by Teri Wilson
“I can’t talk right now. I’m supposed to be dead,” she whispered and scrunched her eyes closed tight.
What kind of nutty yoga class was this?
“Sorry, Ethel. I’m afraid it can’t wait,” Sam said.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cinder and Sprinkles curled up next to each other on Sprinkles’s yoga mat. He couldn’t help but smile, but then he noticed Violet watching the dogs too. Her blue-green eyes twinkled until her gaze met Sam’s. They both promptly looked away.
“Ethel, we need to chat.” If she refused to stand up and have this conversation someplace more private, they’d have to do it right there. Sam squatted beside her mat. “Did you call in a false report about the sprinklers?”
Ethel’s eyes flew open. “Of course not. They were malfunctioning. Ask Mavis and Opal. They’ll tell you the same thing.”
I’ll bet they will.
He narrowed his gaze at her. “How were they malfunctioning?”
A nearby senior citizen shushed him. Sam felt a headache coming on. Then he was enveloped by the delicious scents of warm vanilla and candied sugar as someone gave his shoulder a sharp poke.
Violet, obviously.
She lifted her chin. “Is there a problem over here?”
Sam’s stomach growled, and he prayed no one heard it. One of these days, he was going to get to eat one of her cupcakes, even if he had to do so in secret. “I’ve got it under control. Feel free to get back to serial killer pose.”
“You mean murder victim pose,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “Of course. What was I thinking? Murder victim pose.”
“You haven’t answered my question. What’s going on over here?” Violet glanced back and forth between Sam and Ethel.
“Are you going to tell her or shall I?” Sam asked Ethel.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ethel shrugged. “I’m old, remember?”
“Ethel.” Violet jammed a hand on her slender hip—not that Sam was looking. “What did you do?”
“I believe she might have called in a false report.” Sam cleared his throat. “In an effort to get the two of us together in the same room.”
Violet gasped. “What?”
Ethel, still flat on her back on the floor, blinked up at them. “That’s not true. The sprinklers were acting up. They’ll probably start doing it again any minute.”
“You know that filing a false report is punishable by a fine, don’t you?” Sam said.
“Oh, goody. Another citation.” Violet shook her head. “I suppose I should be relieved it’s not me this time.”
“I have witnesses,” Ethel said primly.
“Let me guess—Opal and Mavis?” Violet shifted to face Sam. “Look, I’m sorry. They mean well. They really do. Please don’t give Ethel a ticket. I’ll talk to—”
Before she could finish, a gush of water exploded from the sprinkler directly overhead. Sam tried to jump backwards, out of its path, but he was too late. Water rained down, spraying both him and Violet from head to toe.
Sam was vaguely aware that they were the only two people being drenched, but he couldn’t be certain. He was having trouble tearing his attention away from a very stunned, very wet Violet March. Her strawberry-blonde waves clung to her face, and droplets of water starred her eyelashes. Sam could have drowned right then and there and he wouldn’t have cared.
Even so, out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw Opal Lewinsky and Mavis Hubbard poking a cane at the ceiling. But maybe that was just his imagination playing tricks.
***
“I tried to tell you there was something wrong with the sprinkler system,” Ethel said as Violet wiped water from her eyes.
A shiver coursed through Violet. She was freezing…and drenched to the bone. What had just happened?
She looked up at a flashing red light above her head. The culprit was situated mere inches away—a sprinkler head that slowed to a soggy drip as soon as Sam hopped onto a chair and somehow wrangled it into submission.
“Mavis. Opal.” Sam climbed back down and took a step toward them as water squished from his shoes. He sounded like he was walking around on wet sponges. “Did one or both of you just tamper with the sprinkler head?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Opal snorted, which meant she’d definitely just tampered with the sprinkler. She always snorted when she was telling a fib.
Violet had discovered this little quirk about her friend one night when she and the Charlie’s Angels had stayed up late playing poker and drinking frozen margaritas they’d made by spiking drinks from the senior center’s slushy machine. Never again. Her hangover the next morning was too much for all the Advil in the world to handle. Those women could drink Violet under the table.
“I didn’t see anything,” Hoyt Hooper said as he rolled up his yoga mat.
Nearby, another senior yogi shook her head. “Neither did I.”
Sam looked around, clearly expecting some sort of corroboration, but all of the assembled retirees seemed to be doing their best to avoid his gaze.
If Sam thought he was going to get one of the residents to tattle on Opal, Mavis, and Ethel, he was fooling himself. As much as everyone in town had fallen for his uber-charming first responder doggy dad routine, they’d never turn on the Charlie’s Angels. Opal, Mavis, and Ethel were legends in Turtle Beach. Sam truly didn’t know who he was dealing with, did he?
“Never mind,” Violet said, teeth chattering. The combination of the senior center’s frigid air conditioning and being doused with what had to have been gallons of water wasn’t pleasant. “Just write the citations out to me.”
What was one more ticket when she had zero intention of taking any of them seriously?
Sam gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher, but it made her go a little weak in the knees all the same.
Violet wrapped her arms tightly around herself and looked away. “First things first, though. Can anyone get us a blanket? Or at least a towel?”
“Come with me, dears. I’ve got everything you need in my room.” Mavis beckoned them to follow and began guiding her walker toward the hallway just off the lobby.
Sam hesitated.
Violet swished past him and called over her shoulder. “Come on, you know you can’t go slogging back to the firehouse like that.”
He fell in line behind her with a slosh. Squish, squish, squish went his footsteps as they made their way down the hall.
Violet felt her mouth twitch. She pressed her lips together in an effort not to laugh, but she just couldn’t help it. She’d seen Sam annoyed on plenty of occasions, but annoyed and wet was a combination she’d yet to witness. It was far more entertaining than she would have imagined.
“Come on in.” Mavis pushed the door to her room open and waved them inside. “There are afghans piled on the sofa. I’ll get some towels from the bathroom and put on a kettle of tea.”
“I’ll put the kettle on. I know where it is,” Violet said.
There was zero chance that Mavis was innocent in whatever matchmaking scheme the Charlie’s Angels had cooked up, but she was pushing ninety. Violet wasn’t about to sit back and let Mavis wait on her and Sam hand and foot.
“I’ll get the towels.” Sam glanced at Mavis. “If you don’t mind showing me where they are?”
Violet smiled to herself as she filled the electric kettle with water. Maybe Sam wasn’t entirely terrible, after all. Softball and his over-the-top stance on fire prevention aside, he seemed kind. Chivalrous, even. And yowza, the man could kiss.
But Violet wasn’t allowed to think about that. And she certainly wasn’t. Not one bit. The riot of goosebumps spreading across her flesh was strictly sprinkler-related.
“Oh, my goodness.” Mavis pressed a hand to her chest. Nibbles shivered in her w
alker basket, eyes going wide. “I forgot something in the lobby.”
Sure she did.
Violet and Sam exchanged a glance as he handed her an enormous fluffy towel.
God bless Mavis and her penchant for fine Turkish cotton. Violet burrowed into the plush terry cloth and felt better at once.
“You two stay here and get warm and dry. I’ll be back in a flash.” Mavis winked and beat a hasty trail out of the room before either Violet or Sam could object.
Violet took a deep breath. The minute the door closed behind Mavis, the space seemed far too small. Too intimate, which was crazy, considering it was an apartment in a senior living center, filled with hand-knitted granny-square blankets, framed photos of Nibbles the Chihuahua, and a comically large bowl of Werther’s Original caramel hard candies. There was nothing whatsoever romantic about the environment…
Save for the butterflies that took flight in Violet’s abdomen when Sam smiled at her.
“What do you think the odds are that she actually needed to fetch something from the lobby?” he asked.
“Zero.” Violet’s hand shook a bit as she poured steaming liquid from the kettle into two ceramic mugs from Mavis’s cabinet. She added a dash of cream and handed one of the mugs to Sam. “Sorry. I didn’t even ask how you take your tea. I’m a little controlling about anything sweet. Just trust me. I defy you to dislike it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” His mouth hitched into a half grin.
No kissing, remember? Don’t even think about it.
Who was she kidding? Her lips went tingly every time she looked at the man. Damn the Charlie’s Angels. This was all their fault.
Violet sat down beside Sam on Mavis’s small sofa, which she absolutely refused to think of as a love seat. (It was definitely a love seat.) He spread one of the granny square blankets over their laps like they were a pair of octogenarians, and she all but melted. This couldn’t be a normal response. Maybe she needed some sort of therapy. Or, good grief, maybe Joe was right. Maybe she really did need to find some friends her own age.
She stared into her cup of tea. “I’m sorry.”
Sam’s mug paused en route to his mouth. His brow furrowed. “Sorry for what? Nothing about this disaster was your fault.”
“I suppose I feel guilty by association.” Violet sighed. “They mean well, I promise. They just…”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Care about you an awful lot?”
“I was going to say they tend to meddle, but I like your version better.” She sipped her tea. Little by little, she was beginning to feel warm again. “They dote on me. They always have.”
“It’s because you lost your mother, isn’t it?” he said quietly.
Violet’s gaze met his. “Yes. Wow, you remember that?”
“Of course I do. I’m not all bad, Violet.” He gave her a gentle smile. “I might even let your friends off the hook for today if you can convince them to never pull a stunt like this again.”
Violet was tempted to ask him why he was going easy on the Charlie’s Angels when he’d been more than happy to give her citation after citation, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment—and much to her astonishment, it definitely seemed like a Moment with a capital M. “I’ll talk to them.”
“Good.” He nodded and swallowed a sip from his mug. “This isn’t like any tea I’ve ever tasted before. What is it?”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s fantastic.” He took another swallow.
“It’s a lemon–lavender blend I bought for Mavis at the farmer’s market in Wilmington. I kind of have a thing for culinary lavender. If you like this, you should definitely try my Earl Grey–lavender cupcakes sometime.” Violet had worked on that recipe for months before finally nailing it. It was her favorite on the Sweetness on Wheels menu.
“I’d like that. You realize I’ve never actually tasted one of your cupcakes?” Sam bumped his thigh playfully against hers.
Violet bumped his right back. “That can’t be right.”
“It absolutely is.” He let out a laugh. “I’ve come close, but haven’t ever bit into one. Something always seems to get in the way. Trust me.”
Trust me.
Oh, how Violet wished she could.
“Speaking of my mother…” She cleared her throat. What was she doing? She definitely shouldn’t be talking to Sam about this. “Do you remember yesterday when you said I looked like I might need someone to talk to?”
“Of course.” He nodded and shifted slightly on the tiny love seat. This time, when his thigh came to rest against hers, he left it there.
Violet didn’t dare move. Goosebumps pricked her arms again, but she was no longer the slightest bit cold. “Mavis had just given me an old newspaper photograph of my mother with her Dalmatian back when she was just a puppy. I’d never seen it before. I guess it made me sort of melancholy, you know? I love the picture. I’ve already framed it, but I wish I knew more about the moment it was taken.”
Sam studied her. “That’s why you were so quiet after the game last night, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” Violet nodded. “My mind wasn’t really much on softball.”
Sam gaped at her in mock horror. “Say it isn’t so. I thought nothing was more important than softball in Turtle Beach.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “Don’t tell anyone. It was just temporary, anyway. I’ll be fully prepared to annihilate you on Saturday.”
He winked. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Their eyes met, and Violet felt so warm and fuzzy that she found herself willfully ignoring the fact that Sam’s wet clothes were emblazoned with the Turtle Beach Fire Department’s crest. How different would things be if he wasn’t a fire marshal, but something else? A pharmacist, a veterinarian, or even a professional baseball player? Anything but her sworn enemy.
“Why did you give up a career in baseball to become a fireman?” she asked.
Sam’s smile turned bittersweet. “Joining the Chicago Fire Department was always the plan. My dad was a member of the department, as was my grandfather. I’d wanted to wear that uniform since I was a little kid.”
Against her better judgment, Violet let her head drop onto Sam’s broad shoulder. Goodness, he smelled amazing—like a beachside bonfire. “Then why did you give it up to move to Turtle Beach?”
It couldn’t have been about softball. She might have thought so a week ago, but not now. Now she knew better.
“I just needed a change.” Sam’s grip on his mug tightened until his knuckles turned white. “That’s not the entire truth, actually. We lost a few men in a fire—three of my closest friends. At first, we thought we had it contained. It was a box fire in a mattress factory near Logan Square. The building wasn’t up to code, and things went south in a hurry.”
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 nigh
t 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.
