Page 3 of Peach Blossom Hollow

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 upfor 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 wereveryclear 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.

“Iknow.”

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’tget 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?”

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