Peach Blossom Hollow: A Sweet Friends to Lovers Hockey Romance

Chapter 1

Violet Granger pushed on the changing room door with her cumbersome costumed hands. Locked. She angled her head back to aim the costume’s eye holes at the number on the door. She’d left her street clothes in an even-numbered room.

At least she was pretty certain she had. After an hour of running around out in the hockey arena to get used to the bulky green and black dragon costume, she was a sweaty, frustrated mess.

Tempted to pull off the massive head so she could see and breathe better—even though that was supposedly forbidden outside the changing room—she waddled farther down the hallway, her dragon tail wagging after her.

She’d nearly died approximately five and a half times during this first in-costume practice out in the stands. The Dragons NHL team was in the process of hiring her a handler—which until today she hadn’t believed she’d truly need. But after falling down steps, getting her tail caught in elevator doors and knocking into the rows of seating, she was fully on board with enlisting as many handlers as possible so she wouldn’t make the news by dying in a dragon costume during a live NHL game.

Although maybe that would finally get Owen Lancaster’s attention.

She snorted. No. No thinking about Owen. She was over him. Stupid one-sided crush and his revived major league baseball career taking him away from Sweetheart Creek—and her. She’d finally felt she was getting somewhere with her shy flirting. And then he’d left.

Men always left—whether she was close to summoning the courage to ask one out, or they were standing at the altar about to say “I do.” Or, in her ex-fiancé’s case, “I don’t.”

This costume was part of a plan. An important, break-the-curse and heal her spirit kind of plan.

But the curse… Her grandmother had been left with three young toddlers in Korea when her husband announced he was going to Hollywood, and that it was no place for a nice Korean woman.

Then, years later, Violet’s mother had been left by her husband when a beautiful younger version had come along. A singer. Bold and gregarious. Loved to entertain.

Very unlike her loyal, quiet mom.

Violet herself had been left enough times to know she had to do something different—had to be someone different—in order to change the fate that had been handed to her by some cranky Korean gods her great-grandmother had allegedly snubbed by running away instead of accepting the husband chosen for her by her community.

And no, none of the woman in her family had given their partner a pair of shoes, which was a Korean superstition. Give them shoes, watch them run away from you. Although Violet wondered if there was an opposite superstition her mom hadn’t told her about. Maybe one where you gave your partner something like an anchor to make them stay.

But this dragon costume? It was a method, according to an online pop psychologist, to help Violet break out of her shyness in a safe way. She hadn’t always been this timid, but having love smack her down enough times… Well, a part of her spirit had just given up on her.

So to be different, she had to act different. Become different through action. With her new job as a mascot she was placing herself in a situation where she had to be gregarious and goofy, playing to the team’s fans. Wearing the costume would reacclimatize her to being the woman she once was, one not afraid of putting herself out there.

There would be no more locked jaw due to shyness. She would be free. And able to talk to hunky men.

Then she’d find love.

She’d show the curse she couldn’t be broken. She’d win. She’d break it.

And there were plenty of men here in this arena to test her new theory out on.

Potential love matches? Statistically, there had to be several.

Violet stopped in front of the next even-numbered locker room door.

Bliss. That’s what it would feel like to push her sweat-soaked hair off her forehead and out of her eyes. She’d feel so light and comfortable in her street clothes.

She placed her hands on the green door and inhaled. Oh, to have a refreshing shower and a nice long drink of cool water.

She pushed against the door. It opened an inch, then shut again. Violet let out a frustrated growl and heaved her entire five-foot-two-inch frame against the freshly painted metal. This time it gave easily, sending her flailing forward into the room, tripping on her large dragon feet and then plowing into a figure that stood between her and the cinderblock wall just beyond.

She landed face-first, her costume head sliding up and off as gravity tugged her downward. The man grabbed for her while she twisted, struggling to get her feet under her as the door banged against her leg. As Violet slid to the floor between the wall and a giant hockey bag she caught a glimpse of what she was certain were naked torsos and men in boxer shorts.

Wrong room.

The floor smelled like used hockey equipment. But lovely music filled the air. A nice relaxing tune.

Splayed on her back, Violet closed her eyes, wishing her dragon head hadn’t come off in her tumble.

Worst day ever.

“Are you okay?” asked the man she’d fallen against.

Why had she taken this job?

Why had she decided she needed to push her way out of being who she’d become over the last two years? A quiet nobody shuffling papers for Mayor Nestner. That had been safe. It had been fine. Lonely, and not particularly exciting, unless the town armadillo, Bill, caused mischief and someone came to the mayor about it. But the job had been okay.

With a sigh she cracked one eyelid open, letting the man fussing over her come into focus. Hockey player. Kneeling. Looking concerned. His two front teeth were slightly crooked and he had kind, dark blue eyes. He was fresh-faced, ready to get onto the ice for practice.

And she was a sweaty mess. Violet scrunched her eyes shut again, wanting to pretend she was dead.

“Are you okay?” he repeated.

She swallowed hard, glancing up at him again. She knew this guy. Okay, she didn’t know him, but knew of him. Leo Pattra, former bull riding champion who was now playing in the National Hockey League, like switching professional sports was something people did all the time. He was a sweet, hunky hottie she’d be absolutely tongue-tied around should they ever meet.

And they were meeting.

He was standing over her, looking more and more concerned the longer she remained silent.

Maybe she could will herself to pass out until it was all over?

Violet sighed and tried to sit up, but her large dragon belly made it impossible to fold forward. She attempted to roll onto her side, but found herself wedged between the bag and the wall. She flopped back again, feeling like an upside-down turtle.

“Need help?” Leo asked, watching her with those lovely eyes. He held out his hand, but with her giant dragon-clawed paws she knew she couldn’t grasp it. Nor could she push her bangs out of her eyes so she could see better.

Maybe she could will herself to disappear, like how she’d pretended she was invisible when she was a kid.

Just close your eyes. Ignore the hunky man.

“I’m Leo.”

Yeah, pretending to be invisible hadn’t worked when she was a kid, either. Just resulted in a lot of teasing.

“Dezzie.” She blinked. “Dragons’ mascot.” Her voice had worked. She glanced back at Leo, then away. Maybe this costume acclimation idea wasn’t so bad, after all.

He smiled. “What’s your real name? And are you okay?” Carefully, still kneeling beside her, he peeled her sweat-plastered hair off her forehead and away from her eyes.

This would be a great time to disappear because…ew. Could she be any more disgusting?

That familiar shyness burned through her, locking down her ability to meet his eyes or speak. He was too cute. Too kind. Too caring.

Too close.

And he didn’t seem to mind her sweat-plastered hair.

Heartbreaker.

“You have a very pretty face,” he said gently. Without warning, he gripped her arms through the costume’s thick fabric like a seasoned livestock wrangler. Tingles zipped along her skin as if he’d electrocuted her, and for a moment she thought she’d broken something. Then she realized it was just the power of Hunky-hunk, who was now rolling to his heels with athletic ease, fluidly lifting himself onto his feet and pulling her along.

Yum. She loved a strong man. And one who gave her compliments was even better.

There was no chance she’d be able to speak to him. Ever. At all. Pop-psych couldn’t work on everything.

Feeling more eyes on her, she glanced over her shoulder. The locker room was full of curious, half-dressed San Antonio Dragons.

This would be a fantastic time for that invisibility thing to finally work.

Leo Pattra had no idea who the woman in the dragon costume was, but she was cute. And she was obviously mortified at the way she’d fallen into a room filled with half-dressed players. He scooped up her dragon head and steered her back into the hallway.

“I’m Leo,” he said again, hoping she’d introduce herself as something other than the mascot. He didn’t have time to get tangled up in flirting or dating at the moment, but this shy gal in the gigantic, wingless dragon costume had him intrigued. If he was the type to fall in love for the sheer joy of it rather than the old-fashioned reason of needing a life partner, she might be someone he’d consider. Even though she seemed way too bashful for her own good.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. He needed a partner. Someone to help him further his career, make bank so he’d never have to worry about how he was going to feed his future kids, and then retire soon after that so he could enjoy that family. The way he figured it, he needed someone like Christine Lagrée, a donor relations manager for the Special Olympics, to see him, help him, marry him. She did an amazing job of being someone to follow on social media, and mutual friends had told him she frequently received lucrative job offers.

He sighed, almost missing it when the mascot murmured, “Violet.”

“Nice to meet you.”

When she didn’t reply, he added, “And you’re Dezzie this season?”

She gave him a dry look, surprising him, and his intrigue ratcheted up a notch.

“I know, stupid question,” he admitted, wishing she’d give him a full-sentence reply. He felt as though getting one would be a triumph. “I’m new this year.”

He repressed the urge to explain why, at twenty-seven—the average NHL players’ age—he was just a rookie.

Unlike most players, he hadn’t toiled for eons in the minors, waiting to be called up. He’d actually spent several years as a professional bull rider before deciding to change to a less dangerous career.

However, he figured most people assumed that being a rookie at his age meant he’d been passed up for a decade, and so wasn’t really that great at playing right wing.

“I take it you went in the wrong room?” he said, glancing down the hallway.

She mumbled something about an even-numbered door.

Leo hustled forward, heading to the next room. Number six. Locked.

Violet heaved a sigh. She looked exhausted and sweaty.

Voices filtered down the hall and Nuvella, one of the two main mucky-mucks on the PR team, appeared around a corner. When she spotted Violet her back straightened and she quickened her stride.

Violet reached for him. Leo opened his arms for a hug before realizing she wanted her dragon head, and that her eyes were filled with panic. Wow, he was sorely out of practice hanging out with the opposite sex.

“I can carry it,” he said as he allowed her to snatch it from him. She fumbled it in her clawed hands before managing to get it back on.

“Violet!” Nuvella called, hustling toward them. She had bleached-white hair, offset by bright red lipstick slashed across her tight mouth. “You can’t be seen outside the changing rooms without your head. We were very clear on that.”

“She fell,” Leo said, angling himself between Violet and the Cruella de Vil wannabe. “She couldn’t get up and she needs a helper. She can’t see in this costume and it’s a hazard.”

“We’re working on it, Leo,” Nuvella snapped. She pointed at Violet. “The head stays on no matter what. What if a child saw a headless Dezzie?”

“She needs help,” Leo said firmly.

“I know.”

He kept his gaze on the woman even as he guided Violet farther down the hall, away from her. Once they were alone again, he said, “The evil witch from the west is gone.”

He’d had some meetings with Nuvella and her colleague, Mark, and the one word he’d use to describe them and their cluelessness about hockey? Alarming.

Violet raised her big paws, gave a little na-na wave, then spun around and waggled her giant butt in the direction Nuvella had gone. Leo laughed and shushed her, even though she hadn’t made a sound. The new PR twins from New York—The Twins, as everyone called them—weren’t making many friends, and he wondered how long they’d last. But in the meantime, they had to play nice.

“You’re going to be a hit with the audience,” Leo told Violet as he pushed on the next door. It opened. A small duffel bag and a water bottle sat on one of the wooden benches. “I think this is you.”

Violet shuffled forward, reaching up as though eager to pull off her dragon head the moment she crossed the threshold. Leo held the door wide for her, and sure enough, she popped it off with a loud exhale. She rewarded him with a tiny smile as she waddled into the room, whacking him in the shins with her swinging tail.

She placed the head on a bench and reached behind her with those costumed hands, struggling to grip the zipper.

He hurried to assist her, hoping she was wearing something decent underneath, and that he wouldn’t get brought up on charges for trying to be helpful. He had a plan for this year and avoiding all scandals was top of the list.

Not that he was prone to trouble, but if he wanted the kind of sponsorship deal he could retire on, he needed to stay squeaky clean. And undressing the pretty mascot might not land him in the squeaky-clean camp.

He hesitated before releasing the zipper. “Do you mind if I help you out of this? Or is Cruella de Vil coming back to turn you into a coat?”

To his surprise, Violet let out a laugh that filled the room.

“These are attached,” she said, looking over her shoulder and waggling her enormous clawed, green-and-black paws. “Please free me.”

He pulled the zipper tab down to her hips, holding the costume closed at the neckline with his other hand for modesty’s sake. “How did you get into this thing?”

She turned to face him, and he released his grip. “Magic.”

“I’ll say.” The neck was so tight she couldn’t have wriggled her way in. She must have had someone zip her up. “When will they find you some help?”

She shrugged, meeting his gaze briefly. Her face was turning red, and he could see shyness zipping her up like a reverse of the costume he’d just freed her from. Leo didn’t want her clamming up again. He wanted to know more about this reserved, slightly sassy woman who’d crashed into him.

“Do you like the job?” he asked.

“It’s fun,” she admitted, her eyes lighting up.

“And?”

“Exhausting.”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea I could sweat so much.”

He smiled. A full sentence. It was possible.

And they said nice guys finish last.

“It looks like you worked hard,” he said, gesturing to her damp hair.

The big dragon paws swept to her straight black hair, and she ducked as though trying to hide.

“You’re how I look when I get off the ice,” he said with a chuckle. “The things we do for hockey, huh?”

She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

“If you’d asked me when I was sixteen if this is where I was going to end up…”

She laughed again, the sound light this time, carefree, then looked confused. “You didn’t always want the NHL?”

“Most hockey players have worked toward this forever. I’ve taken a few detours.”

She nodded, watching him with unreadable eyes before reaching for the pink water bottle on the bench with her padded hands—knocking it over. She gave a resigned shrug, sending the costume slipping from her shoulders like a curtain dropping, revealing her petite body. She was wearing a pink tank top and tight, stretchy black shorts.

With the costume bunched around her ankles, her hands now free, she reached for the water bottle, tipped her head back and took several long, unladylike gulps.

After a final swallow, she glanced at him again with those intriguing, almost-black eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “I should let you do your thing.” He stopped, thinking about how dangerous it was for her to run around in the costume without a guide. She needed somebody. Soon. And someone who would take good care of her. Not a random stranger.

“They seriously let you out there without a handler?”

“I was impatient to learn the ropes.”

He paused, mulling over the fact that she’d spoken another full sentence—a win for him.

Leo’s sense of duty was rearing up in him. Was it because she was shy, or petite, or that she had tumbled into him that he felt the need to look out for her?

If she fell in here, alone, who knew how long she’d roll around, unable to get up, helpless as she waited for someone to find her?

His mom was always nagging him to let people take care of their own business.

He nodded once, then grabbed the door handle.

But what if Cruella hired someone who didn’t care? Who didn’t read the crowd properly? Who couldn’t protect the woman wearing the costume? People sometimes got aggressive with mascots, not knowing who was inside.

And what if they hired a man, and he didn’t avert his eyes when he helped Violet out of her Dezzie outfit?

“You should ask them to hire a friend,” Leo suggested. “It’ll make it more fun, and nobody looks out for you the way a friend will.”

Preferably she had a big burly one who was already married.

“Actually…” Violet said slowly, focusing on the wall as an idea seemed to hit her. She grinned. “Actually, someone promised she’d take the handler job if I became mascot. She was only teasing, but…”

“You should hold her to that promise.”

Violet’s smile turned crafty, but her voice was sweet and clear as she said, “I think I will hold her to that promise, Leo.”