Pardon my frenchie, p.1
Pardon My Frenchie, page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Farrah Roybiskie
Cover design and illustration by Monique Aimee
Cover copyright © 2024 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First Edition: June 2024
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Rochon, Farrah, author.
Title: Pardon my Frenchie / Farrah Rochon.
Description: First Edition. | New York : Forever, 2024.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023051330 | ISBN 9781538739143 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781538739150 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Romance fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3618.O346 P37 2024 | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20231103
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023051330
ISBN: 9781538739143 (trade paperback), 9781538739150 (ebook)
E3-20240311-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Discover More
About the Author
Also by Farrah Rochon
Praise for Farrah Rochon
Dedicated to the memory of Chermaine Roybiskie, the best mama a girl could ever ask for. Your work here was done.
Well done, good and faithful servant. —Matthew 25:21
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1
Crouching near the start line, Ashanti Wright peered up at the white board on the judges’ table, examining the rankings for today’s event.
She stooped low and whispered into her French bulldog’s pointed ear.
“Listen to me, baby. This title is ours for the taking. Just run your race and don’t let these other doggies distract you.”
She glanced over at the Pekingese who posed the biggest threat to Duchess winning Best in Show. The other pup had been quick through the obstacle course, but Ashanti’s Frenchie was quicker. More agile. And cuter. Plus, she rocked a hot pink faux pearl tiara while zipping through the weave poles. Could the Pekingese do that?
Nope. Don’t think so.
A shadow fell upon Ashanti a second before she heard, “Uh-oh. I know that competitive look. You’re trying to win customers, not scare them off.”
Her younger sister Kara stood above her, licking a popsicle shaped like a dog bone.
“No reason Duchess can’t win too,” Ashanti countered. “And why are you eating a popsicle made for dogs?”
“The vendor said the ingredients are all natural. It’s not bad.” Kara shrugged as she bit off one end.
“Get back to the booth. You’re supposed to be taking orders for our dog treats, remember?”
“Is the French bulldog ready?” the head judge asked.
“You were born ready,” Ashanti murmured softly as she gave Duchess a final head scratch. She stood and, in a louder voice, said, “Yes, she is.”
This wasn’t exactly Westminster. It wasn’t even an official AKC event. But Ashanti still wanted to win. When it came to Duchess, she had a fierce competitive streak.
The final event was a handler-free run through the seven-apparatus obstacle course. Duchess wasn’t a show dog, but a course similar to this one was part of the regular exercise regimen Ashanti offered at Barkingham Palace, the doggy daycare she’d opened three years ago. A solid performance by Duchess was bound to draw interest from the dog lovers attending today’s Geaux for Fi-Deaux Jamboree.
That was the real reason she was here. Business. Her homemade dog treats had sold out within a half hour, which was why she had Kara now taking orders to ship and helping to drum up new clients for the daycare. Having Duchess take home the Best in Show ribbon would be gravy.
“On your mark,” the judge said. “And go!”
She gave Duchess’s butt a firm pat, and the dog took off, racing through the crawl tunnel and catapulting over the jump bars. Her baby was killing it. Ashanti couldn’t hide her ridiculously proud grin even if she tried.
She didn’t try.
But her smile faded when she felt a low vibration thump in her chest.
“Oh no,” Ashanti murmured.
The bass was coming from a vehicle that was still several blocks away.
“Not that,” she whispered, her attention swinging from Duchess to the car. “Anything but that.”
But it was that. Her stomach dropped at the unmistakable intro to Juvenile’s “Back That Azz Up.”
“Nooo,” Ashanti cried. But it was too late.
Duchess stopped just before reaching the hoop jump and started wiggling her pudgy tail. Her hind legs pumped up and down in time with the music.
Ashanti closed her eyes, expelling a defeated moan.
The laughter that broke out among the onlookers was so loud it drew an even bigger crowd, including Kara, who’d jogged back to the obstacle course. Her younger sister put her hands on her knees and popped her back, mimicking Duchess.
Ashanti cut her eyes at her.
Kara raised both hands. “Don’t blame me!”
“Oh, I am absolutely blaming you.” Kara and their other sister, her identical twin, Kendra, were the ones who’d trained Duchess to drop it like it’s hot to the late-nineties anthem that continued to be a source of pride for New Orleans.
The crowd laughed and cheered even louder when Duchess resumed the obstacle course once the car passed, as if nothing had happened.
Duchess’s dance break had cost her the blue ribbon, but a line of festival-goers followed them back to the booth. It wasn’t the kind of advertising Ashanti had intended, but now she wondered if she should rethink her marketing strategy.
She and Kara handed out the remaining bite-size samples of Duchess Delights’ sweet potato and carob twists—her most popular flavor—while a parade of people took selfies with her ridiculously photogenic Frenchie.
She was encouraged by the enthusiasm emanating from the crowd as she answered questions about the daycare. The minute the line slowed down, Ashanti turned to Kara.
“Where’s Kendra? She was supposed to be here an hour ago.”
“Sorry, but our twin telepathy is kinda like the ice cream machine at McDonald’s these days.” Kara pressed her thumbs to both temples. “I think it’s indefinitely incapacitated.”
“Text her,” Ashanti said before turning to a woman with two middle school–aged children and a collie in dire need of a brush. “Hello there,” she said. She stooped to dog level and ran her fingers through the collie’s mane, trying her best not to grimace at the tangles she found. “And who is this cutie?”
“This is Sadie. Where’s Puddin’?” the girl with blond pigtails asked.
“My kids love Duchess and Puddin’,” the mother said. “They made me play that Instagram Reel you posted last night ten times.”
Ashanti laughed, even though she hadn’t looked at their Instagram since last week. Between her one-woman treat-baking side hustle and supervising Barkingham Palace’s staff, she couldn’t afford to fall victim to the time suck that was social media. However, as a businesswoman, she understood the value of it. And she was grateful for the antics of Duchess and her standard poodle friend, Puddin’, that were suddenly sweeping the Internet. Kara was more than happy to post silly videos and promotion specials across their online platforms.
“Puddin’
“Oh no. My husband works from home, so there’s always someone there with her.”
“Doggy daycare is more than just dog sitting. It’s a way for Sadie to socialize with other pets in a fun, safe environment.” She held up a placard with a QR code. “Scan the code. It will take you to our website where you can learn about all that we offer.”
“Are there any more Duchess Delights?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re sold out. And we just gave away the last of the samples. You can find them at our daycare, and also at Lana’s Treasures in the French Quarter. And remember, your pet gets a free Duchess Delights treat every day when you book a seven-night or longer stay.”
Ashanti leaned toward Kara and whispered through her smile, “Am I trying too hard?”
“Like a freshman without a date for homecoming,” her sister whispered back.
Duchess and Sadie were still in the butt-sniffing stage of their getting-to-know-you meet and greet when, without warning, the collie snapped at Duchess. That ended Ashanti’s quest to reel her in as a client. If a dog couldn’t get along with her dog, they were not the right fit for Barkingham Palace.
Ashanti scooped Duchess into her arms.
“Bad girl, Sadie.” The mother smiled at Ashanti, as if her demon dog hadn’t just attempted to commit a felony against her Frenchie. “She does that every now and then.”
“You may want to talk to her vet about it,” Ashanti said. “I’m sorry, but it looks as if the fest is winding down. We need to start packing up our booth.”
As she and Kara started to break down the booth, Ashanti considered calling Kendra to help, but they would probably be done by the time her sister made it here from their house in the St. Roch neighborhood.
“We have to change the labels on the treats,” Kara announced as she rolled up the retractable banner. “I’m no longer happy with them.”
“What are you talking about? People loved the labels.”
“But I didn’t get the ‘wow’ reaction I was hoping for. I want customers to be so overwhelmed by the sheer cuteness of the packaging that they fall to their knees in awe.”
Ashanti rolled her eyes for what had to have been the hundredth time today. It was a common occurrence when dealing with her sister’s drama.
“Take Duchess to potty while I finish up here,” she told Kara. “I want to be back at the daycare in time to help Leslie with the evening feedings.”
Twenty minutes later, after dropping Kara off at a friend’s, Ashanti headed for Barkingham Palace. She tried to estimate how many of the people they talked to today could become potential customers. She wasn’t desperate for business, but every night one of the doggy suites went empty, it was another night that she wasn’t maximizing her profits.
The expansion plans she had in mind would require every cent she could make. She glanced at Duchess in the rearview mirror, sitting up high in her car seat.
“It’ll be worth it in the end, won’t it, baby?”
Ashanti pulled into her parking spot at the daycare. She didn’t bother with Duchess’s leash, carrying her up the steps and into the daycare.
“How’d it go at Geaux for Fi-Deaux?” asked her receptionist, Deja Fontenot.
“Duchess didn’t win Best in Show, but I sold out of the treats I made, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we get some new customers,” Ashanti said as she made a beeline to the smaller, inside play area. Duchess squirmed in anticipation. “Okay, okay. We’re almost there.”
The moment Duchess saw Puddin’, she dove out of Ashanti’s arms like Tom Daley off a ten-meter platform. She and the poodle danced around, behaving like long-lost friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. They had been together just a few hours ago.
“These two are ridiculous,” said Leslie, Deja’s cousin and Ashanti’s second-in-command.
“At what point does their obsession with each other go from being cute to problematic?” Ashanti asked, observing the dogs as they wrestled with each other over Duchess’s Peppa Pig plush. The moment one dog won the tug-of-war, it would immediately offer the plush to the loser.
Leslie shrugged. “It’s still pretty cute to me.”
Ashanti matched her shrug. “Let’s get the rest of the dogs fed, and then Duchess and I are going home.”
“I’ve already handled tonight’s feeding,” Leslie said. “And I brushed them all down.”
“Even Lulu and Sparkle?” The Sanchezes’ Pomeranians were notorious biters when it came to grooming.
“Done,” Leslie said. “Mark will be here for the overnight shift in another twenty minutes, so you and Duchess can head out now if you want.”
Barkingham Palace was the only boarding house in the city that offered staffed care onsite, twenty-four seven. They usually took turns doing overnights, but because of all the baking she had been doing lately, Ashanti had not worked one in more than a month.
“Okay, then,” she said, excited at the prospect of an extra hour of free time she hadn’t anticipated. Maybe she could catch up on an episode of Bridgerton. “Let’s go, Duchess.”
Her dog stopped in the middle of jostling with Puddin’. She looked from Ashanti to Leslie, then darted behind the play gym.
“Uh-oh. Looks like someone doesn’t want to leave her boyfriend.”
Ashanti sighed. “Not today, Duchess.”
“Leave her,” Leslie said. “She’s fine. Mark won’t mind her being here tonight.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I must say, I feel some kind of way about my dog choosing a boy over her mama.”
“Face it. Puddin’ can do more for her than you can.”
Ashanti narrowed her eyes as she pointed at the dogs. “You two better behave.”
They both barked, then simultaneously converged on Peppa Pig.
2
Okay, Monday, I’m gonna need you to stop acting like a Monday.”
Ashanti dropped to her knees and peered underneath her bedroom dresser, searching for her purple-and-white polka-dot ponytail holder. She spotted a hoop earring she hadn’t seen in ages, a lone sock, and the plastic chew toy Duchess had rejected like a scorned girlfriend rejects excuses on Valentine’s Day. But no ponytail holder.
She did not have time for this today.
The oven timer chimed with the distinctive tune that she had begun hearing in her sleep. She pushed up from the floor and darted down the short hallway, through the combined living room and dining room area, and into the kitchen. Even a minute longer in the oven would render the dog biscuits unsellable, and with the number of orders she had on her hands this week, there was zero margin for error. Geaux for Fi-Deaux had been extremely good for business.
Ashanti yanked open the oven door and retrieved two cookie sheets from inside, then searched in vain for somewhere to put them. It wasn’t until she’d launched this unintended side hustle that she finally understood why her mother used to complain about the kitchen’s lack of counter space. She was one big order away from this setup being unsustainable.
Who was she kidding? Her current situation had become unsustainable the morning she woke up with a silicone baking mat stuck to her face.
As she carried the cookie sheets to the dining room table, she spotted Kara bounding down the stairs with a sheaf of papers. The tips of her jet-black bob were aqua today to match her aqua Nikes.
“I can’t come up with a label design that screams ‘wow,’” Kara said. “And you need to invest in the next generation Cricut machine if you want me to take you seriously as an entrepreneur.”
“I told you, I cannot afford to spend eight hundred dollars on a printer,” Ashanti said.
“The newest model is a thousand now, and it is an investment.”
“Talk to me after I pay the rent on the daycare.” Ashanti looked to the stairs. “Where’s Kendra?” It felt as if she’d asked that question a thousand times this month. “And what time did she get home last night?”
“Umm… I’m not sure,” Kara hedged.
Ashanti gave her a don’t play with me stare.
“It is not fair of you to demand I rat out my twin,” Kara said. “That goes against every sibling code there is. You’ve been a big sister long enough to know this. Frankly, I’m disappointed in you, Shanti.”
Ashanti rolled her eyes. “Get to school.”
She started up the stairs, nodding at her parents’ wedding picture on the way. The practice had become as automatic as breathing. On most days it was to reassure them that she had things under control, but on days like today, the nod was her way of accepting the encouragement she knew Lincoln and Felicity Wright were sending her from the great beyond. She needed that encouragement more and more lately when it came to dealing with Kendra.
