“It’s a division of Taylor James,” she said defensively, and was proud of herself for thinking fast to invoke the false name she’d used recently.
“Yeah?” Johnny looked impressed. “I love his stuff.” He turned to the table next to him and sifted through one of many storage boxes filled with thick, sealed envelopes. He finally found the one he wanted and pulled it out. “Okay, I gotcha.”
“Good,” Maggie murmured, relieved.
Johnny glanced at her, took in her long red hair tied back in a ponytail and nodded. “Redhead Brewery. Now I get it. So what’re you? Chief Executive Redhead?”
“That’s right,” Maggie said with a smile.
Johnny grinned as he leaned forward. “Okay, Red, here’s the deal. You got three beers entered in the Small Brewery category. Tell me if these are the right names.” He read off the quirky names of her pale ale, amber and lager.
“Yes, those are mine,” Maggie said.
“Good.” He opened the envelope and pulled out three index cards with printing on one side. “These are the official numbers the judges will use to review your entries. No names. Just numbers.”
She watched him take a thick marker and write the corresponding numbers on each of her cases of beer.
Then he handed the index cards to her. “Don’t let anybody see those cards, got it? We wouldn’t want anything to compromise the outcome.”
“Got it.”
“I’m Johnny,” the guy said, tapping his name tag as if she hadn’t seen it before. “You got problems, you come see me.”
She picked up her tote bag and purse. “Okay, thanks.”
“Hold on, Red,” he said, grabbing her arm. “I want to see you put those cards away where nobody else can see them.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, adding, “We don’t want someone voting for you just because you’re pretty.”
“What? No.” She whirled around to see if anyone had overheard him, then felt a chill skitter up her spine as she realized what she was doing. She was looking for her ex-husband! Alan used to freak out whenever anyone complimented her. He would accuse her of flirting and tell her she was turning into a whore. It wasn’t fun. But good grief, she’d been away from him for three years. Enough already.
Would she ever be a normal person again? The thought depressed her, but she took in a few deep breaths and managed to work up a warm smile for Johnny as she slipped the cards into her purse. “Thanks, Johnny. I appreciate your help.”
“You bet,” he said, then jerked his head in the direction of the exit. “Now get outta here. And have a nice day.”
* * *
Three hours later, Maggie sat on the sunny lobby level near the coffee kiosk. She had no idea where Connor was or when he would text their room number to her. But she figured she had enough time to enjoy her vanilla latte before she had to face the real challenge of the week: Connor MacLaren.
She’d had a busy day already. After signing in with Johnny at the judges’ hall, she’d spent over an hour touring the huge convention floor, watching dozens of volunteers at work setting up booths, arranging kegs and glasses and signage. There was a band stage and a dance floor set up at one end of the room. The spacious beer garden overlooked the stage. The energy and excitement were infectious and she thought about volunteering next year.