There he was, Trevor Trask Jr., in the Pie Hole twice in one day. Before she had a chance to think, Olive found herself sliding down her seat until her tiny body had fell to the floor.

Disappearing from sight under the table, Olive tugged at Ned's pant leg. "Don't let him find me—make him leave!" She whispered. She saw a pair of man's shoes approach their table and tugged silently on Ned's pants again, hoping he would heed her plea.

"Excuse me, I am looking for someone and I was wondering if you could help me."

The skin on Olive's bare arms prickled as she heard Trevor's voice. It was just as she'd remembered, dull and lifeless.

"Sure—uh, I mean, no." Ned fumbled as Olive tugged again at his leg. She prayed that they all would remain calm and lie convincingly. "What I mean is that I'd like to help you, but I don't employ a waitress."

"How did you know I was looking for a waitress?"

Even though Olive loved the Pie Maker, in that moment she could have throttled him.

"Uh, I…." Ned had jumped the gun and tried to recover quickly. "Oh, I just assumed you needed a waitress, to take your order of course." He gulped. "But I don't have a waitress here, sorry."

"Oh really? I was under the impression you employed a Miss Olive Snook."

"Olive Snook?" Chuck piped up, her voice calm and smooth. "Oh, I remember her. Yeah she worked here a few months ago, but she left to go back to Africa and complete her missionary work."

"Yeah, of course. Yeah, she's in Africa." Ned added. "Working with the, uh, Abuduba tribe. Setting up irrigation ditches and stuff." He coughed nervously and Olive groaned. She didn't realize he was so terrible at lying; if he didn't keep his mouth shut the jig would be up.

"Olive Snook?" She heard Emerson pipe up and smiled, knowing he wouldn't have trouble keeping his cool. "Yeah she's not here…." He grumbled and Olive breathed a sigh of relief. "She's under the table." Emerson thumped the table causing her to jump.

The jig was up.

Olive was left with no other choice—since there was no escape door under the table— but to do the dreaded crawl of shame. So, on all fours she crawled across the floor until she was faced with the tips of his shoes. Trevor towered over her and it made for quite the odd picture as she smiled up at him. "Boy, you go looking under the table to find your contact lens and everyone thinks you've left the country!" She let out an anxious giggle and turned towards the trio, brushing them off with a wave of her hand. "You guys are a bunch of nuts!" She turned back to Trevor and pretended to pop something into her eye. "Lucky for me though, I found it!" She let out another round of hyper laughter. "Trevor Trask as I live and breathe." She reached out and playfully punched him on the shoulder. It was either act ridiculously happy or run for the exit screaming. For some reason—perhaps because she found her feet glued to the spot—she chose to stay. "Whatcha'doing here?"

"I've come here to see you." He replied, ignorant of Olive's fake cheer.

"Oh, well, that's obvious." Olive grabbed his arm, steering him towards the counter where they could talk in private. "I'll be right back in one second and we can talk, okay?" She instructed him to sit down, and before he could respond Olive had charged back towards Emerson. "Why did you to that?!" She hissed, ready to jump across the table and exact revenge.

"You," He said, pointing his fork at her. "Need to go and talk to him. You need to tell that loony tune to leave you alone before you call the cops on his ass."

Olive realized Emerson had a point; even though his revealing her seemed cruel, she knew she couldn't hide in Africa—a.k.a. under the table—forever. And that's exactly what she would have to do if she never faced him.

So without another word, only a deep breath to calm her nerves, Olive turned and headed for Trevor. He was leaning up against the counter casually, as if there was nothing remotely odd about the whole situation. As she approached him his beady eyes swept her up and down, and he leered at her, making her want to sprint in the opposite direction

"Hello Olive."

"Hey Trevor." She replied, her mind racing. This was it, the time she would find out exactly what he wanted from her.

"I realize that my showing up here might be a bit of a surprise."

"Oh yeah," Olive shrugged. "Big surprise. Not that those, oh, ten million postcards you left everywhere didn't tip me off or anything."

"I detect sarcasm in your voice, did I displease you?

Olive studied him for a moment; she still could not wrap her mind around how his eyes and smile could betray such arrogance, yet his mannerisms were so bland and unassuming. It was quite the perplexing combination. "Yes." She sighed.

"Well, I'm sorry. I thought you would enjoy them. After all it's always nice to see that someone is thinking of you."

Olive groaned; he was persistent alright, and also oblivious. Only Trevor could have mistaken what he did for some sort of thoughtful gesture. "Well, I didn't. It was creepy. I mean, I wasn't exactly expecting to ever see you again, and one morning I wake up and you're stalking me—through the mail no less! How did you even find me in the first place?"

Trevor gestured towards the stools, as if asking permission, and took a seat. "Well, it's a very interesting story. I found myself driving through this lovely town one day when in my rearview mirror I saw you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Well, I was so surprised I almost crashed my car. I saw someone who looked just like you walking up to a house with a box in hand."

Olive knew it must have been one of her daily pie deliveries to Chuck's aunts.

"But I had to be sure, so I parked across the street to get a good look when you came out. Imagine my surprise when I saw that it really was you—back from Africa at last."

"Heh, imagine that." Olive laughed nervously.

"After that I followed you back to the Pie Hole and then back to your apartment building. That was all. I would hardly call that stalking."

"That's the very definition of stalking!" Olive argued, feeling a surge of confidence. In the past, whenever he had popped back into her life, she found her resolve would crumble immediately. But now she felt different, strong and determined to get rid of him once and for all. "Listen," She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "I don't know what you want. I don't know why you're suddenly back in my life, but I don't want you bothering me anymore. No more postcards, no more showing up announced. No more showing up at all." She huffed and turned her back to him. As she began to walk away she heard him call out.

"Olive, I'm sick."