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 ofallthe 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?”
35
Thad perched against the stainless-steel kitchen counter, observing Ashanti as she counted the sheet pans stacked on the worktable opposite where he stood. The commissary kitchen manager had left them to explore the kitchens while she showed the adjacent space to potential tenants.
“I can easily fit two dozen of the scepter treats on these,” Ashanti said. “And I can get six pans in the oven at a time. I can’t believe I waited so long to rent this space. Do you know how much time this will save me?”
“I’m guessing a lot by the smile on your face,” Thad answered.
After the morning he’d had with the fire that turned out to be nothing, but that scared the hell out of him all the same, seeing that smile was exactly what he needed. And yet, it was unnerving to realize the effect her presence could have on his mood. So much of his happiness—his feeling of worth—had been tied to the Army; it was unsettling to think that he was replacing that with something else. Or, in this case, someoneelse.
Still, Thad couldn’t deny that she made him happy. Despite the fact that, in most regards, they were polar opposites. She was sweet where he was surly, optimistic where he was always looking to spot where things could go wrong. She loved dogs where he… well, that was changing. He had her to thank—or rather, blame—for that too.
Ashanti looked over her shoulder. “You don’t have to stay,”she told him. “I know you didn’t expect to be stuck here while I inspect every corner of these kitchens.”
“Do you hear me complaining?” Thad asked.
She grinned. “Well, if that’s the case, go over there and check those hood vents for me.”
He pushed away from the counter and walked over to the six-burner stove. Ashanti explained that most of the work would be done by the huge commercial ovens, but some of the ingredients had to be cooked and cooled before being added to the batter.
“Cooked pumpkin, butternut squash, and carrots are the key to super-soft doggy treats,” she said.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Thad said, laughing at her eye roll. He resumed his perched position against the counter. “So now that you’ve examined every piece of equipment in the kitchen, what do you think?”
“I think it’s perfect,” she said. She shifted her gaze to the three-section sink and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Then she looked back at him and smiled an overly bright smile. “It’s exactly what I need.”
Thad tilted his head, studying her face. “Then why do you look nervous?” he asked.
