Page 72 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

“Yeah,” the bartender echoed. “What’s up, little bit? You stalking this guy?” He told Alabama, “You could be stalked by worse, bro.”

“Not funny, man.” Alabama told Andy, “Explain yourself, porcupine. Or should I call the cops?”

“I—” Andy couldn’t let him call the police. “I don’t know.” She realized that wasn’t enough. “I was visiting,” she said. “My mother. And—” Fuck, fuck, fuck. What could she say? How could she turn this around?

Her mental Gordon offered the solution: she could turn it around.

Andy tried to make her voice strong. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?”

She tried to sound indignant. “I was just passing through. Why are you following me?”

“What?” he seemed taken aback by the question.

“You,” she said, because his presence made about as much sense as hers did. “I’m on my way back from visiting my parents. That’s why I’m here.” She squared her shoulders. “What’s your reason? Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” He reached behind his back.

Andy braced herself for a police badge or, worse, a gun.

But he took out his wallet. There was no badge, just his Alabama driver’s license. He held it up to her face. “I live here.”

Andy scanned the name.

Michael Benjamin Knepper.

He introduced himself. “Mike Knepper. The K is silent.”

“Mi’e?” The joke came out before she could stop it.

He gave a startled laugh. His face broke out into a grin. “Holy shit, I can’t believe I’ve gone thirty-eight years with nobody ever making that joke.”

The bartender was laughing, too. They clearly knew each other, which made sense because they were roughly the same age. In a town this small, they’d probably gone to school together.

Andy felt some of the tension leave her chest. So, this was a coincidence.

Was it?

She hadn’t looked closely at the photo on his license. She hadn’t looked to see what town he was from.

“You’re a funny lady.” Mike was already tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “What’re you drinking?”

The bartender said, “Vodka.”

Mike held out two fingers as he sat down on the stool beside her. “How’s your mom doing?”

“My—” Andy suddenly felt tipsy from the alcohol. This didn’t feel completely right. She probably shouldn’t drink anything else.

“Hello?” Mike said. “You still in there?”

Andy said, “My mother is fine. Just needs rest.”

“I bet.” He was scratching his jaw again. She tried not to look at his fingers. He looked like a man, was the thing that kept drawing her attention. Andy had only ever dated guys who looked like guys. Her last sort-of almost boyfriend had shaved once a week and needed a trigger warning anytime Andy talked about calls that came in through dispatch.

“Here ya go.” The bartender placed a Sam Adams in front of Mike and a new glass of vodka in front of Andy. This one had less ice and more alcohol. He gave Mike a salute before walking to the far end of the bar.

“To coincidences.” Mike raised his beer.