I was shocked that someone who seemed so sophisticated, so at ease in her own skin, had been locked in this hacienda her entire life.

“I’ve always wanted to go to France, though,” she said.

“So do I.”

“You haven’t? But it’s right next to Spain.”

I shrugged.

“Why Don Cristóbal, I took you for a worldly man. Who knows? Maybe I’ll go there before you.” She winked.

“You should,” I said. “A woman like yourself shouldn’t be stuck in a small town all her life.”

She stopped her shuffling and looked at me as if I’d spoken in Polish.

* * *

In the afternoon, I met Martin at the fermentation warehouse. I was nervous to climb on Pacha again, but she was the only horse available and I had to get over my fear. If I was to run this plantation one day, I couldn’t let a finicky mare stop me. It was a minor accomplishment that she didn’t throw me down again, but our battle of wills made my ride much longer than it should’ve been.

Upon seeing me, Martin smiled. It was amazing how much a face changed when someone smiled, how much his eyes brightened. He was almost unrecognizable.

“So, you’re becoming friends after all.” He grabbed Pacha’s reins and brought her to a halt. “I didn’t expect you to ride her again so soon.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Don Martin.” My voice sounded graver than I’d intended.

I descended, too roughly for my taste. The grass was so tall it reached my knees. And sodden. I hadn’t even realized it had rained at the hacienda last night.

“Great timing, Don Cristóbal. Come on.”

The warehouse was filled with wooden boxes set up on concrete bleachers with a row of windows flanking them on either side. There were three levels of boxes. We climbed to the top and Martin pointed at the inside of one of the wooden boxes.

“This is where the beans start fermenting. We used to dig a small hole and place the beans inside, but Don Armand was told that this is a superior method. It makes the beans ferment more evenly.”

Large banana leaves covered the beans. He lifted one of the leaves, displaying the beans underneath, still white as coconut meat. A mild scent of alcohol emanated. “The leaves warm up the beans so they ferment. They stay here for two days and then we move them to those other boxes.” He pointed at the second tier.

I dug my hand inside the box—I couldn’t help myself. The beans were warm and slimy.

“Try one,” he said.

I pulled out one, my fingers wet and sticky, and tasted the bean.

“Well?” he said.