The Wedding Circle by Ashton Lee Page B

every night to her house halfway between Cherico and Corinth, thankfully with audiobooks from the library to keep her company. Was some sort of epic change looming on the horizon?

    Periwinkle was pleased with all the decisions she, Maura Beth, and her Parker had made earlier regarding the upcoming dinner for the parents of the bride and groom. The menu had been set: cucumber and red onion salad; followed by spice-rubbed, grilled chicken breasts with homemade chunky salsa; and finally, Parker’s key lime icebox pie for dessert. Despite what she had heard about Maura Beth’s parents, she couldn’t imagine that anyone could possibly be picky about delicious fare like that. After all, her livelihood was based on the truism that everyone spoke the common language of good food.
    Now it was time to close up and drive home at the end of yet another successful day of business at The Twinkle. Her Parker had made it known from the beginning of his employment that he didn’t much like her being the last one standing at ten o’clock every night, and he had intervened as the gentleman he was.
    â€œI don’t mind staying a half hour longer to lock up with you,” he had insisted that first time on the job. “I’d feel better about things.”
    â€œHey, I’ve done it for years, and I’m a big girl,” she had told him. “I have mace on the premises, and I took a self-defense class a few years back. You just go on home and look after that sweet little mother of yours. You give Ardenia my best, now.” And with a carefree wink, she had sent him on his way ahead of her—even if their send-offs these days had now escalated into long, heartfelt hugs, followed by delicious little pecks on the cheek.
    In fact, the warm, fuzzy feelings generated by their latest good-bye were coursing through her veins as she turned the back-door key and headed toward her Impala. She always parked it in the slot beside the big, rusty-looking Dumpster, which for some reason she had come to think of as a stout sentinel looking after her precious Twinkle. She was also daydreaming about the humorous text she had received during the dinner service from up-and-coming country singer, Waddell Mack, telling her that he planned to stop by The Twinkle next time he was passing through Cherico on his way to Nashville. i hear ur place is word of mouthwatering, the text had concluded, causing her to break out into laughter to the surprise of everyone working in the kitchen. Why, if he actually showed up and ate her food, she might just have to start a wall of autographed celebrity pictures! That might really put The Twinkle on the map!
    Thus, her guard was down when the long shadow cast from a nearby streetlight fell ominously across the asphalt stretching out in front of her. In an instant, her arms were encircled and pinned behind her as a gruff male voice declared: “Guess who, Peri?”
    She felt like she had been stabbed with a hypodermic full of adrenaline as she got out a couple of piercing screams for help. But the voice immediately intervened. “Stop all that yelling, Peri! It’s just me, Harlan!”
    He loosened his grip, allowing her to break away from him. Then she spun around, her eyes filled with contempt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You scared me to death sneaking up on me like that!”
    â€œIt was just a joke. I didn’t mean anything by it. But seriously, I need to talk to you,” he said, softening his tone a bit.
    She brandished her car keys in front of his face. “Some joke! You see these? I was fixin’ to put your eyes out with ’em. Or give you a swift kick to that almighty junk of yours you prize so highly. What on earth’s wrong with you? You wanna talk to me—you call me up like a normal human being and say what you gotta say. Or you show up in broad daylight when there are witnesses around. Whadda you mean stalkin’ me