into a minuscule pile on her blanket.
“Maybe so, but as I said, I’m not the least bit interested in him. He has a cat.” Mavis shuddered in feline-induced horror. “A fluffy gray Persian.”
“I see.” Violet nodded.
No wonder her tiny dog seemed to have a mammoth-sized opinion on Mavis’s potential beau. It was the age-old dilemma—could a dog person ever be truly happy with a cat person?
Violet glanced at Sprinkles lounging on the back window seat of the Airstream in the area she always kept cordoned off with a pet gate so her Dalmatian could accompany her to work every day. Sprinkles was a handful…even for a true dog person. Violet knew this about her Dalmatian. Tossing a cat into the mix would only end in frustration.
Still, it didn’t take Alex Trebek-level genius to see that Mavis might be harboring a secret crush on Larry Sims, fluffy gray Persian or not.
“Speaking of romance…” Opal cleared her throat. The three older women all exchanged knowing glances. “We wanted to talk to you about your fire marshal.”
A burst of laughter exploded from Violet’s mouth. “Ha. Good one.”
They were joking, weren’t they? Opal, Mavis, and Ethel probably knew more about the feud between the police and fire departments than Violet did. They’d been around back when it started, which meant they were fully aware of its seriousness.
They’d also taken turns holding Violet’s hand last year after her humiliating breakup with Emmett. Since then, every time a fireman looked her way, her friends threatened him with bodily injury. Her brothers had started referring to the trio of older ladies as “the OG Charlie’s Angels.”
They didn’t seem to be laughing along with her right now, though, which definitely seemed odd. “Wait. You’re not seriously suggesting there’s anything remotely romantic between me and Sam Nash, are you?”
No one said a word.
“And he’s hardly my fire marshal.” Violet waved her hands and a dollop of frosting flew from the tip of her pastry bag, landing conveniently on Sprinkles’s snout. The Dalmatian licked it away with a swipe of her tongue.
Opal frowned. “Actually, he is. Technically speaking.”
Okay, fine. Maybe he was, but only insomuch as she was a tax-paying resident of Turtle Beach and she lived in his jurisdiction. He didn’t belong to her, like Sprinkles did. Although the thought of keeping him on a leash wasn’t without merit.
“We couldn’t help noticing the sparks between you two yesterday,” Ethel said. “Everyone did.”
“Well, everyone’s wrong.” Violet straightened, and her head hit the top of her cupcake truck’s window with a bang.
Ouch. She blamed Sam for the goose egg she’d probably have tomorrow. Everything had started going horribly wrong the moment he’d strolled into town with Cinder in tow. He’d disrupted the town’s delicate Dalmatian equilibrium, and now things were going haywire. It was the only logical explanation. Even Mavis, Ethel, and Opal had been affected. Clearly.
“Too bad, because your dogs looked absolutely precious together,” Mavis said.
Violet thought about the way Sprinkles and Cinder liked to greet each other by touching the tips of their heart-shaped noses together. Mavis was right. They were sweet together—far sweeter than Violet felt comfortable admitting.
“Perhaps we were mistaken.” Opal bit into her cupcake.
Ethel regarded Violet over the top of her purple glasses. “He’s awfully handsome, though.”
Sam’s chiseled face flashed in Violet’s consciousness, and warmth filled her chest—obviously a reaction to the head injury she’d just suffered.
“Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” She untied the bow on the sash of her polka dot apron and re-tied it so she wouldn’t have to look at her friends’ skeptical expressions.
“Maybe you can notice now.” Ethel cleared her throat. “Because he’s here.”
“What?” Violet’s head jerked up. “He’s here at the senior center? Now?”
She glanced out the cupcake truck’s order window, past her three friends and their walkers decorated with quilted hanging pouches to hold their bingo daubers, and sure enough—there was Sam Nash and his trusty spotted sidekick, walking right toward them.
Violet’s heart beat hard in her chest at the sight of him. Ethel wasn’t wrong. Sam was awfully handsome.
Emphasis on awful.
Ugh. What was he doing here?
“You said it yourself, dear.” Ethel shrugged. “Everyone on the island loves bingo.”
***
Sam’s footsteps slowed as he caught sight of the shiny Airstream trailer topped with its pink rotating cupcake parked in front of the senior center.
He very nearly turned around to reverse course. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for another uncomfortable encounter with the island’s beloved Dalmatian enthusiast. Perhaps his evening
would be better spent unpacking a few of the moving boxes that were stacked around his rented beach house like a cardboard maze.
No, he thought. This is your job…the whole reason you’re here.
Right. He couldn’t avoid Violet forever. Turtle Beach was a small island. He was just going to have to power through and act like a trained professional, even though the island seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.
Cinder fell in step beside him as he hastened his pace. Already, the enticing aromas of sweet cream and warm vanilla were wrapping themselves around him, heady and lush.
Enough already. Stop thinking about cake, you idiot.
He stepped off the gravel sidewalk to make way for a pair of barefoot teenagers headed toward him with comically huge surfboards tucked under their skinny arms, but they shifted to block his path.
“Bro,” one of them said, frowning at Cinder. “Isn’t that—”
Annoyance spiraled through Sam. This again.
“No…bro,” he said sharply. “This Dalmatian is named Cinder, not Sprinkles. And she belongs to me, not to Violet March. What’s more, she’s a highly trained animal!”
Super, he was screaming at minors now. Cinder looked up at him, utterly disgusted.
Sam knew he was just projecting. If anyone was disgusted by his behavior, it was Sam himself. But if one more person in this wackadoodle beach town accused him of dognapping, he was going to lose it.
The surfers exchanged dubious glances.
“Bro,” they said in unison.
“I’m sorry.” Sam forced a smile. “This is my dog. Just trust me, okay?”
The teens both glanced at Cinder again.
“Bro,” Sam said again. A plea.
“Whatever, bro,” one of the teens said, clearly unconvinced.
Fortunately for Sam, the lure of the waves proved more enticing to the surfers than a dognapped Dalmatian. They shrugged and resumed their trek to the nearby beach access with their boards pointed toward the sea.
Sam heaved a sigh of exhausted relief. He could take a hint—it was time to pack it in for the day and retreat back to his quiet beach house where no one else could mistake him for a gender-flipped Cruella de Vil. He’d simply have to check out bingo night at the senior center on the following Tuesday evening.
But then Sam looked up and spied Violet exiting her cupcake-mobile carrying an enormous tray of decorated baked goods. Sprinkles pranced behind her, leaping in the air every now and then to nip at Violet’s polka dot apron strings. It was all so thoroughly charming and eccentric, save one thing—the overtly amused expression on Violet’s heart-shaped face.
She’d just witnessed the entire exchange between Sam and the surfers, because of course she had. The woman was everywhere.
“Cinder, I hope you’re in the mood for bingo,” he muttered.
Now he couldn’t leave. Doing so would be tantamount to admitting defeat. Sam had yet to fully identify the nature of their battle, but he wasn’t about to back down.
He plodded on, reaching the doors to the senior center just a few steps behind his beautiful adversary. Her huge tray of cupcakes tipped at a precarious angle as she attempted to hold onto it with one hand and push the handicapped-accessible automatic door button with the other.
“Here. Let me get that for you,” Sam said, pressing his palm against the big blue button in an effort to avoid a cupcake avalanche.
“Thank you very much, but I can do it myself.” Violet banged the button seconds after Sam did.
The double doors slid halfway open before they stuttered to a halt and then closed again.
Violet shot Sam a frosty look, and they both pressed the button again at the exact same time.
The cupcakes wobbled, Cinder and Sprinkles trotted inside, and then the doors slid shut again, trapping the dogs on one side of the glass and their human counterparts on the other. A Dalmatian separation.
“Oh, no.” Violet gasped. “Look what you did.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly the one responsible for this predicament.”
He reached for the button a third time, but so did Violet. Again the doors slid open and closed as the matching Dalmatians swiveled their spotted heads back and forth in time with the movement.
“Would you stop?” Violet groaned.
“I was just trying to help.” He held up his hands. “Be my guest.”
The dogs aimed their soft brown gazes at Sam, then at Violet, back at Sam, and finally came to rest on the teetering cupcakes. Sam caught a glimpse of their matching pink tongues as they panted in unison, fogging up the glass.
Violet slammed the button again, and this time, Sam had to reach out and prop up one end of her tray to keep the cupcakes from sliding to the ground. He probably should have let them fall, but good manners plus the strange shot of adrenaline that seized him every time she was in the vicinity prevented him from doing so.
Mostly the adrenaline thing.
Violet flashed him a tight smile. “Thanks, but I’ve got everything under control.”
The doors slid open a fraction of an inch and then froze in place.
Sam arched a brow. “Completely under control. Roger that.”
“You’re impossible.” Every polka dot on Violet’s flirty little apron trembled with fury as she pressed the button repeatedly, to no avail.
Three cupcakes hit the pavement—plop, plop, plop.
Violet’s face crumpled. Sam had never known anyone in his entire life who wore their heart on their sleeve the way she did. It would have been adorable if it wasn’t so completely maddening.
She spun to face him head-on. Another cupcake flew off the edge of the tray to meet its doom on the pavement. “What are you doing here, anyway? Do you even like bingo?”
Sam frowned. “Does anyone?”
Violet’s mouth fell open, her cherry-red lips forming a perfectly horrified O.
“I’m not here to play bingo.” He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less, except maybe argue with the nutty cupcake queen of Turtle Beach while two Dalmatians and the sum total of the town’s elderly population watched from behind a pair of malfunctioning glass double doors. “I’m on duty.”
“How so, exactly?” she asked.
“Tuesday night bingo is advertised all over town. For reasons I can’t begin to contemplate, it seems to be quite popular, so I’m here to make sure it’s safe.”
“Safe?” She let out a laugh. “It’s a bunch of senior citizens hosting a game night. How dangerous could it possibly be?”
Mercifully, the doors chose that moment to finally slide open, so Sam was spared the unpleasant task of providing Violet with examples.
Now he could finally get inside, count the bingo enthusiasts to make sure the size of the crowd didn’t exceed capacity, and get back to avoiding any and all Dalmatian altercations.
“Thank goodness.” Violet swished past him, carrying the surviving cupcakes as Sprinkles pounced on the dropped ones. Seconds later, the naughty Dalmatian followed hot on Violet’s heels, heart-shaped nose twitching at the frosting-scented air.
Cinder let out a tiny whine as the other Dalmatian trotted away. The crowd of retirees who’d gathered by the entrance to watch the ensuing fireworks between Sam and Violet slowly dissipated. Walkers clattered against the tile floor, headed toward the group of long tables stretching from one end of the lobby to the other. The bingo caller—a white-haired man dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and athletic tube socks paired with Birkenstock sandals—sat at a smaller table at the front of the room. An area just to the right of the entrance had been set up for purchasing bingo sheets and daubers, manned by other residents of the senior center.
Other than the official bingo hosts, the crowd was a much more diverse bunch than Sam had anticipated. Couples, families with small children, teens, and twe
ens tucked themselves in and among the senior citizens. Sam spotted a few locals he’d come across since moving to the island, but a good number of the bingo enthusiasts were tourists, fresh from the beach with sunburned noses, damp hair, and sand in their flip-flops.
Sam had never seen anything like it, certainly not in Chicago. Wholesome was the word that sprang to mind, and Sam’s bruised and battered heart gave an undeniable tug as he stood there taking it all in.
What he was about to do wasn’t going to go over well.
“We’re so happy to have you join us, Marshal Nash.” One of the ladies at the sales table waved a newsprint bingo sheet at him. A minuscule Chihuahua sat in the wire basket of her walker and gave Cinder some serious side-eye as Sam approached. “It’s only five dollars to play.”
He held up a hand. “No, thank you. But please call me Sam.”
“Okay, we will.” She glanced at the two gray-haired ladies on either side of her, and they all beamed at him.
Another member of the trio cleared her throat and shot a loaded glance at Violet, who was setting up shop at a long counter adjacent to the bingo caller. “So you’re here just for the cupcakes, then?”
Sam snorted before he could stop himself. “Hardly.”
The Chihuahua growled, either at Cinder or at Sam’s apparent disinterest in Violet’s sugary offerings. He wasn’t sure which.
“Actually, I need to have a quick chat with whoever is in charge here.” Sam glanced around the room but couldn’t make much sense of the bingo hierarchy. “Could you point me in the direction of a responsible party?”
One of the women peered at him over the top of her purple eyeglasses. “Sure, our activity director is—”
The Chihuahua mom cut her off with a sharp elbow jab. “Actually, the person you need to speak with is Violet March.”
