34
Once again, Ashanti found herself in awe of Deja’s ability to handle the madness that had become Barkingham Palace’s reception area. She’d been trying to place a supply order for the last twenty minutes, but every time she so much as looked away from the phone, it rang.
And she thought she wouldn’t be able to get Anita’s visit off her mind. She barely had time to take a breath, let alone devote brain function to Anita and her threats.
The front door opened and a woman walked in with a gorgeous brindled Akita Inu on the end of a leash.
“Welcome to Barkingham Palace,” Ashanti greeted. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. This is Sano. We have a reservation for three nights of boarding.”
Ashanti skimmed through the reservations for today. “Found him,” she said. “It looks as if Sano had his observation day a week ago.”
She had been in New York at the time. That would explain why she didn’t recognize this stunning dog.
“Let me make sure all is set with your reservation, and I’ll bring Sano in the back.”
As she pulled up the client software on the computer, her eye caught an email notification as it popped up on her phone. She noticed the sender shared the last name with a local grocery store chain and couldn’t fight off her curiosity long enough to get through checking in the dog.
She used one hand to pull up her email on her phone while using the other to scroll through the client list on the desktop, and wondered for the millionth time why humans had yet to perfect cloning.
“Here we are,” Ashanti said. “Oh, Sano is booked for the Sandringham Suite. Great choice. That will give him a lot of extra room to roam around.”
She opened the email from the local grocer and scrolled. Her pulse quickened. They wanted to carry Duchess Delights. A grocery store?
“That suite called to him,” the woman said. “It was very busy the day we came in for the observation, so we were only in for about an hour. But that was long enough for Sano to get a feel for the place.”
“We’ve been extremely busy,” Ashanti said.
“I’m not sure I mentioned it when we came for his observation day, but Sano doesn’t tolerate other dogs well. I’ve already prepaid for one-on-one playtime for him, separate from the other dogs.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” Ashanti said, pulling a Post-it from the dispenser near the computer mouse.
She skimmed the email, her eyes widening as they ran across the number of treats the grocery store chain was requesting. Her heart started pounding against her rib cage like it wanted to escape. Or dance. Maybe her heart was dancing. That’s what she felt like doing.
“Um, can you give me just a moment?” Ashanti asked.
“I have a plane to catch,” the woman said.
Damn it. Ashanti set down her phone. Barkingham Palace was her bread and butter; it had to be her focus. Although, if she’d read that email correctly, there was a whole lot of butter in her future.
If she could fill such a giant order.
She could and she would, because she had spent the past week working on a backup plan.
She finished checking Sano in for his boarding, then brought the dog to one of their largest suites. She poked her head into the small dog playroom to get an update on the Sanchezes’ Pomeranians and check in on Duchess. By the time she returned to the lobby, Deja had made it back from her son’s school.
“Thank God,” Ashanti said. “You’re getting a bonus and a raise as soon as I can afford one.”
“I graciously accept,” Deja said.
“I’ll be in my office,” Ashanti told her.
Once behind her desk, she sifted through the papers cluttering it, looking for the number she’d jotted down earlier this week. She’d come up with the idea to rent out professional kitchen space as a temporary solution to her small kitchen. And it’s a good thing she’d started looking, because there was no way her little oven could handle this, even if she recruited Evie to help with the baking again.
Ashanti called the number and—thank you, God!—discovered the kitchen was still available. The woman offered to meet her there in a half hour to tour the space.
“I’m only a few minutes away,” Ashanti said.
The kitchen was on the river side of St. Claude Avenue, not too far from the Bywater house.
The house in the Lower Garden District wasn’t hers yet, but it would be. It was just a matter of time and red tape. At Ridley’s urging—nagging—she had set up a meeting with her bank to talk financing. And, even though it made her stomach roil, had decided to put her parents’ house up for collateral if it came to that.
But she didn’t have the time to look for kitchen space in the Garden District. According to the email, the grocery store chain wanted to line up the order with a huge pet adoption day event they were hosting in partnership with the local SPCA. She needed to get those ovens going.
Ashanti grabbed her keys and headed back to the lobby.
“Deja, I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” She didn’t want to jinx things, but had to share. “Guess who wants to carry Duchess Delights?”
Deja screamed when she told her, giving Ashanti a high five.
“Tell me you hired bakers from the list we gave you,” Deja said.
Ashanti had been reviewing the résumés they’d forwarded to her, but hadn’t contacted anyone yet. The time for her to do that was yesterday.
“Not yet, but I will,” Ashanti said.
She got in the car and turned left onto St. Claude, heading for the commissary kitchen. She glanced down Clouet as she passed it and had to stop herself from stomping on the brake at the sight of fire trucks blocking the street.
“That can’t be…” Ashanti murmured as she quickly drove to the next street that would allow her to turn into the Bywater neighborhood. She kept telling herself that her judgment was off when it came to distance, even though she knew darn well it wasn’t. She’d had her eyes on that house for so long, she knew exactly where it was in proximity to every area of this city.
She turned onto Burgundy Street, her stomach pulling tight as she approached the fire engine parked in front of the Bywater house. She spotted Thad and Von standing on the front lawn with another man. Several more men, all wearing fluorescent orange vests and hard hats, stood closer to the house.
Ashanti parked one house down from them. She hurried out of her car and rushed over to Thad.
“What happened?” she asked as she approached.
He spun around, his expression turning from concerned to sunny in a matter of seconds.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“How’s it going, friend?” Von said.
Ashanti pointed to the fire truck. “What happened?” she asked again.
Von waved a hand at the house. “It was just a teeny, tiny fire. Nothing to get worked up about. It was confined to one part of that front room upstairs.”
Relief washed over her. She looked up to the window of the room that she had toured both in-person and virtually multiple times.
“My office,” she said. “That’s what I’d planned to make that room.”
“It’s going to be part of our cigar bar,” Von said. “Hey, at least we now know it can handle smoke.”
“Always with the jokes.” Thad rolled his eyes. “It really wasn’t much of anything,” he told Ashanti. “We’d actually put the fire out before the fire truck even arrived. A neighbor called them, so the firefighters decided to check things out just to make sure the integrity of the room hasn’t been compromised.”
“That fire took out a wall that had to come down anyway,” the other man said. He wore starchily pressed jeans and a button-down shirt with MILLER CONTRACTORS embroidered on the pocket.
“So, you see, you don’t have to worry about your house,” Von said. “I told you we’re going to take care of it.”
“I wasn’t worried about the house,” Ashanti said, and realized it was true. The initial jolt of fear had been for Thad, not the house. “I’m just glad you all are okay.”
“How did you know about the fire?” Thad asked.
“I didn’t. I just happened to look this way while on my way to see an industrial kitchen that’s available for rent.” She told him about the huge order she’d received. “I have to make sure the space will work before I can say yes to the order,” Ashanti said. “Do you, uh, want to come check it out with me? It’s not too far from here.”
“Take him,” Von said. “Please.”
Thad cut his eyes at Von before following Ashanti to her car.
“I’m getting the sense that something is going on between you and Von,” Ashanti said as she drove past the house and turned right again, heading back to St. Claude Avenue.
“He thought the fire would make me want to back out of going into business together. He’s convinced I’m going to come out of retirement.”
Her head whipped around as she pulled up to a red light.
“I’m not,” Thad said before she could voice her question. He leaned over and kissed her. “Even if I had entertained thoughts of going back to Colorado—which I hadn’t—there’s no way I’m leaving New Orleans now.” He kissed her again. “Now, tell me about this order. You think you can handle it?”
His question set off a surge of anxiety in her belly.
She had been asking herself that same question from the moment she first read the email. Once again, things were happening way too quickly. She needed to pause, to think things over and make sure she wasn’t biting off more than she could chew.
But she could also make the case for striking while the iron was hot. How much would it hurt Duchess Delights were she to turn down her largest order yet, an order that could get the treats into the hands of thousands? It would be ideal if she could gradually scale up her business, but sometimes it didn’t work out that way. Sometimes, you just had to go for it and trust that the path you’ve chosen is for the best.
She looked over at Thad and tried to keep the apprehension from showing on her face.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Ashanti said.
The manager of the commissary kitchen was waiting for them. As they toured it, Ashanti had no problem picturing herself working here. The counter space alone was enough to make her weep with joy.
“So do you think this will work for you?” the manager asked.
“It would change everything,” Ashanti said. She looked to the manager. “What do I have to do?”
“Tenants must sign a six-month lease with a minimum of twenty hours of use per month, at forty dollars per hour.”
Ashanti did the quick math. Eight hundred dollars. Although she would need the kitchen way more than just five hours per week. She should probably double that number.
“And that includes the use of all the kitchen equipment?” she asked.
“Everything you see here,” the woman said. “Linens as well, but I don’t think that applies to your needs.”
“The ovens and the shelf space are all I need,” she said.
But did she want to commit to six months in a kitchen in this neighborhood if Barkingham Palace was moving to the Lower Garden District? It would take at least twenty minutes to make the trek, and that was during non-rush-hour times.
Did she have a choice?
If she was going to accept that order, she would have to get to baking as soon as possible. She didn’t have time to seek out another kitchen and hope it had availability. Besides, it wasn’t as if the house on the corner of Terpsichore and Camp Street was move-in ready anyway. It would take at least six months, if not longer, to renovate.
She could not waffle on making this decision, because something else had occurred to her soon after she read that email.
The deal with the local grocery store chain was how she would get her hands on that house in the Lower Garden District. She wouldn’t have to put her parents’ house up for collateral; all she had to do was show the bank the purchase order.
Sure, her days would be spread even thinner than they were now, but that’s what it took to build a business. She had to go for it.
She turned to the commissary’s manager.
“Where do I sign?”