by Teri Wilson
Violet too, for that matter. She wasn’t as stinky as her dog—far from it, actually. At some point during their confrontation, he’d caught a hint of sugared vanilla from her wind-tossed hair. The woman was trouble, though. And she seemed to have no intention of apologizing for making a spectacle out of him. Or for calling the police. Or for her dog’s vile smell.
“Cinder,” he said, and his dog hopped to her feet, the perfect picture of canine obedience.
Sprinkles’s head swiveled in their direction. She wagged her tail and came closer as Cinder’s nose twitched. Sam remembered reading an article in National Geographic a while back that said a dog’s sense of smell was approximately one hundred thousand times stronger than a human’s. Poor Cinder.
“They really do look a lot alike.” Violet’s bow-shaped lips curved into a contrite smile.
She was right. Nose-to-nose, the two dogs looked like mirror images of one another. With their glossy black-and-white coats, they matched each other spot for spot, from the tips of their tails to their identical black heart-shaped noses.
But it still wasn’t an apology, and Sam was in no mood for niceties.
He gave Cinder’s leash a gentle tug and brushed past Violet without a word. She huffed out a breath, and just before Sam got out of earshot, he heard one of the elderly bystanders mutter an undeniable truth.
“This town might not be big enough for two Dalmatians.”
Chapter 2
What have I done?
Sam stood on the sidewalk at the intersection of Seashell Drive and Pelican Street, studying the modest downtown area of Turtle Beach. For starters, “sidewalk” was a bit of a stretch. It was more of a gravelly path, surrounded by overgrown seagrass on either side. Downtown itself appeared to take up no more than six square blocks of the narrow barrier island, stretching from the Salty Dog Pier at one end to the Turtle Beach Senior Living Center at the other. From where his feet were planted, Sam could see the foamy ocean waves of the town’s beachfront in one direction and just a glimpse of the smooth glassy surface of the intracoastal waterway in the other. The island, his new home, was that narrow.
“Maybe this town isn’t big enough for two Dalmatians,” he muttered.
Cinder’s ears swiveled to and fro.
“Just kidding,” Sam said, resting a reassuring hand on the spotted dog’s smooth head.
Still, picturing an idyllic beach town in your head and seeing it in person were two entirely different things. Sam had never been much of a beach person. Or a small-town person. He was very much a Dalmatian person, though. That point was non-negotiable.
As for the rest, he’d adapt. Turtle Beach was clearly the complete and total opposite of Chicago, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Sam had upended his entire life, based on nothing but a fifteen-minute Zoom interview and a perfunctory Google search of the North Carolina coastline. Now here he was, living the dream.
Thus far, though, his new life hadn’t been nearly as serene and peaceful as the Turtle Beach brochure promised. He wondered when the idyllic part was supposed to kick in. With any luck, soon.
As in immediately.
“Let’s do this,” he said to Cinder, more out of habit than anything else, as he headed toward the firehouse.
As usual, Cinder walked alongside him in perfect heel position. Sam didn’t need to prompt her to stick by his side. Unlike her carbon copy disaster of a Dalmatian—the memorable Sprinkles—Cinder knew how to behave. In fact, before they’d left Illinois, Cinder had been awarded the Chicago Fire Department’s esteemed Medal of Honor in recognition of her long and faithful service.
Emphasis on faithful. Every black spot on Cinder’s body would fall off before she’d embarrass him the way Sprinkles had just humiliated Violet. It just wouldn’t happen. Then again, Sam had invested countless hours into training his dog and bonding with her because he was a responsible pet owner. Somehow he doubted Violet fit that particular bill.
But that wasn’t Sam’s problem—not unless her disorderly Dalmatian had a habit of violating the fire code. From what he’d witnessed thus far, he wouldn’t put it past her.
Sam frowned as the firehouse came into view, not because of the matchbox size of it, but because sand had somehow made its way into his shoes already. He was going to have to learn to deal with that oddly specific problem, just as he was going to have to remember to slather sunscreen onto his face every morning and to avoid even the remote possibility of another Dalmatian confrontation at dog beach.
Weirdly, he was also going to have to grow accustomed to the town’s apparent animosity toward firefighters. Two police officers caught sight of him as he approached the firehouse, and they openly scowled at him from the paved driveway of the police station, situated directly across the street. Even Cinder noticed. She let out a low rumbling noise and moved closer to Sam until he could feel the growl vibrating through her black-and-white body.
“It’s fine, Cinder,” he murmured.
It was not fine. It was, in fact, the very opposite of fine. Sam smiled and waved at the police officers like any normal person would do, but was met with nothing but confused, albeit slightly less hostile, glances.
“Did you just wave at those cops?”
Sam turned to find a Turtle Beach firefighter, one of his own, polishing the shiny red exterior of the pumper truck sitting just outside the apparatus bay.
“I did,” he said.
“Yeah, we don’t do that.” The other firefighter shook his head. “Especially now.”
Sam didn’t even know where to start. There was so much to unpack here, he was at a loss. “We don’t do what, exactly? Interact with fellow first responders?”
The fireman let out a snort of laughter. “Not when they’re cops. Come winter and fall, maybe, but not now.”
Sam glanced up and down the quaint street where eager beachcombers loaded down with collapsible chairs, sun umbrellas, and colorful towels were already making the trek from the narrow rows of beach cottages over the dunes toward the sea. “Tourist season?”
“What? No. Softball season.” The fireman shook his head. “You really are new here, aren’t you?”
“Sam Nash.” Sam held out his hand.
“Griff Martin. Welcome to TBFD.” Griff shook Sam’s hand and then glanced down at Cinder, sitting in a polite stay position at Sam’s feet. Apparently, the sight of a firefighter waving at a pair of police officers had been so much of a novelty that Griff had yet to notice the spotted dog. “Whoa. First day on the job, and you’ve somehow managed to dognap Violet March’s Dalmatian. Maybe you know more about softball season than I realized.”
Sam’s gut clenched. Not again. “This dog doesn’t belong to Violet March. She belongs to me.”
Griff shot him an exaggerated wink. “Sure she does.”
“I’m dead serious.”
Griff’s face split into a wide grin. “I like you, man. You’re funny, but everyone knows Sprinkles is the only Dalmatian in town.”
Sam’s first day in Turtle Beach was beginning to feel like the movie Groundhog Day. And not in a good way. He glanced across the street toward the police headquarters, preparing himself to try and talk his way out of another arrest for canine-related crimes.
Griff shoved his hands in the pockets of his TBFD-issued cargo pants and leaned a little closer—close enough for Sam to catch a whiff of coffee on his breath. “Stealing the police department’s unofficial mascot is a baller move, but just so you know, the police chief’s daughter is off-limits. You should return Sprinkles to wherever you found her. Chief Murray’s orders: we can’t mess with Violet—particularly not after what happened last year. Things went a bit too far.”
Again, so much to unpack. But against all odds, Sam was suddenly less concerned about Cinder’s mistaken identity than he was about Violet March and whatever misfortune she’d encountered last ye
ar, seemingly at the hands of a firefighter.
He thought about her tousled mermaid hair and the foamy ocean waves swirling at her feet and, for the first time, wondered if he’d mistaken the look in her luminous blue-green eyes for fury when in fact it had been something else—vulnerability.
Nope, she’d been livid. Just maybe not as unhinged as he’d previously thought.
Don’t ask. Do. Not. It’s none of your concern.
“What happened to her?” he said.
Damn it, he’d asked.
But before Griff could clue him in, the man who’d conducted Sam’s Zoom interview last month came striding toward them. His welcoming smile faded as his gaze trailed from Sam’s face all the way down Cinder’s leash to the Dalmatian’s tail, sweeping the pavement in a happy wag.
Sam knew what was coming, but frustration seethed from his every pore nonetheless.
“What are you doing with Violet March’s dog?” Chief Murray crossed his big, beefy arms as he stared down at Cinder.
“This isn’t Sprinkles,” Sam said wearily. Was it possible to scrub the spots off a Dalmatian? Or maybe connect them like a giant dot-to-dot puzzle? Anything to make Cinder look less like Sprinkles and put an end to the Dalmatian speculation.
“This is Cinder.” The dog’s ears perked up at the mention of her name. “She’s a fire safety dog. She’s trained to accompany me on inspections and to demonstrate fire safety techniques during presentations.”
A long, awkward pause followed. The only sounds Sam heard were Cinder’s soft pants and the ocean roaring in the distance. He missed the rattle of the L train, the moaning stops and starts of city buses, and the grind of morning traffic. The constant hum of Chicago’s street noises were in his blood, and he felt adrift without it—yet another thing about his move he hadn’t anticipated. After all, people paid good money to hear waves crashing against the shore on apps for their phones or sound systems. Not Sam, per se, but people.
Normal people…people who didn’t wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, followed by three torturous hours of staring at the ceiling, immune to the calming effects of the nearby sea.
“Huh,” both Griff and Chief Murray said after a beat, as if Sam’s description of Cinder’s duties had been spoken in some kind of foreign language.
Sam’s head pounded. He had a sudden craving for deep dish Chicago-style pizza, the world’s best migraine cure.
“So this dog is like your partner?” Chief Murray bent to take a closer look at Cinder.
“Yes.” They’d covered this already in Sam’s interview. He was sure of it. He wouldn’t have packed up and moved to North Carolina without telling his new chief about his dog. Cinder was half the reason Sam had been able to make the change from fighting fires to seeking a job as a fire marshal.
The job offer from TBFD had been a godsend. After Chief Murray’s email had arrived, Sam had been too busy counting his lucky stars to wonder why such a small department needed to add a full-time fire marshal to its roster. As crazy as things seemed, they were beginning to make sense.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not really interested in playing softball,” Sam said.
He was here to do a job, not to become involved with the community. Besides, it had been a long time since Sam had held a bat in his hands. Nearly a year.
Chief Murray straightened, regarding Sam through narrowed eyes.
“Dude.” Griff shook his head. “Participation in the summer softball tournament against the police force is mandatory.”
Sam sighed. This place was beyond nuts. He should have turned tail and run back when he’d almost been arrested. “Mandatory? Doesn’t that contradict the very nature of extracurricular activities?”
“Griff’s right,” the chief said. “Not only is it mandatory, but it’s also the whole reason you were hired. Guns and Hoses starts Saturday.”
Guns and Hoses. Sam’s mouth quirked into a half grin, despite himself. The name of the tournament was cute, like everything else in this whimsical beach town.
Except maybe the oddly competitive nature of said softball tournament. And whatever unfortunate thing had happened to Violet March.
He knew he shouldn’t worry about it. In fact, all signs thus far had pointed to the obvious conclusion that if he was going to survive here, he needed to stay as far away from Violet and Sprinkles as possible. Had the ongoing Dalmatian situation taught him nothing?
Chief Murray slapped him hard on the back—hard enough to rattle all thoughts of the police chief’s daughter and her troublesome spotted sidekick right out of his head. “Welcome to Turtle Beach, slugger.”
***
In retrospect, Violet realized she’d been a tad hasty at the dog beach this morning. The firefighter had tried to explain what was going on, and she hadn’t let him. As her brothers Josh and Joe had oh-so-helpfully pointed out after the chaos died down and her yoga friends aimed their walkers back toward the Turtle Beach Senior Living Center, she’d treated a fireman like he was the fireman. The result had been nothing short of a complete and utter Dalmatian humiliation.
The poor man had apparently been a resident of Turtle Beach for a grand total of twelve hours—information which Josh had managed to discern with a single call to the town’s one and only Realtor, who’d conveniently been his prom date back in his days at Turtle Beach High. As much as Violet hated to give the new-in-town fireman the benefit of the doubt, she realized he’d probably never heard of Guns and Hoses.
Yet.
That would change, obviously. In the meantime, she might owe him a teensy apology for trying to get him arrested. Softball season hadn’t even officially started yet. If she was going to get through the annual tournament with a modicum of dignity intact, she needed to try to defuse the situation.
Besides, his dog was awfully cute. Despite the uniform, he clearly possessed one of her favorite qualities in a man—an appreciation for Dalmatians. How terrible could he possibly be?
Careful, there. Remember what happened the last time you let your guard down around a pretty face in a fire helmet.
As if she could forget.
But she didn’t want to date the man. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Never again. Violet was over romantic relationships. From here on out, all she cared about was Sprinkles and her shiny new cupcake truck.
And her family, obviously. And her friends. And the police department completely annihilating the fire department this Saturday in the opening game.
Okay, fine, she cared about a lot of things, but dating occupied the last spot on the list. Absolute rock bottom. The fact that she was currently standing in front of the fire station with a pink bakery box in her hands and Sprinkles at her feet was a simple matter of self-respect. She hated the weird combination of guilt and sadness she always saw in Chief Murray’s eyes when he looked at her, and she knew good and well that every cupcake the TBFD bought and consumed was a pity purchase. Not that her cupcakes weren’t good—they were amazing, thank you very much. She just wanted to move on and return to despising firemen in a normal, healthy, sports-related way.
Violet squared her shoulders and glanced down at Sprinkles. “We can do this. Five quick minutes inside the belly of the beast, and then we’re out of here.”
But when she took a step toward the bright red door of the firehouse, the Dalmatian didn’t budge. Violet gave the leash a gentle tug, and still…nothing.
Across the street, one of her brothers’ fellow officers exited the police station and came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of her. The donut in his hand fell to the ground.
Super. This was already turning into another embarrassing episode.
“We’re fine!” She waved at the policeman. “Just dropping off some cupcakes. No cause for concern.”
Translation: please don’t run and tell my dad and brothers.
; The last thing she needed was for her family to come marching over here as if she were a hostage.
“Sprinkles, please. Just listen for once. There’s a vanilla bacon maple cupcake with your name on it if you’ll just follow me into the firehouse and stick by my side for moral support,” Violet whispered.
The promise/bribe worked, thank goodness. Sprinkles sprang forward and bobbed happily at the end of her leash as Violet pushed through the red door. She didn’t normally feed her dog cupcakes, for the record. Desperate times and all that.
“Violet.” Griff Martin blinked hard from his seat in the dispatch area when he caught sight of her. “Um…what are you doing here?”
He looked past her, no doubt expecting her to be accompanied by Joe, Josh, or other various members of the TBPD.
She raised her chin. She was a grown woman, and she could take care of herself and get her life back on track all on her own. “I’m here to see the new fireman. We had a little misunderstanding earlier this morning.”
“Look.” Griff held up his hands. “I told him to give the dog back and he insisted it wasn’t yours.”
“Oh, I know.” Violet tipped her head toward Sprinkles. “Sprinkles is fine, see?”
Griff’s gaze narrowed. “They really do look an awful lot alike, don’t they?”
Thank you! She shot him a victorious grin. “Yes, they do.”
Sprinkles was cuter, though. Obviously.
“Can you just tell him I’m here?” She glanced down at the pink bakery box in her hands and then back up at Griff’s bewildered face. “I have a little peace offering for him. It was the least I could do after his near-arrest. I’ll just give it to him, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Hoo boy. Near-arrest?” Griff winced. “I’m not even going to ask. Sam’s getting set up in his new office. Follow me.”
He rose from his creaky office chair and led Violet toward the common area of the firehouse, where her appearance in enemy territory brought everything to an immediate standstill. No one moved. Or breathed. Or uttered a word. A firefighter who Violet recognized as the Hoses’ first baseman spilled coffee down the front of his shirt from a ceramic mug that read WTF Where’s the Fire as he gaped at her. A pair of firemen on opposite sides of a Ping-Pong table froze comically in place while their tiny white ball bounced across the room.