Page 1 of Peach Blossom Hollow

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 doorsand 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 byherhusband 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 tobesomeone 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 shehadto 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 breakit.

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 hereyes. 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.

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