“What’s going on with Mrs. Frances? Why isn’t she at her house? Did they extend her rehab? Is she in skilled nursing? How long before she gets to return home?”
Ashanti knew she’d gone overboard by the third question, but she couldn’t help it. Frances Sutherland was truly one of her favorite people. She was the one who’d first encouraged Ashanti to sell the baked treats that she initially only gave out as a weekly gift to her regulars. She was also one of those older Black Southern women who constantly shared unsolicitedadvice, but who did so in such a subtle and polite way that you didn’t mind.
“I’m just concerned,” Ashanti said. “I’ve known your grandmother for years.”
For a moment she thought he would ignore her barrage of questions, but then he said, “She had to move to an assisted living facility. She’s doing better after hip surgery, but she needs to be in a place where there are people who can take care of her if something like this happens again.”
That must have been a hard pill to swallow for such an independent woman.
“Is it the facility on Orleans Avenue or the one on Esplanade?” Ashanti asked.
He cocked his head to the side and stared at her, his expression the very definition of annoyance. “You’re her dog sitter. Why do you need to know all of this?”
“Because I consider Mrs. Frances a friend,” Ashanti said. She was beyond offended by his tone and by being relegated to the role of a simple dog sitter. She owned this business, and she did a hell of a lot more here than just dog sit.
“What is your problem?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“My problem?” he asked as he reached into the pocket opposite where he’d put his phone and retrieved a wallet. “Let’s see. Maybe it’s that we’re standing here playing twenty questions instead of you getting that dog so I can get on with the rest of my day.” He slid out a credit card and handed it to Deja. “You can put the balance on this.”
In the span of five seconds there were at least five inappropriate responses that nearly shot out of Ashanti’s mouth. But he was a client. Well, client-adjacent. The first rule of being agood business owner was that you did not curse out your clients. No matter how much they deserved it.
Her eyes still trained on him, she sucked in a calming breath before she said, “Deja, please ask Leslie to bring Puddin’ up to reception. He should have three containers of food in the refrigerator. Have her bring those too.”
Thaddeus’s bored look only agitated her more as they waited for the dog.
He must be adopted. Or maybe it was one of those situations where Mrs. Frances had taken him in as a kid and he’d started calling her his grandmother. There had to be some other explanation, because there was no way this cranky-ass man and that sweet, kind woman had the same blood running through their veins.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the credit card and receipt Deja handed him. He looked at the printout then looked at Ashanti. “Are you serious?”
Before she could respond, the pocket doors slid open and Leslie came in with Puddin’. The poodle growled at Thaddeus before running to Ashanti’s side.
Smart dog.
She dropped to one knee and rubbed his fluffy ears.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I know you don’t want to go with this”—she looked up at Thaddeus—“man. But it’ll be okay.” She stood. “He’s had his morning meal. He eats again at six.” She handed Thaddeus the containers with the homemade food that Leslie had brought up from the back, then walked over to the display rack and pulled a small bag of the hypoallergenic kibble from the shelf. “I’m not sure if Mrs. Frances has any of Puddin’s food at home. He has strict dietary restrictions. Mix a half cup of the food in those containers with a half cup of the food in this bag.”
Shaking his head again as he reached for the dog food, Thaddeus muttered, “It’s a dog. He’ll be happy with whatever I give him.”
Ashanti pulled the bag away before he could grab it. “Why don’t you just leave him here?” she suggested. “We’ve been taking care of Puddin’ for the past two years. He knows and loves the entire staff.”
“Lady, come on. I need to get going.”
Lady?
She nearly broke the first rule of being a good business owner.
Holding back another barrage of swear words she rarely used, she finally handed him the food, then fluffed Puddin’s topknot. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie.”
“No, you won’t,” Thaddeus said as he wrapped Puddin’s turquoise-and-black zebra-striped leash around his hand. “I’m not wasting money sending this dog to daycare.”
“What?” Ashanti all but gasped. He could not be serious. “Where will he go during the day?”
“He will be at the house like a normal dog.”
“Puddin’ is not a normal dog! Wait, no. I mean, of course, he’s a normal dog, but he needs social interaction. I told you, Mrs. Frances has been sending him here for two years.”
“Have a nice day,” he said, turning for the door.
