At the fourth booth she came to, she stopped and stared and then began to laugh.
“That’s the reaction I get most of the time,” the guy said cheerfully.
His three featured beers had been given the silliest names she’d seen in a long time.
Maggie had learned early on that one of the joys of running a small craft brewery was coming up with a colorful name for the final product. Some brewers went for shock value, others enjoyed grunge and still others tried for humor.
The names of Maggie’s beers were rather tame compared to some. This year she’d chosen the names of famous redheads to call attention to her Redhead brand. Her three competition entries were Rita Hayworth, Maureen O’Hara and Lucy Ricardo.
The barrel-chested, sandy-haired man running the booth turned out to be the brewery owner, who introduced himself as Pete. “Would you like a glass of something?”
“It’s a little early for me to be tasting,” she said with a smile. “But I was wondering who came up with these names of yours.”
Pete beamed with pride. “My three sons come up with most of our names.”
“Must be nice to have sons,” she said. “Do they help you out with the brewing?”
“No way,” Pete said, laughing. “Not yet, anyway. They’re all under the age of seven. They’re the creative arm of the company.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” she said, nodding, and picked up one of the bottles. “I was wondering what inspired you to name this one Poodle’s Butt.”
“That came from the warped mind of my five-year-old, Austin. But don’t be fooled. Poodle’s Butt is a fantastic, full-bodied beer with a hint of citrus and spice that I think you’ll find unique and flavorful—if you can get past the name.”
She chuckled. “I love the name. I’ll try and come back for a taste later today.” She pointed to another bottle. “Now, what about Snotty Bobby Pale Ale?”
“Bobby’s my oldest. He came up with that idea last year when he had a cold. Laughed himself silly over his idea,” Pete said, then added sheepishly, “I did, too. Guess they got their sense of humor from me.”
Maggie patted his arm. “You should be very proud.”
“I really am.”
“Hey, Maggie.”
She turned and came face to face with the quirky man she’d met the first day. “Oh, hello, Ted.”
He flashed her a crooked grin. “I hope you thought about what I told you the other day.”
“I really don’t think I—”
“There you are,” a voice said from close behind her.
Maggie whirled around and found Connor standing inches away. Her stomach did a pleasant little flip. “Hi.”
But Connor wasn’t looking at her. He was staring over her shoulder at Ted.
“Have you met Ted?” Maggie asked. “He’s…” She turned, but Ted was gone. She spied him halfway across the room, jogging through the crowd.