I loved the admiration in his voice. Right now, I wasn’t the lesser man who didn’t know how to ride horses or how to act around women. I was the one person in this entire region who could teach him what he’d been working so hard for every year collecting those cacao beans. I was showing him the real value of his beloved Pepa de Oro.

After I attained a rich, creamy texture, I dipped a spoon inside and handed it to Martin.

“¡Dios mío!” he said, sitting down. “This is much better than the beans.”

I scoffed.

He tasted the mix with his eyes closed. He was falling under the spell of this addicting substance, just like everyone else who ate it did. It was with reason that people called it the Elixir of the Gods.

Licking her fingers, Bachita asked me if she could take some chocolate to her children. I handed her a tin box myself.

“You can use chocolate in many ways,” I explained to both. “You can drink it or eat it. You can make cakes, pastries, or truffles with it. The list is endless.”

Bachita tried to kiss my hand in gratitude, as if I were a priest, but I removed it.

“There’s no need for that,” I said.

“Thank you so much, señor,” she said. “It’s been a real pleasure. I must go home now. I’m anxious to have my family taste some of this.”

“You’re welcome, Bachita.”

We stared after her as she headed out, hugging the tin box of chocolate against her chest.

“I can’t believe we’ve had this here all along and didn’t know it,” Martin said, smearing a piece of banana in the brown mix. “People must pay a lot of money for chocolate in Europe.”

“Where do you think Don Armand’s fortune came from?”

“All those conceited friends of Angélica’s would spend their lifelong savings on this.”

“That was exactly what I was thinking yesterday at the café.”

He was quiet for a moment. If his mind was racing anything like mine was, then I’d found the one person in the world who understood me, the one person who was just as possessed by chocolate as I was.

Shamelessly. Unapologetically.

Cristóbal had never been that person. Every time I talked about my plans for the chocolate shop or the most recent recipes I’d come up with, he’d get a glassy look in his eyes, as though he’d rather get shot than endure another second of my conversation.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” Martin said.

I was deflated by the question. I wanted to explore the idea of producing chocolate here, not sell my land. We could be pioneers.

“Yes.” I sat on a stool across from his. “But I’m afraid you’re not going to be happy with my answer.”