Pardon my frenchie, p.19
Pardon My Frenchie, page 19
“There’s no way you’re going to be able to eat all the food you want to try tonight,” Thad said.
“Watch me,” she said.
He laughed as he took a seat. “I do love a woman who loves food.” He sat up straight and turned to her. “I didn’t mean—” Shit. “You know what I meant.”
Ashanti tipped her head back and sighed up at the clear September night sky.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “We are going to lose our minds if we spend the next two days apologizing for every little thing we say that might get misinterpreted. We’re ignoring slipups, remember?”
The ridiculous part was them trying to ignore this attraction between them, but hadn’t he just convinced himself it was for the best?
“That’s what we agreed to do,” Thad answered.
He would pretend to ignore it. He would also mentally obsess over anything that even remotely hinted that her interest in him was shifting into something different. Because, apparently, torturing himself was now on his list of must-do’s.
“Just for the record,” Thad continued. “I really do love when a person can enjoy a good meal without being self-conscious about it.”
“Why would I be self-conscious? A girl’s gotta eat. And while in New York, this girl is going to eat everything.” She nudged her chin toward the pita in his hand. “You better get going on that. I don’t want the cupcake place to close on me. In fact…” She took out her phone. “Oh, good. They’re open until ten. We’ve got time.”
Thad took two big bites out of his gyro, which was, admittedly, one of the best he’d had outside of Mykonos.
“So is New York everything you thought it would be?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Ashanti said. “Tall buildings, lots of people, good food. The selfie-obsessed cab driver threw me, but I guess that just goes to show how much star power Duchess and Puddin’ have.”
“I still don’t get it,” Thad said.
“Have you ever watched the video that went viral?” Ashanti asked. “It is the very definition of adorable.”
“I guess I just find it weird how some people can treat pets better than they treat actual people,” he said. “Case in point.” He nodded toward the woman walking a medium-size dog. Its pristine white fur was trimmed to perfection and it had on a hot pink coat with matching hot pink boots. “She probably paid more for that dog’s outfit than some people pay for their entire wardrobe.”
“Not unless it’s couture,” Ashanti said. “I’m kidding.” Then she shook her head. “I take that back. I’ve seen some dresses that run in the four figures.”
“Anyone paying four figures for a dog’s dress needs to have their credit card taken away,” Thad said. He looked over at her, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to his next question. “Please tell me Duchess doesn’t have clothes that cost a thousand dollars?”
Her easy laugh melded with the sounds of the city traffic.
“There is no way I would spend over forty dollars for any piece of clothing for my dog.” She held up a finger. “And just to be clear, I’ve only spent forty dollars once, to support a client who has a doggy clothing shop on Etsy. I have my own business to grow and twin sisters who will be starting college in a couple of years. I have to watch my money.”
“Twins? You mean there’s a clone of the one who wanted to chop off my head for leaving Puddin’ locked in my truck?”
“Sure is. Kara and Kendra. They’re identical twins, but their personalities could not be further apart. Kendra would have walked past your truck and shrugged at the sight of Puddin’ in there.”
It was none of his business, but he still asked, “And you’re raising them on your own?”
She nodded, slipping another fry in her mouth. After taking a sip from the bottle of water she’d brought with her from the hotel, she said, “My parents died six years ago.”
Thad winced. “I’m sorry. Car accident?”
That was usually the case when a couple died together. That, or a fire. Or a murder suicide. Shit, he hoped it wasn’t a murder suicide.
“I wish it was that simple,” Ashanti said. She glanced over at him. “It’s kind of a long story. Actually, it’s not that long, just… complex.”
Definitely murder suicide. Damn.
“You see, my dad did die in a car accident,” she said. “On the same day that we lost my mom.”
“But not together?”
“Nope.” She wrapped up the other half of her gyro and set it next to her on the fountain ledge. Then she rubbed her balled-up fists against her thighs and stared straight ahead, to the cars rolling along Sixth Avenue.
Her face was impassive, but Thad could sense the unease emanating from her. Her shoulders had gone rigid with a tension he could suddenly feel in his own muscles.
“You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” he said.
“No, no. I’m good,” Ashanti said. “Okay, I’ll never be good when it comes to talking about losing my parents, but it has gotten better with time.”
Thad remained silent, giving her the time she needed to get comfortable with what she was preparing to share.
“My mom was a mail carrier for the postal service,” Ashanti started. “She was almost at the end of her route when she passed out in the lobby of a building downtown. Turns out she’d had an aneurysm. There was an ambulance just a couple of blocks away, but she was gone before they got her to the hospital.”
“Damn, Ashanti. I’m sorry,” he said again.
Was there another set of words in the English language that sounded more inadequate? But Thad couldn’t think of anything else to say. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to reach for her. A hand on her arm, on her shoulder? Would she reject the gesture, or lean into it?
“What about your dad?” he asked, deciding to keep his hands to himself.
She sucked in a deep, shaky breath. He was about to retract his question, when she continued.
“When he got the call about what had happened from Mom’s supervisor, he dropped everything and went to the hospital.”
She kneaded her thighs again, dragging the heels of her palms up and down. When she spoke, her voice was so soft Thad could barely hear it above the traffic.
“He ran a red light on his way home from the hospital, and there was an accident,” she said. “No one else was hurt, but the medics said my dad died instantly.”
Fuck.
Life could be cruel and then it could be downright savage. But he knew that better than most. He’d witnessed children become orphans, their entire family taken out by high-capacity artillery projectiles strong enough to destroy a city block. He was an instrument of life’s brutality.
“That was bad enough,” Ashanti continued. “Seriously, it was unlike anything I ever imagined living through. But then the life insurance company made it a thousand times worse.” She looked over at him again. The taut lines pulling down the corners of her mouth told him he wasn’t going to like where her next words landed. “They tried to get out of honoring his policy by saying that my dad ran the red light on purpose—that he died by suicide.”
“What the fuck? Excuse my language,” Thad said. “But that is fucked up.”
“It was awful. It wasn’t even a huge policy, just enough to pay off the house and cover the funerals.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. When she spoke again, her voice was weak. Thready. “Thing is, I’m not sure if the insurance company wasn’t right.”
“Ashanti,” he whispered, barely able to get her name past the lump in his throat.
“In my heart I know Dad wouldn’t leave me and the girls alone on purpose, but my mom was his entire world. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that the thought of facing life without her was too much for him to bear.
“They met when I was seven years old, and it was love at first sight for all three of us, me, dad, and my mom. My biological dad died when I was still a baby. He had a rare form of cancer that took him within months of his diagnosis.” She shrugged. “Lincoln Wright was the only dad I ever knew, and he was perfect.”
Her smile at the memory told Thad all he needed to know about her stepdad—her dad.
“Even after the twins were born, he never once treated me as anything other than his own,” she said. “I was so broken the day we lost them. If not for Evie and Ridley at my side, and knowing that I had to be there for Kara and Kendra, I’m not sure if I would have made it through that night.”
“Yet you’ve made it through six years. And grown a business. And raised twin teenagers. I should nominate you for a Medal of Honor, or whatever is the civilian equivalent.”
Her smile broadened. “I don’t deserve any medals. Believe me. I constantly fall down on the job, and there have been times…” She shook her head. “Let’s just say it hasn’t been the easiest road to travel. The year the girls turned twelve there were at least a half-dozen instances when I considered changing my name and running away from home.”
“Ouch,” Thad said.
“Yeah, that was the year of Kara’s Ramona Flowers phase. She discovered the movie Scott Pilgrim vs. the World and decided that being a sulky, sarcastic preteen who changed her hair color on a regular basis was the only way to be. She’s dialed back on the sarcasm—a little—but stuck with the hair dye.” She huffed out a laugh. “Now it’s Kendra who’s the sulky one.”
“Was there no one who could help with raising them? No family members you could call on?”
“My dad has an older sister, but I don’t even want to go there. She was not an option.”
The hostility that entered her voice piqued his interest, but he wouldn’t ask her to wade into anything she wasn’t up to discussing. At the same time, he didn’t want her to stop.
Given how challenging it had been for him to adjust after the void leaving the Army had created, Thad was awed by her ability to overcome the life-altering loss she’d suffered. How had she managed to surmount that kind of pain at such a young age, let alone guide twin teenagers through it?
“So, what stopped you from changing your name and running away?” he asked.
This time her smile was genuine. And achingly beautiful.
“Duchess,” she answered.
Thad chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Her powers go far beyond starring in viral videos,” Ashanti said. “She really was a lifesaver. It wasn’t until about two years after my parents died that I finally conceded that we needed to talk to a therapist. He was the one who suggested bringing a pet into the home. I took the girls to a local shelter, and we all fell in love with Duchess the moment we saw her.”
She paused as a double-decker tour bus rolled by, then continued. “It’s funny, because I had avoided getting another dog for years.” She glanced over at him. “My dad bought me a golden retriever, Toby, the year he and Mom got married. I had him through grade school, up to my freshman year of college. I wanted to wait until after I finished veterinary school before I got another dog.”
“You were in vet school?”
She nodded. “I was in my final year when Mom and Dad died,” she said. “And before you ask, yes, it was a huge blow to have to quit before I earned my degree. And, yes, I do think about going back, although I don’t like to admit it.”
She turned to him then, pulling one foot up on the ledge and resting her chin against her bent knee.
“You know what I realized not too long ago? I don’t think about it all that often anymore. I would have been a great veterinarian, but I got the idea to open Barkingham Palace after boarding Duchess at another facility. My biological dad left a small trust that was turned over to me when I turned twenty-five. I used that money to start the daycare, and I don’t regret it. I learned that sometimes the hand you’re dealt is better than the one you’d originally planned to play.”
Her optimism in the face of such tragic circumstances floored him. If anyone had the right to whine, it was her.
“Yeah, well, even a good hand can have a couple of shitty cards,” Thad said. “It sounds like you were dealt more than your share.”
“No argument there,” she said with a rueful chuckle. Thad had to fight the urge to brush back several of her braids that had fallen out of place.
“I wouldn’t wish what happened to my family on anyone,” Ashanti continued. “But things have gotten better with time.”
“Was Duchess the inspiration for the daycare? Is she the reason behind the theme, because her name was Duchess?”
“Her name was originally Jelly Bean,” she said.
“Ah! So this is why she worships you. You rescued her from both a shelter and a stupid name.”
“Stop it,” she said, tapping his arm with a playful punch. The innocent touch stirred a prickle of awareness that penetrated through the layers of his shirt and jacket.
“My mom is the inspiration behind both Duchess’s name and the Buckingham Palace theme,” she said, blithely unaware of the havoc she was wreaking in him. “Her obsession with the royals makes Beyoncé’s BeyHive look like child’s play.”
“I hope this doesn’t make you think less of me, but I have no idea what Beyonce’s beehive is. Is it a line of flavored honey?”
Her laugh was rich and undiluted and without a single thought for his feelings. Thad joined her so that she would be laughing with him and not at him.
“Not well-versed in pop culture, huh?” Ashanti asked when she finally came up for air. “It’s the BeyHive, not beehive. And it’s what her fanbase calls itself. Come to think of it, my mom would have fit right in with them. She loved Beyoncé. She even learned the ‘Single Ladies’ dance with Kara and Kendra.
“But her love of the royals topped anything I’ve ever seen. She thought Princess Diana was the ultimate lady, and that Fergie, the Duchess of York, was the most badass woman in the world. I was going to name Duchess Fergie, but I thought people would assume she was named after the singer from the Black Eyed Peas.”
“I do know who they are,” Thad was quick to say.
“I wouldn’t have judged you either way,” she said. A winsome smile drew across her lips. “You know, the first time I ever saw my mother cry was during Princess Diana’s funeral. I was maybe five or six at the time and had no idea what was going on. I just remember climbing onto her lap with this dirty little stuffed lamb that I used to carry everywhere. I put my head on her chest and watched the procession on TV.”
This time, Thad didn’t fight the urge to touch her. He reached over and tapped the toes of her simple canvas tennis shoes.
“I’ll bet it was quite the scene in heaven when your mom finally got the chance to meet Princess Diana.”
Her face instantly lit up with a smile so bright it outshone all the lights in the city. His vow to remain unaffected by her was no match for that smile. It was fast on its way to being broken.
“I can only imagine,” Ashanti said. She lifted his hand from her foot and squeezed it. “Thank you for that. I still have those days when the grief hits me out of nowhere, but it will make things easier to think about Mom up there with the woman she idolized so much. Seriously, thank you.”
She started to let go of his hand, but Thad wouldn’t let her. He slightly twisted his so that they were palm against palm, then he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her smooth skin, feeling a nick along the ridge of her knuckle. He wanted to ask how she got it, and how she managed to keep a smile on her face when she had suffered through such tragedy, and how she’d managed to keep her head above water while shouldering more responsibilities than any single person should have to shoulder. He wanted to know a thousand and one things about her.
But he couldn’t ask her any of that. That wasn’t the type of relationship they had.
Relationship?
They didn’t have a relationship. He doubted Ashanti would call what they had a friendship. He was one of her customers.
Thad didn’t know how to classify the sharp ache that hit him in the chest. Regret? Frustration? A combination of both?
He finally dropped her hand and asked the only question that truly needed answering.
“Ready for that cupcake?”
24
Who’s the better dancer, you or Von?”
For the past half hour, Ashanti had intentionally stuck to lighthearted topics, trying to banish the lingering heavy weight of discussing her parents’ deaths.
She and Thad had started back for their hotel after buying a half-dozen cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, deciding to walk instead of taking the subway so that she could see Times Square and other midtown Manhattan sites.
He’d rolled his eyes when she made him double back so she could walk through the mini plexiglass waterfall tunnel between Forty-Eighth and Forty-Ninth Streets and take pictures with the bronze Paparazzi Dogman and Paparazzi Rabbitgirl sculptures that shared a terrace with it. But when she told him the significance behind the art piece and its connection to Princess Diana—how the dog represented the media that literally hunted down the princess, leading to her death—he not only brought her back but stepped in as her photographer.
“Well?” Ashanti now prompted him as they turned the corner onto Seventh Avenue. “Which of you is the better dancer? You or Von?”
“I don’t dance,” Thad answered.
“Oh, come on. You at least do the Electric Slide at cookouts.”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Seriously?” Ashanti held out her hand. “That’s an unforgivable offense. Give me your Black card.”
“Hey, no relinquishing of the Black card.” He laughed. “I’m usually the one manning the grill at the cookout, so I get a pass.”
She gave him a suspicious look before dropping her hand. “Okay, you’re forgiven. It’s still no excuse for never dancing.”
“I didn’t say I never dance. I can’t tell you how many Army balls I’ve had to attend over the last decade.”
“That doesn’t count. You can’t do any real dancing in those starched uniforms.” She took a bite of her vanilla cupcake with strawberry frosting and released a moan. “I swear, if I’d known how good these cupcakes really were, I would have bought a dozen.”
