Page 71 of The Love Destroyers

“Oh, that’s good,” Ellie says, beaming at me from across the two-top table we’re sitting at in the private event space at Buchanan Brewery—a room with wood paneling, low lighting, and two-top tables with high chairs. An empty room, other than us. The murmur of conversation can be heard from the adjoining tasting room, but Nicole managed to score us this private space, which is good news, because the mask makes me look like a teenager who just broke into a gas station and is demanding Slim Jims and beer or else.

“Yes,” Ellie croons at me, “look at me like that while she takes the photo. That’sperfect.”

The “she” in question is Nicole, who’s dressed as her “Nicky” the contest supervisor persona. Nicky has teased orange hair and an eighties vibe with a Buchanan Brewery sweatshirt tied at the waist and big hoop earrings. As she predicted, Ellie has not made the connection between her and the driver who brought us to this brewery.

Nicole must have high-tailed it to the bathroom immediately after she parked the car and pulled a Mrs. Doubtfire-level miracle, because she showed up five minutes after a lanky, shifty-looking kid with a mop of hair showed us back here.

Statistically unlikely, but it is the full moon Leap Day, after all, something Ellie has brought up at least ten times today. She brought it up so much she had me thinking it too, especially because we seemed to hit every red light on the way into town.

“Should we have Alfonso here take his shirt off?” Nicole presses after taking the photos.

I give her ascrew youlook she responds to with a sweet smile, and Ellie, thank God, shakes her head.

Her next words give me pause, though: “I think it needs to happen on the livestream.”

“Oh,for sure.” Nicole hands back the phone, then asks, “Would you like any appetizers to eat off your friend’s abs?”

“Very funny,” I say, feeling very done with this bullshit. The mask itches, it’s been aggravating the bump on my head, and Ellie hasn’t said anything more revealing than that Jeffrey was “a big grump” earlier, and he “needed to be reminded of his place.” But I can’t give up. Three things need to happen tonight—Ellie needs to get comfortable enough to say more than she should, Emma needs time to search her room, and Jeffrey needs motivation to get off his ass and come to Asheville, preferably with a suitcase full of incriminating information.

“I’ll get you some drinks,” Nicole says. “That’s part of your special pampering tonight, although I have a delightful programplanned for you. Really. Everyone in town is excited you’re here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they burst into song if you get up to go to the bathroom.”

She’s laying it on a bit thick, but Ellie looks like she’s basking in it. Giving a little titter, she says, “I do have plenty of fans here, although I’m not much of a beer drinker. All those carbs. What I’dloveis a Midori sour.”

Which is full of sugar.

I smile indulgently at her. “I remember you mentioning that earlier.”

“Of course, we can do that for you,” Nicole says. “Anything for our favorite star.”

Ellie smiles back at her. “Thank you so much. I don’t like to cause trouble. I hate to put anyone out of their way at all. It’s the worst feeling in the world. But can you make sure they have the good cherries? Maraschino cherries have that awful red dye in them, and I cannot. So no cherries at all if they’re the bad cherries. And can you ask if the ice is made from filtered water? I’m very sensitive to toxins.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely going to do all of that,” Nicole says before backing out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Ellie starts messing with her phone and then grins up at me. “We look good.”

She flashes the screen at me, and there we are in the ambient light of the private room, me in my Slim-Jim thief mask leaning toward her across the round high-top table. Looking at her like I worship the ground she walks on.

Because I was thinking about Emma.

That’s a worrying development, and so is the text beneath the photo.

When God closes a door, he gives you a sexy masked man who knows how to open a window. What do youthink, Reeders, should I go for it? Any guesses about who my friend is? #goforit #whosthatmaskeddaddy #leaveyourexonleapday #onwardandupward.

I lift the mask, which feels stupid and unnecessary given I’m not currently on camera. “Uh, I don’t really want people trying to guess who I am. That was the whole point of wearing a mask.”

My brother will flip his lid, and then I might have to tell him everything…

“Oh don’t worry,” she says, waving a hand at me. “Most of the people on the internet are stupid, and it’s not like you’re famous or anything.” She squints her eyes at me as if trying to see me better. “Wait, you’re notfamous, are you?”

“Not famous,” I agree. “But I don’t want my private life made public.”

She releases a loud, gusty sigh. “Yeah, I get that. I mean, it’s pretty nice having fans who love you and send you free stuff, but it’s hard having everyone think they know you. It starts to feel like no one knows you. Like you don’t even know yourself.”

It’s a surprisingly deep thought from someone who’s taken at least a dozen selfies in the past hour, and it hits home more than I was prepared for it to. I’m a man who wears someone else’s last name.James. A man who can’t talk about his childhood with anyone but his brother and sister. A man whose brother and sister don’t know about the most pivotal moment in his life. A liar.

Sometimes I feel like it’s impossible to be close to anyone, because no one really knows me. Even my family.

Ellie’s gaze drifts back down to the phone. “Wow, there are already, like, fifty comments of people guessing who you are. That’s fast. This is going to behuge. Thanks, Alfonso.”

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