“Um, you know there’s a tornado warning, right?” Jessica Wheeler looked at him from inside the car, a tiny smile on her lips. She was dressed in black, her hair pulled up, a strand of pearls around her neck. She must’ve seen Matt slip out of the church and followed after him. “Where’re you headed?”

“Nowhere.”

“You and me both,” she said. The car kept the slow pace of his walk.

Matt stopped and the car came to a halt as well. He looked inside.

Jessica pointed her chin at the passenger seat.

Matt really wanted to be alone—at least, he thought he did.

Jessica just sat quietly, waiting for him to decide.

His feet did hurt, he supposed. He climbed inside, and was met with the smell of Jessica’s perfume, a pleasing, spicy fragrance.

She shoved the stick shift into gear and they drove.

The rain was still coming down in tiny drops, not yet a downpour. The windshield wipers wisped back and forth, an arc of brown from dirt and drizzle.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jessica finally asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Okay. Wanna drink about it?”

“That sounds more enticing.”

She nodded, looked in her rearview, then made a sharp U-turn right in the middle of the road.

It wasn’t long before Jessica was unlocking the front door to Pipe Layers. The place didn’t open for a few hours and it was dark, quiet. Jessica slapped on the lights, threw her keys on the bar, and went to the jukebox.

Matt took a seat on one of the stools and watched her in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. With her conservative black dress she looked out of place bent over, peering into the jukebox. Music filled the room.

Jessica walked over and ducked behind the bar.

“Bon Jovi?” Matt said.

Jessica stood in front of Matt now. “My uncle handpicked the jukebox selection thirty years ago, and I haven’t had the heart to change it. And who doesn’t love some Jon Bon Jovi?” She gestured to the liquor bottles lining the wall. “What’ll you have?”

“A beer would be great.”

“Ah, come on,” she said, disappointed in him. “Wait, I know.” She pulled out a glass, plopped an oversize single ice cube into it, and started mixing some concoction. She slid the glass to him.

He held the drink at eye level, the clear cube bathed in brown liquid with a citrus rind. “What is it?”

“An old-fashioned.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is this just some Don Draper fantasy of yours or—”

“Shut up. Try it!”

He took a sip. It was actually quite good. Smoky, with a hint of sweet. “I didn’t peg myself as an old-fashioned guy, but it’s good.”