CHAPTER

one

I STOOD IN THE warm L.A. sunshine, admiring the marquee sign above my store. “Hollywoof,” it read. The tagline? “Where we treat your pets like stars.”

A week ago, I’d celebrated my life’s quarter-century mark. The best birthday present: this fulfillment of my lifelong dream. All those years of cat sitting, dog walking, and poop scooping had paid off. I was the new owner of a pet grooming salon.

When I entered my store, the golden bell above the door gave off a gentle chime. As the musical note faded, I found myself trapped in a deep silence. Not one bark or chitter.

Though I’d placed ads on social media, nobody had shown up. I’d even offered a special discount this week. Yesterday had been quiet, except for the arrival of Ma, Dad, and Alice. And family didn’t count as real foot traffic.

Today seemed about the same. Half the day had flown by, and still no luck.

Finally, the phone rang, and I rushed to grab it. “Hollywoof. Can I help you?”

“It’s Pixie,” a smooth voice on the other end of the line said. “How’s your business going?”

Thankfully, Pixie St. James hadn’t called it “my” business, though she’d put up the capital for it. She even looked more of a businesswoman than me, with her no-nonsense cropped brunette hair and polished pantsuits.

I sighed. “Things are slow. Not a customer in sight.”

She clucked her tongue, and I could imagine a flurry of ideas rushing through her brain. “Tell you what, I’ll text a few friends,” she said. “Maybe someone can swing by.”

I heard an excited bark over the phone. “Is that Gelato?” Pixie craved Italian desserts, and her sweet tooth had inspired the shih tzu’s name. That cute puppy was the reason I had my grooming business.

“Yes, he’s due for his walk . . . I swear he’s trying to drag me out the door right this minute.”

I could imagine that. Energy on four legs, Gelato had jumped into the choppy waves off Catalina Island this past summer. I had to dive in to save him. After the rescue, Pixie had promised to invest in the grooming business . . . as long as I offered Gelato free baths for life. Deal.

The barking increased. “You better go,” I said. “Thanks for checking up on me. Have a great walk.”

A few minutes later, I heard a familiar happy giggle as my sister entered the store. I bet Alice had shown up at noon to match Hollywoof’s hour-long lunch closure. I greeted her with a warm hug.

I didn’t need to reach up for the embrace, since we had the same five-foot frame. People often mistook us for twins despite our two-year age gap. We did have the same features: oval faces, elfin ears, and small button noses. We wore our hair differently, though—she in an Amy Tan bob, complete with bangs, and me with shoulder-length black hair.

Her light brown eyes glowed. “I brought you something to celebrate your grand opening week.” She held up a cardboard box . . . that purred. “Take a look at the cutie I found at the shelter.”

I backed away. “Please don’t tell me that’s a cat.”

A furry white head popped up from the box and blinked at me with ocean-colored eyes.

“Mimi,” my sister said, “how can you say no to these baby blues?” Alice was a sucker for waif faces. Maybe that’s how she wrangled twenty-five kindergarteners Monday through Friday and still remained smiling by the afternoon.

I frowned at the Persian cat. “Alice, you know I prefer dogs.”

She gave me her peppy teacher’s smile. “Maybe you just need to have the right kitty.”

I hesitated, imagining sharp claws and giant hairballs.

“Please.” She placed the box in my hands. “For me.”

How could I say no to my baby sis? “We’ll see,” I said.

“You’ll love him, I bet.” Alice squeezed my shoulder. “Time for me to get back to class. The new principal’s a real stickler about time.”

I waved to her as she left.

As soon as I took the cat out of the box, he sauntered over to the plateglass window and stretched out in a sunny spot to nap. This kitty put the “cat” in catatonic. While he slept, I made a quick trip to the pet store to pick up supplies, including a carrier for the car.

When I returned, business remained stalled. Over the next hours, though, a few people dropped in from the beach to check out the store. I hoped some of them owned pets, because their visits left me with a lot of mess. Surfboards knocked into displays, flip-flops left wet marks behind, and sand was wedged into every nook and cranny.

Near closing time, I finished the cleanup. Then I looked over at the white cat, who had finally opened his eyes, and mulled over possible names. His coat was so poofy, it made him shapeless, like a giant marshmallow. Hmm, that wasn’t too bad of a name.

I cocked my head at Marshmallow, and he stared back at me with piercing sapphire eyes. We maintained eye contact for so long, it felt like a staring contest. I would show him who was boss.

Okay, I blinked first. But I had an excuse. The door swished open.

A petite blonde barreled in. She wore pink on pink on pink. The woman had layered a lacy camisole under a moto jacket and paired them with a leather skirt, all in the hue of Pepto-Bismol. I wanted to snatch the sunglasses off her head to shield my eyes, but their lenses were also bubblegum bright.

Thank goodness the dog she was holding wasn’t dyed to match. Instead, it seemed to be a common tan Chihuahua, albeit with a pink rhinestone collar. The owner held the little dog tight to her bosom.

The blonde swiveled her head from left to right, surveying the shop’s interior. I bit my lip. Had I done it up right?

Think: Oscars meets Fido. On the floor, I’d created a Hollywood Bark of Fame, complete with golden stars featuring Lassie and Toto. A large-screen television took up one entire wall and played classic doggie movies on an endless loop. Two cream pleather benches flanked a swirled marble table in the waiting area. And a searchlight shone down on the reception table. Maybe the decor was a bit over-the-top.

But I’d wanted to attract ritzy clients from the nearby beach cities. What did I know about the rich, though? I’d been raised a few miles out in Lawndale, close enough in distance but worlds apart from golden sands and beachfront mansions.

I must have passed some sort of litmus test, because the blonde nodded at me. “Just the place to drop off my handsome Sterling,” she said.

She pinched his cheek, but the dog didn’t appear fazed. In fact, he snuggled deeper into her arms.

“How did you find Hollywoof?” I asked, crossing my fingers. Had the online ads worked?

“Pixie told me.”

“Oh.” I relaxed my hand. Pixie had helped me with the funding, and now she’d given me my first customer.

The blonde perched her sunglasses on top of her head and extended shiny manicured tips toward me. “I’m Lauren Dalton. You’ve probably heard of my husband? He’s a famous Hollywood producer.”

Was I supposed to kiss her hand? I hesitated and settled for a more professional handshake.

Lauren continued, “Sorry about the getup.” She gestured at her screaming pink clothes. “I came straight from the Help the Homeless fundraiser. I love all costumed charity galas—it was a movie theme this time, and I picked Legally Blonde.”

“No problem.” I cared about how the animals, not their owners, looked.

“Actually, I’m in a rush.” She glanced at her diamond-encrusted watch, more jewelry than timepiece. “My baby has gym class in twenty minutes.”

Oh, I knew how to ensure her ongoing patronage. In my experience, parents loved gushing about their kids. “Your child must be super flexible—a real Olympic contender.”

She blinked at me. “Well, Sterling is my baby. My assistant Nicola got him just last month from a local breeder, Russ Nolan.”

I tugged my ear. “Of course, that’s what I meant . . . Dogs are like children, but better. All the love without any of the whininess.”

“Sterling is a clingy puppy, but doggie gym should energize him. And a beauty treatment might lift his spirits.” She smiled at me and lowered Sterling to the ground. Bending over, she gave him a peck. “Be a good boy for Mommy.”

As her short skirt rode up, I averted my eyes. “So, what would you like done for Sterling today? Something quick that would fit your schedule.” A wash and dry would take longer than twenty minutes. Plus, who knew how much time it’d take to brave traffic to get to the class?

She examined me with her forest green eyes. “This is a trial run. I’d like you to get rid of all the dirt clinging to him. He needs to look his best for gym.”

Sterling’s coat seemed pretty clean to me. “Perhaps a quick brush?”

“Fine. I’ll wait here.” She strolled over to a wall rack and started fingering the glitzy collars and leashes there.

“Be back in a jiffy.” I tried to coax Sterling over to the back area, but he crawled like molasses.

I turned to Lauren. “Are you sure he’s okay? Maybe you should drop by the vet . . .”

“I can’t fit that into his schedule as well, but he can get a brush right now.”

“Fine,” I said, scooping Sterling up to save time. He let out a sharp yip and wiggled in my arms. Huh. Pampered little Chihuahuas usually love being cuddled.

I entered the workstation at the rear of Hollywoof, which held two stark rooms with antiseptic white walls. They smelled of scrubbing and cleanser. I passed by the smaller room, a kennel area for holding animals. At least, I hoped I would get enough business to have pets needing to wait their turn to get shampooed.

The larger room was the grooming area. Huge industrial steel sinks took up half the space. A few drying tables covered the rest of the room. I moved toward one and placed Sterling on its textured nonslip surface.

“Okay, boy, we’re going to do a simple groom.” I reached for the leash hanging off an arcing metal arm and hooked his rhinestone collar to it.

“There you are. Clipped in nice and safe. Let me get my equipment.” I chose a soft curry brush. When I had first heard the term, I had thought of a cooking utensil, something more fit to dole out Ma’s spicy rendang than to tame fur.

I showed him the oval brush with its rubber bristles. “This soft comb won’t hurt your delicate skin.”

Sterling quivered.

Hmm, should I start with his tail? Maybe he’d be less nervous that way. But he soon stopped trembling, so I followed my usual routine.

First, I let him sniff the brush to get familiar with it. Then I worked on his head and moved on to the body. Near his right hind leg, I hit a snag. What was that? He yelped and backed away.

I apologized and patted him in a soothing manner. Maybe I’d brushed too hard. I used gentler strokes until he displayed gleaming fur, way smoother than my own frizz-prone hair.

Sterling now had a shiny coat, but I wanted to add a finishing touch. Scrounging through the accessory box, I found the perfect item to go with his rhinestone collar. I placed a bright pink headband on top of his sweet head.

When I returned Sterling to the front, Lauren smiled. “He looks like a champ. How much do I owe you?”

We walked over to the cash register, where Lauren got distracted by the jar of doggie treats on the counter.

“Homemade,” I said. “Peanut butter and bacon flavor. Two dollars a biscuit.” Would anyone pay that much? I’d wanted to charge a quarter at first, but I needed to cover the rent of this extravagant business space near the pier.

“A steal,” Lauren said, adding a dozen treats to her grooming bill. When I rang her up, she pulled a crisp hundred from a sparkly pink clutch.

“Keep the change,” she said. “The pink sweatband is perfect. Speaking of purr-fect . . .” Lauren sauntered over to the display window. “What’s the name of your adorable cat?”

“Marshmallow,” I said as I joined her at the sunbathing spot.

“Too cute,” Lauren said and tapped the cat’s nose.

Marshmallow hissed and raised his paw up, claws out.

I pulled Lauren away from danger. “He’s not quite used to company yet.”

“Well, besides the unfriendly kitty, I like your place. I’m going to tell my yoga sisters, and they’ll bring their animal besties here, too.”

“That would be lovely.” Yes. My business was picking up.

After the bell jingled on Lauren’s way out, I heard a baritone male voice pipe up. “Good riddance.”

I turned in a slow circle, surveying the store. “Who’s there?” Had someone waltzed in while I was beautifying Sterling?

I didn’t see anyone. Only Marshmallow glared at me from his perch.

The voice continued. “You let her attack my face.”

I looked at Marshmallow. No way the cat was talking to me. Plus, his mouth hadn’t moved. Not one whisker twitched.

“What kind of name is Marshmallow anyway?” His fur bristled. “Are you fat-shaming me?”

I rubbed my ears. They felt normal. Maybe it wasn’t a physical problem. Oh no. Was I experiencing a psychotic break? I should crack open the DSM from my psych major days to find a rational explanation.

“This isn’t real,” I said, closing my eyes.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty. I’m not done talking to you.”

Marshmallow growled at me, and I opened my eyes to find him staring me down. Then he uncurled from his spot and slinked my way.

“Are you speaking?” No, it couldn’t be true. Maybe this was a hallucination. Ma had brought over herbal soup last night sprinkled with a weird Asian mushroom: cloud ear fungus. But I’d eaten that stuff before and suffered little besides a jaw ache from chewing the slippery but crunchy brown masses.

Marshmallow advanced on me, and I backed up until I got trapped at the counter.

“This isn’t happening.” I grabbed the treat container for defense. After all, it was made of heavy glass. Or maybe I could pelt him with dog biscuits.

He halted and sat on his haunches, seeming to consider me. The talking stopped.

Taking a deep breath to collect myself, I started closing up shop. I wiped down the counter with cleaner and turned off the lights. Then, massaging my temples, I headed toward the front door. When I reached it, I flipped the sign over to read “CLOSED.” I grinned, glad that I made my own easy work schedule of ten a.m. to six p.m.

As I opened the door to leave for the day, Marshmallow budged in front of me with his nose in the air. He squeezed through the gap and out to the pedestrian-friendly paved plaza. Worried that he’d run away, I bent down to snatch him up, but the cat seemed content to sit there crowd-watching. People meandered around the stores, popping into the fresh juice bar around the corner and checking out the boards on display in the surf shop closer to the pier.

A gentle sea breeze blew, making the palm trees, planted in two parallel rows, wave their green fronds at me. I gulped in the salt-tinged air floating to me from the beach a few blocks away to center myself.

It had to be sleep deprivation. I’d gotten little rest while preparing for the big opening of Hollywoof. Or maybe it was the stress from this afternoon after seeing Sterling move like a glacier. His slowness struck me as very strange for the feisty Chihuahua breed, and I worried about the little guy as I headed home.

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•   •   •

The drive on the 405 was as good (or bad) as usual. The major freeway ran north and south through Southern California, and people joked that it was well named because traffic moved at “four or five” miles per hour.

The pulsing sea of red brake lights before me and the rushing headlights speeding down the other side of the freeway put me in a sour mood. Though traffic wasn’t bumper to bumper, I still appreciated the great gas mileage on my Prius. We finally reached home sweet home.

Seaview Apartments didn’t live up to its name. No ocean view existed. In fact, it was miles away from any body of water. However, the nearby 405 offered ongoing traffic as a white noise substitute for ocean waves. The stucco walls of the modest complex had seen better days. I think the original color had been a cheerful peach, but now it looked more like a faded urine yellow.

Oh well, at least the rent was cheap. I could afford a one-bedroom in this area and not need to move back into my parents’ ranch house.

“End of the line,” I told Marshmallow as I unbuckled his carrier and lifted it out of the back seat.

At least I lived in one of the ground-level units. I’d hate to manhandle the cage up a flight of stairs.

In my apartment, I struggled to take Marshmallow out of his carrier. He didn’t move and instead roared at me. I couldn’t tell if he was carsick or hangry, but I was glad he was using a normal cat noise to express himself.

Pulling out a silver dish, I placed it on the linoleum floor of my cramped kitchenette. Marshmallow got a bowlful of kitty food while I slapped together an Elvis sandwich. Mm, peanut butter and banana.

Starving, I didn’t even bother to sit down at my IKEA particleboard dining table. Instead, I chewed, leaning over the cracked porcelain kitchen sink. A glob of peanut butter slipped out of my sandwich and onto my top, a black T-shirt with a cartoon dog saying, “I PAWS for no one.”

Time to do laundry. In fact, the wicker hamper in my bedroom was already overflowing. In the tiny space that held only a nightstand and a bed, the dirty clothes had taken over half of my full-size mattress.

I shucked off my T-shirt and put on a pair of faded plaid pajamas, the only clean outfit left in the apartment. After transferring the dirty laundry to a fabric bag, I grabbed a roll of quarters off my cluttered nightstand.

Dragging the stuffed sack out of the bedroom and past the kitchen, I noticed Marshmallow curled up in a ball.

“See ya later,” I said.

He gave me a slow nod as I exited. I saw his empty dish and understood: Food coma. Good, because I needed a break.

When I emerged outside, I saw a brilliant orange and pink sunset, courtesy of L.A.’s air pollution. The vivid colors made even the inner courtyard of Seaview look pretty. The rectangular patch of artificial grass with its ferns in scattered pots seemed more inviting.

I whistled as I headed to the laundry room. Time for some quiet. The area held three sets of washers and dryers, but I had yet to run into anyone in my few months of living at the complex.

Maybe it was because the machines were crazy clunking old. Or how they took only quarters. Perhaps people hauled their laundry to proper Laundromats instead. Plus, the whole complex housed a mere fourteen units—

“Alamak!” my mother had exclaimed upon hearing the number. “Very unlucky.”

“Fourteen?” I’d said, clutching the apartment key with sweaty fingers.

“Number like meaning for sure die.”

Remembering, I shook my head. Ma with her superstitions and old beliefs. You would’ve thought marrying outside her race meant a more modern mind. Guess she’d taken emotional baggage along with her physical luggage when she emigrated from Malaysia.

I stared at the laundry room. An unusual sight—the door had been propped open with a rock. Someone was inside sitting on a plastic chair and reading a huge book. A cute someone.

Even from the threshold, I could tell. His dark brown hair flopped down, hiding his face as he read, but I still saw his lean body.

He wore a white tank top with cargo shorts, and I could see his biceps move as he flipped the page. I felt my cheeks ignite. If only I wasn’t wearing these frumpy pj’s.

I backed up, but my heavy laundry sack hit the side of the door. The loud thwack made the stranger look up. Ack. He was even cuter when I saw his face uncovered: intelligent, dark brown eyes, kissable lips, and a small dimple as he grinned up at me.

He beckoned me forward. “Come on in.” He gestured to the row of unused washers. “I’m up for grabs. I mean, they’re up for grabs. My stuff is in the dryer.”

“Uh, okay.” I marched in with a straight back, trying to appear taller and also less ridiculous in my plaidwear.

I stuffed my delicates into the machine first, hoping the handsome stranger would remain engrossed in his book. After I’d finished, I turned around to find him staring at me with those dreamy eyes.

He waved. “Hi, I’m Josh Akana. Moved in about two weeks ago.”

My mouth felt dry, and I swallowed. “Mimi Lee,” I said. “Not related to Bruce.”

His thick eyebrows rose up. The unasked question lingered in the air.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “People think I know kung fu when they hear my last name. The thing is my dad’s white. Joke’s on them.” I babbled when I got nervous. This was why I worked with animals. Zero social skills.

“I wouldn’t have assumed that.” He closed his thick book and motioned for me to sit next to him.

Oh my gosh (or Josh). Did he want to keep talking to me? I sat down and peeked at his book. “So, what are you reading?” That was my opener?

He swept his bangs out of his eyes. “A casebook. Boring law stuff.”

“Are you a lawyer?” He looked around my age. “Or maybe a law student?”

Josh coughed. “I was a 3L last year.”

“Meaning . . .” I tucked my frizzy hair behind my ears.

He reached into his wallet. Pulling out a business card, he waved it in the air before placing it on top of his book. “I’m an attorney now. Last year I finished law school at USC.”

Don’t say it, I told myself, but it was like a Pavlovian response. “USC. University of Spoiled Children.”

He chuckled, a fun laugh I wanted to continue hearing.

I kept dishing it out. “Or University of Second Choice.” I clapped my hand over my mouth.

He stared at me with widened brown eyes.

Ugh. I’d insulted his alma mater twice. The Bruin had come out in me. Rivalry between UCLA and USC ran deep. Then again, my alma mater had its own nickname: University of Caucasians Lost among Asians. Ma had loved the moniker, thinking I might graduate with an MRS degree instead of a bachelor’s.

Before I could fix the situation, my phone piped out “Chapel of Love,” as though thinking of her had summoned Ma like a genie. I’d chosen the tune tongue in cheek to symbolize Ma’s ultimate goal for me.

I held up one finger to Josh. Ma would go paranoid if I didn’t pick up. She worried about me working by myself in the shop at nights all alone.

I hit the speakerphone button, letting Josh know it was a harmless conversation. Me? No boyfriend. Single and free. I held the phone up with my left hand, facing it toward Josh, so he could see my empty ring finger.

“Hi, Ma,” I said, chirping out her name.

“Mimi. Where you are, eh?” Ma’s voice came out bold, like a lioness.

“I’m home, safe.”

Ma kept yell-talking. “I at store. Need anything?”

Boy, was she loud. Should I take her off speakerphone? But then maybe Josh would think I had something to hide. I edged closer to the running washer to muffle her volume.

“No. Actually, I’m busy.” I glanced over at Josh, who’d opened his book again, at least pretending to give me some semblance of privacy.

“I need tell you: Date at kopi tiam in two days. Starbucks.”

I hazarded a glance at Josh. He hadn’t flipped the page, and his body was angled toward me.

“Ma, now is not the time.”

Nearby, the dryer dinged. Josh got up to put his clean laundry away.

Ma’s voice rose an octave in excitement. “Ah, guess what I find on sale? Perfect for you. Rubbers.”

I slapped my forehead. The tips of Josh’s ears turned red, and he shoveled his clothes into the basket.

Covering the phone, I said, “That’s not what it sounds like.”

“No need to explain.” He scurried away with his full basket, grabbing his book on the way out.

While Ma gabbed about prices, I shouted at Josh’s back, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

He must have heard I had a date. Then Ma talked about rubbers. He put one plus one together.

“Ma, how many times do I have to tell you? They’re called erasers in America.”

“Sorry lah. I forget.”

No matter how long she lived here, Ma still held on to some funny English. I blamed it on Malaysia’s roots as a British colony.

“You need or not?” Ma continued. “Good for bookkeeping. If you need erase number . . . Or maybe Daddy come help you.”

I blew out a long breath. “No, I can do it myself. Let Dad enjoy retirement.”

She gave me a kiss over the phone. “Don’t forget. Kopi date.”

“I don’t even drink coffee, Ma.”

“Have fun,” she said and hung up.

A few seconds later, my phone pinged with a text giving me the Starbucks details.

Ma had too much free time on her hands. Dad golfed as a hobby after retiring. Ma match-maked. And she told me she’d up her efforts now that I had turned twenty-five, claiming that after rounding up, I was practically thirty.

Well, I could find guys on my own. Or not.

I looked at the empty chair Josh had vacated. Something small and rectangular lay on the ground beneath it. His business card. He’d probably dropped it while running away from me.

Aiyaa, my love life sucked. At least four-legged mammals adored me (with the possible exception of Marshmallow). Animals gave me sanctuary, and I looked forward to a peaceful day at Hollywoof tomorrow. What could possibly go wrong in that safe haven?