A Spot of Trouble

by Teri Wilson

With its shaker shingles and crisp white lattice, the Turtle Beach Public Library looked more like a beach vacation rental than a book lover’s paradise, but so did everyplace else on the island. Sam still wasn’t accustomed to the casual island vibe. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be. This morning, he’d ironed his TBFD uniform and shined his silver badge with a soft flannel cloth, as he did every morning, Monday through Friday. Currently, he was the only person in the room wearing closed-toed shoes instead of flip-flops. Most of the children sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting for him in the story circle, were dressed in swimsuits and cover-ups.

  No wonder he couldn’t get Cinder to stop making his bed in the morning. He wasn’t exactly setting a great example in the chilled out department.

  “We’re happy to be here. Thanks for having us.” Sam glanced down at Cinder, and she woofed a greeting on command.

  “Oh, just look at her.” Hazel pressed a finely manicured hand to her heart. “The kids are going to love this.”

  She ushered Sam to the center of the room, and a chorus of oohs and ahhs followed Cinder as she pranced alongside him. Before Hazel could say a word, half a dozen little hands went up in the air.

  “Yes, Kyle?” Hazel motioned to a little boy who looked to be about six years old, sitting on the front row.

  He bounced in place, eyes glued to Cinder. “Can I pet the dog?”

  “I want to pet the dog too!”

  “Me too!”

  “Pleeeeeeeease, can I pet her?”

  Sam slid his gaze toward Hazel. “Something tells me they all have the same question.”

  “You might be right.” She laughed. “Would it be okay if they took turns petting Cinder? Or is she not allowed to do that since she’s a working dog?”

  Sam’s thoughts careened back to Violet’s dismay at not being allowed to feed his dog a cupcake. He would have preferred not to think about her ten times an hour, but he couldn’t quite help it. Everything reminded Sam of Violet. It was thoroughly inconvenient.

  “Sure, they can,” Sam said. “But we should probably give our demonstration first, while Cinder is alert and ready to go.”

  Being mobbed by a dozen or so small children with salt and sand and all manner of beach smells clinging to their tiny bodies was sure to be exhausting, even for an animal as well-trained as Cinder. Sam himself was already feeling a tad claustrophobic. Fire, he was used to. So much interaction with people, not so much.

  He liked people, obviously. He’d just assumed his new island life would be more…solitary. Nor had he anticipated that so much of his new job would feel like public relations instead of fire prevention. When he’d signed on to be the island’s new fire marshal, he’d imagined inspecting sprinkler systems, electrical systems, and fire extinguishers—not this.

  Cinder leaned against his leg and placed one of her paws on the toe of his shoe. Hello, there. Let’s get on with this.

  “Good girl,” he murmured, and her spotted ears swiveled back and forth.

  “Aren’t you two just the cutest?” Hazel the librarian’s eyes twinkled and she sighed in a very non-librarian type of way. Very fanciful. Very breathy.

  Sam suddenly wondered if his presence at the library’s circle time had anything at all to do with fire safety. He took a backward step.

  Not that there was anything wrong with Hazel the librarian. On the contrary, she seemed perfectly lovely—friendly, sweet, and attractive, with glossy blonde hair and a beaming smile that told Sam she would never dream of printing up T-shirts with embarrassing hashtags on them. Dating her would probably be fun. Drama-free. Easy.

  The only problem was that Sam wasn’t interested in easy. He was apparently too fascinated by a woman who wanted to dress him up like a pink baked good to have even the slightest bit of interest in anyone else. Lord help him.

  “The kids are getting antsy,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

  “Of course.” Hazel tucked a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. Sam was somewhat distraught to notice a bit of eyelash fluttering.

  He turned his attention to Cinder while Hazel proceeded to give the children a gushing introduction of Sam and his special canine partner. And then while the librarian sat by, mesmerized, he got on with his Dalmatian presentation.

  To the children’s delight, Cinder performed all the same crowd-pleasing tricks that she’d done at the senior center. She barked out 911, showed them how to stop, drop, and roll, and taught the kids how to escape smoke inhalation by staying low to the ground. Since the program was aimed at young people this time instead of retirees, Sam added a few new tricks too.

  “Okay, boy and girls, who knows what these are?” Sam pulled a book of matches out of the pocket of his uniform cargo pants.

  “Matches!” the children yelled.

  Next, Sam removed a small plastic lighter from his pocket. “And what about this?”

  “My dad uses one of those to start the grill after he catches a fish,” the little boy on the front row said proudly.

  “That’s right.” Sam nodded. “It’s a lighter.”

  He held the matches and lighter up high in the air.

  “Cinder, is it okay for kids to play with these things?”

  The Dalmatian immediately collapsed to the floor, covered her eyes with one of her paws, and let out a mournful whine.

  Sam nodded. “That’s right. It’s not okay at all, because playing with matches and lighters isn’t safe.”

  His audience—Hazel the librarian included—clapped wildly and marveled at Cinder. The Dalmatian’s tail thumped gleefully against the carpeted floor.

  “Cinder, what should someone do if they find either of these things lying around somewhere?” Sam said, and then he tossed the book of matches about ten feet away, where it fell beside a display of the summer’s hottest beach reads.

  Cinder sprang to her feet, ran to snatch the matches with her teeth, and promptly trotted over to the rocking chair where Hazel sat and dropped them in her lap.

  “Good girl,” Sam said. “If you find a lighter or matches while you’re playing, you should always take them to an adult.”

  The kids dissolved into cheers and excited giggles, while Hazel gaped at the book of matches resting on her thighs. “This dog is a genius!”

  According to Sam’s watch, only five minutes remained of the half-hour presentation, so he let the children pet Cinder, two at a time. Then he gave them each temporary tattoos featuring a Dalmatian in a firefighter hat, along with a coloring book about fire safety. With any luck, most of what he’d tried to teach the kids would sink in, even after they’d gone back to building sand castles and digging holes on the shore.

  “Thank you so much for coming. I’d heard so many great things about you and Cinder, but that was beyond my wildest dreams. You two are just fantastic.” Hazel rested a delicate hand on Sam’s forearm.

  Cinder’s dark eyes swiveled toward the librarian and she let out a quiet growl of warning. Sam blinked. Hard. Cinder never behaved this way.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “She—”

  “Oh, no worries. I don’t blame her for being a bit jealous.” Hazel laughed and crossed her arms. “Actually, I was wondering if you might like to go to bingo with me tonight? If Cinder doesn’t mind, that is.”

  Bingo night.

  The event was already marked in Sam’s calendar with a gigantic star beside it. He’d be there, all right, but in his official capacity, not on a date.

  Thank goodness, because he wasn’t sure how else he would have been able to gracefully decline Hazel’s invitation. “I’m sorry, but…”

  She waved a hand as her cheeks flamed pink. “It’s fine. I’m sure you’re busy. I just thought it might be nice. Thank you again for coming to do story hour this morning.”

  And then, before Sam could utter another word, she dashed toward the circulation
desk and began checking out books to Sam’s young audience. Cinder trotted to the end of her leash and strained toward the door.

  Sam felt himself frown. “What has gotten into you?”

  The Dalmatian inched closer toward the exit.

  Message received. Cinder was ready to go, and honestly, Sam was too. He didn’t usually let his dog call the shots, but in this case, he’d make an exception.

  ***

  Violet pressed the button on her handheld butane culinary torch and ran its slender blue flame deftly over the cupcake in her hand, toasting its Italian meringue topping to a delicate golden-brown.

  Perfect.

  Happiness filled her like sunshine. She’d never been so ready for bingo night in her whole life.

  “Violet, wow!” Ethel stopped in front of the concession booth, clutching a stack of bingo sheets to her chest. “Your cupcakes certainly look extra special this week.”

  “They are.” Violet plucked one from the tray and offered it to her friend. “Would you like one? They’re my special this week: Burn the Fire Department Lemon Meringue.”

  “Oh, dear,” Ethel said. The bingo sheets in her arms wilted like a bouquet of day-old flowers.

  “What?” Violet tilted her head. Beside her, Sprinkles did the same.

  Ethel could judge all she wanted, but any minute, Sam would be here, saving the day with his overflow seating plan. If Violet was going to be forced to watch a roomful of bingo-loving retirees act like he hadn’t just closed down their favorite night of the week a mere seven days ago, she was going to do so while also reminding Sam that he was going down. If he’d thought she was joking about their little wager, he was sadly mistaken.

  “Nothing.” Ethel shook her head. “I’m sure they’re delicious.”

  “Ooh, what are these? They look divine,” Mavis said as she and Opal paused their walkers in front of Violet’s table.

  “They’re her special bingo night cupcakes.” Ethel cleared her throat. “Burn the Fire Department Lemon Meringue.”

  Violet ignored the twin looks of horror on Mavis and Opal’s faces and torched another towering dollop of meringue. “It’s a three-decker cupcake—moist lemon sponge topped with a layer of zesty lemon curd and a heavy dose of whipped Italian meringue.”

  “That definitely sounds delicious.” Mavis and the other two older women exchanged glances. “But…”

  Violet arched a brow. “But what?”

  “But the name, sweetheart. You usually call the cupcakes something fun and creative,” Opal chimed in.

  “Burn the Fire Department is super creative.” Violet held her culinary torch aloft. “Get it? Because they’re firemen.”

  “Sweetheart, I think she meant you usually name the specials at bingo night something more…bingo-related.” Mavis waved an encompassing hand at their surroundings. The indoor tables were almost full of seniors and tourists, and Hoyt Hooper, the bingo caller, was already sitting beside the cage of bingo balls, dressed in his usual Hawaiian shirt.

  “Besides, dear, we’ve been discussing it and, well”—Mavis cast a pointed look at Opal and Ethel, who nodded their agreement with whatever Mavis was about to say—“we think Sam seems like a really nice man.”

  Violet was aghast. They couldn’t be serious. “But he’s a fireman!”

  “We know, but he has that sweet dog, and from what everyone says, you two had a nice little chat the other day at your cupcake truck.” Ethel cast a worried glance at the cupcakes. “Maybe you should call them something else.”

  “You mean the chat we had before the softball game turned into total chaos?” Violet still wasn’t convinced the resulting chaos hadn’t been intentional. Maybe she was being paranoid, but in a million years, she would never have dreamed that a fireman would go through the motions of wooing her in order to steal her dad’s playbook. Live and learn. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. Sam and I have a bet. This is just innocent trash talk. It’s what athletes do.”

  Violet shrugged as if completely unaware that Sam himself had been rather famous for wittily taunting his opposing team back when he’d been a college baseball star. In a moment of weakness after the emotional chat with her dad the other night on the deck, Violet had comforted herself with her new hobby, which was Googling Sam. She wasn’t proud of it. In fact, when she indulged in this shameful activity, she usually kept Sprinkles occupied with a super-sturdy, interactive rubber chew toy stuffed with chunky peanut butter so her dog wouldn’t see what she was up to. A Dalmatian distraction, as it were.

  She told herself she wasn’t doing anything untoward. She had a wager to win. Finding out everything she could about Sam was therefore research—including saving the link to that one shirtless picture of him that had appeared in the Chicago Fire Department’s charity calendar two years ago.

  “Trash talk.” Opal pressed her lips together. “If you say so.”

  “I do say so,” Violet said, but her elderly friends no longer seemed to be listening.

  Mavis cleared her throat in a way that said she meant business. “What we’re trying to say is that it seems like you and Sam really come alive whenever you spend time together.”

  “Come alive?” Violet sputtered, wishing she had a more effective form of denial at the ready, but for some crazy reason, words failed her.

  “The tension between you and Sam is palpable,” Ethel said, and then she fanned herself in a suggestive manner reminiscent of Blanche Devereaux on The Golden Girls.

  It was official. Violet’s life had become a sitcom. “If there’s tension between Sam and me, it’s because we despise each other.”

  That strange electricity that always flickered in the air between them couldn’t possibly be romantic tension or, heaven forbid, sexual tension. He was her adversary. Her rival. Her sworn enemy. Just the thought of kissing Sam Nash made her stomach turn…albeit in a woozy, fluttery, swarming-with-butterflies sort of way.

  Oh, no. Violet froze. The truth was suddenly as obvious to her as inky black spots on a Dalmatian. I want to kiss Sam Nash.

  “Are you okay, dear? You’ve gone as white as your untorched meringue.” Opal wiggled her fingertips in the direction of the tray of cupcakes waiting for a pass of Violet’s butane tool.

  I am most definitely not okay. She pasted on a smile. “Fine and dandy.”

  “Good, because Sam just walked in,” Ethel said under her breath.

  And there it was—that exhilarating and thoroughly annoying crackle in the air. A shiver ran up and down Violet’s spine. She absolutely forbade herself from glancing toward the door, but of course she did it anyway. Sam looked as heroic as ever in his fire marshal uniform, all pressed ebony cotton and that shiny silver badge pinned to his impressive chest. How did a man get muscles like that, anyway? It had been years since he played college baseball. Surely it wasn’t just from throwing fire hoses around and rescuing kittens from trees. Every firefighter Violet had ever known did those things, and somehow they never ended up shirtless in a charity calendar.

  Sam’s gaze swept the room and paused the moment it landed on her, causing Violet to tremble like Mavis’s Chihuahua.

  “I have cupcakes to finish,” she said as steadily as she could manage.

  Opal nodded. “We should be getting back to the registration table. Barbara said she’s expecting a record crowd tonight, thanks to the new overflow seating plan.”

  Of course she was. Sam Nash saves the day…yet again.

  Violet turned her attention back to her meringue as Mavis, Opal, and Ethel guided their walkers toward their table. She couldn’t believe they’d allowed themselves to be so dazzled by Sam and his Dalmatian that they’d forgotten all the very real reasons why Violet couldn’t trust him. It seemed like they would know better. How did the old saying go? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

  Exactly. Violet had already been p
layed for a fool, and the entire island had witnessed the fallout. She wasn’t in a hurry to do it again.

  Anyway, she had a bet to win and a business to run. Sweetness on Wheels was just getting started. Violet would just have to block everything out and finish creating her sugary masterpieces before the last-minute rush that always hit right before bingo got going.

  She flicked the button on her culinary torch to the on position and took aim at her next cupcake, but before she could run the blue flame over the perfect swirl of meringue, a familiar low voice growled out a warning.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Sam, of course.

  What now? Was he going to attempt to mansplain to her how to make a cupcake?

  Sprinkles’s tail beat fast against Violet’s leg as she and Cinder greeted one another. Violet’s greeting for Cinder’s master was pointedly less enthusiastic.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she said.

  Ugh, what was she—nine years old? Why did she always behave this way around him?

  Sam’s lips twitched. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You heard me.” She put down the torch and reached for the little chalkboard she always used to write the name of the special cupcake in brush-style modern calligraphy. Violet had spent four Friday nights last month learning this particular skill via YouTube like the girl boss she was trying so hard to become. “Can I offer you a cupcake? I know how fond of them you are.”

  Sam narrowed his gaze at her perfectly executed signage. “‘Burn the Fire Department Lemon Meringue?’”

  “Tonight’s special,” she said.

  “And I suppose that’s what your incendiary device is for?” He pointed an accusatory finger at the butane torch in her hand.

  “Incendiary device? Really?” Violet rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like I dragged a stick of dynamite in here. It’s a culinary torch.”

  “It’s also illegal.” He reached into one of the pockets of his annoyingly pristine cargo pants and pulled out a familiar pink notepad.

  Violet fumed. Not this again. “You’re not seriously writing me a ticket for another fire code violation.”