“Okay, then. The new guy doesn’t like cake. Duly noted.” Griff sank into the chair opposite Sam.
Cinder’s tail thump-thumped against the floor until Sam nodded, giving her permission to rise from her dog bed to greet the new visitor. Even so, she was ever polite, gently dropping her chin onto Griff’s knee and gazing up at him until he placed his hand on top of her smooth, spotted head.
Griff snorted. “Your dog looks a lot like Sprinkles, but they don’t act the same at all.”
Sam didn’t need to ask why. His tenure in the small beach town had been brief thus far, but he’d seen enough of Sprinkles to know exactly what Griff was referring to. “That’s because Cinder is trained and Sprinkles clearly isn’t.”
“Right, because Cinder is a fire dog and all that.”
Sam shook his head. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it. Or it shouldn’t, anyway. All dogs should be trained in basic obedience, even pets.”
Griff’s eyebrows drew together as he seemed to consider Sam’s words. “Sprinkles isn’t a bad dog. Violet takes her pretty much everywhere, so she’s familiar to the whole town.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Sam said. Over the course of the past twenty-four hours, no less than fifteen people had asked him what he was doing with Violet March’s Dalmatian. It was getting old and, frankly, a little insulting.
Could no one tell the difference between his highly trained partner and Violet’s unruly, dotted little monster?
“She wouldn’t harm a flea. She’s just a little”—Griff scrunched up his face—“excitable.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s one word for it.”
“Sprinkles is a sweetheart, you’ll see. Plus she’s a rescue. Violet adopted her up in Wilmington. The poor thing had been living on the streets before the city pound picked her up.”
“If Violet is ‘off-limits,’ how do you know so much about her dog?” Sam asked, trying not to think too hard about how he’d become the type of person who used annoying air quotes.
Griff shrugged one shoulder. “Word gets around, plus the paper ran an article about it shortly after Violet adopted her.”
Sam stared blankly at him. Two days ago, he couldn’t have conceived of a town where a pet adoption would make the local paper, and now he was living in one. Just another small-town quirk that had never crossed his mind.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t matter if Sprinkles is a rescue or not. I adopted Cinder from a shelter in Chicago.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.” Griff appraised Cinder anew. He offered his hand, and she gently placed her paw into his palm for a shake. “Impressive.”
“Every dog can and should be trained in basic obedience,” Sam said, wincing as Sprinkles sprang to the forefront of his mind, writhing in the sand at the dog beach, reeking of dead fish and all manner of decaying sea life. “A dog that can’t follow simple orders causes chaos, and it’s just not safe.”
Griff arched a brow but said nothing.
“I’m serious,” Sam said. Why did he feel compelled to defend himself all of a sudden? “Sprinkles might be friendly and cute, but she’s also impulsive.”
“Mmhmm,” Griff said, nodding as his mouth twisted into a subtle smirk.
Sam wasn’t finished. “She’s flighty, easily distracted, and thoroughly undisciplined. Just because everyone in town knows and loves her doesn’t mean she isn’t without fault.”
Griff’s smirk grew larger until it seemed to take up his entire face. “I hear you.”
Sam leaned forward in his chair, because Griff didn’t seem to be getting his point. “Mark my words, sooner or later, someone is going to get hurt.”
“I can’t argue with that. You might be right.” Griff gave Cinder a final scratch beneath her chin, then hauled himself out of the chair. “It’s just kind of funny, though.”
“What is?” Sam barked. He had another headache, and it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m. yet.
“For a minute there, it almost sounded like you weren’t talking about a dog at all.” Griff flashed him a suggestive grin. “Cute, but flighty? Friendly, but easily distracted? Beloved by everyone she meets, but utterly impulsive?”
Heat crawled up the back of Sam’s neck, and he redirected his gaze to the stack of papers on his desk. He knew what was coming next, but he didn’t want to see the knowing look in Griff’s eyes when he said it. Especially when Sam’s thoughts were still lingering on the most important snippet of their conversation. Mark my words, sooner or later, someone is going to get hurt.
Griff chuckled under his breath. “If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought you were talking about Violet March herself.”
***
Violet coasted her bike to a stop as she turned into the wide driveway of one of the oldest and grandest homes in Turtle Beach.
Yes, she still lived with her family in the house where she’d grown up. But living at home wasn’t so bad when it meant a sprawling, three-story beach house propped up on tall pilings with sweeping views of the Carolina coast. Especially since her brothers had taken over the third floor apartments for themselves, leaving just Violet and her Dad in the main residence. Plus there was plenty of room in the open air garage beneath the house for her shiny silver Airstream trailer with its spinning cupcake on top.
When her cupcake truck wasn’t parked on the boardwalk or the softball field or anyplace else sugar-starved tourists and locals gathered, she kept it right here at home, alongside her dad and brothers’ police cruisers, a towering pile of sun chairs, and various other beach paraphernalia. Like Josh’s kayak. And the family croquet set. And her dad’s fishing poles, which she had just nearly plowed into, thanks to Sprinkles.
“What is it with you and the smell of fish, all of a sudden?” Violet wailed as she gave the handlebars a hard yank to the right.
Her front wheel bumped up against the kayak as she came to a wobbly halt. Sprinkles promptly pounced inside the narrow boat, and it rocked from side to side. With her pink tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, she looked like a dog enjoying an amusement park ride.
“Get out of there, silly.” Violet grabbed the cardboard holder of frosty, whipped coffee drinks she’d just pedaled to the boardwalk to procure from her bicycle’s wicker basket. “It’s time for coffee.”
It was also time to clue her dad and brothers in on Sam Nash’s secret identity as a baseball phenom. Oh goody, this should be fun.
Not.
After leaving the firehouse yesterday, Violet had nearly walked directly across the street and straight into her dad’s office at the police station. She couldn’t do that, though. One look at the pink box in her hands, and her father would have blown a gasket. She knew better than to go waltzing into the firehouse laden with cupcakes and good intentions.