The Woman He Married Read Online Free PDF

out loud and slapped the counter, Josie assumed that meant “No.” And she was correct.
    Josie moved from one quaint restaurant to another, all professing to cater, but all she heard was, “No, honey, we can’t do that.” And, “Not even my great aunt Pearl could pull together somethin ’ that fast, God rest her soul.” Not to mention, “Lord have mercy, you got yourself in a real pickle, young lady.” None of them seemed to be real busy; how hard could it be to throw together something for ten people? Josie even offered to pay extra.
    Doesn’t anyone in this town have any initiative?
    Josie had grown up in the south so she was used to, and embraced the laid-back, no hurry, “it’ll still be here tomorrow” attitude—but right about now it was starting to get on her nerves.
    Feeling hopeless, she pushed her way into the last place she could see that might be able to help her. Behind the counter was a young man wearing black pants, white shirt, and a forest green apron. He was thin with acne and looked like he might have been in his late teens or early twenties. He looked up and greeted Josie with a bored, “May I help you?”
    “Yes, I need a supper for ten, catered,” Josie said, in the sweetest Southern vernacular she could muster at the moment.
    “When?” He was still bored, or half brain-dead. She couldn’t tell which.
    Nonchalantly, Josie said, “Tonight,” followed by a sheepish smile—and she may have even batted her eyes a bit in desperation.
    He chuckled just a little. He was awake. “I don’t think so,” he said in a tone that also implied, “Duh!”
    “You don’t understand; at seven this evening I’m gonna have eight very important people—to my husband anyway—at my house expecting a fabulous meal that just tragically burned up down the street.” Josie made sure their gazes met for effect. “Can you help me?”
    “No.”
    “But I have no place else to go.” Josie was pleading now.
    “Can’t do it. No can do. Not gonna happen.” He was bored again.
    Desperation morphing into rage, she said, through clenched teeth, “Look here…” looking him up and down for a nametag and when she couldn’t find one, she repeated, “Look here! I’ve got a beautiful table set for ten people I don’t even like, no food to serve them, a husband that doesn’t care and…and kids in banana costumes that look like penises ! I need you to focus!”
    Not realizing that her voice had grown quite loud, Josie recoiled a bit when a very large man in suspenders and a short white beard appeared through a door behind the counter. Why is it that at some point in life every Southern man resembles Colonel Sanders in one way or another?
    “There’s no need to get personal, Miss,” the clerk said, suddenly sounding very business-like.
    “Oh, this is going to get a lot more than personal,” Josie quietly threatened, her eyes narrowing.
    “Now, now, there’s no need for all this fuss,” the bearded man said while waving his hands in the air. “What seems to be the problem?”
    “This customer   needs food for ten, catered, tonight!”   the clerk said, obviously trying to sound professional, but his words came out flippant, at best.
    Colonel Sanders said, “Oh Darlin ’, we can’t do that. I don’t have the staff on hand to handle something that quick.” He sounded empathetic, but all Josie heard was another No .
    “What if I pick it up and serve it myself?”
    “Sorry Darlin ’—doesn’t work that way.” There was a finality to his tone as he held his ground.
    Josie just stood there a moment while the loss of her last option sank in. She wanted to reach across the counter, grab Colonel Sanders by the suspenders, and yell, “ Listen chicken man, I want food and I want it now—I don’t care how you do it—just so it gets done! And don’t call me Darlin !” She shuddered a little at how much her rage sounded like John.
    As for the pimply-faced clerk, she simply wanted to slap