Page 96 of Along Came Amor
“Our schedule says we’re going to meet with a master mixologist to develop the wedding’s signature cocktail, but it doesn’t say where,” she said. “I assume you know?”
“I do. I wanted it to be a surprise, but—”
“It’s okay,” she cut in, giving him a small smile. “It’s all right if you surprise me.”
He held her gaze across the seat, then nodded. He wanted to do more. He wanted to pull her across the bench and kiss her, but he understood this for what it was: she was forgiving him for yesterday.
Something in his chest eased, a tightness he hadn’t realized was there until it was gone. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand to have her mad at him—she was entitled to her emotions, and lord knew he deserved her ire—but he hated that he’d made her feel like anything less than the brilliant, beautiful woman she was. Today he’d set out to show her that he valued her thoughts and feelings, and while he still felt like he had some groveling to do, he’d take her peace offering. And since he didn’t want to ruin it by saying, “I think your cousin and my best friend are taking advantage of you,” he kept the revelation to himself. Instead, he vowed to make the rest of their trip as low-stress and vacation-like as possible.
The car wound its way west toward Bayamón, and as always, Roman was struck with the sense of coming home. This was where he’d spent his childhood and the summers of his youth. Surrounded by his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, he’d felt grounded, safe, part of something bigger, in a way he hadn’t in Brooklyn. New York City would always be his home base, but this place called to the boy he’d once been, the boy who still lived inside him somewhere.
The car turned a corner and the buildings that housed CasaDonato came into view. Next to him, Ava made a small gasp. Roman bit back a smile.
She peered out the window as the car rolled to a stop in front of a hundred-year-old white house with terra-cotta roof tiles and an outdoor walkway framed by arches and simple columns. On the other side of the property sprawled a low concrete building marked with the Casa Donato logo. Next to it, a newer wooden structure housed the museum, gift shop, bar, and mixology classroom. Overall, Casa Donato was a smaller operation, not on the scale of distilleries like Don Q on the southern end of the island or Bacardi to the north. But to Roman, it felt homey and inviting, like it had when he was a child.
The driver opened Ava’s door and helped her out. Roman exited the car and rounded the hood to stand next to her, where she gaped at the Casa Donato sign.
“This is where your rum is made,” she said, sounding a little awestruck. He wondered if, like him, she was remembering the night they’d met.
“It is.” He looked toward the house, shielding his eyes from the sun. “They were going to shut this place down. Or sell it to a bigger company who would commercialize it.”
“So you saved it.”
“Iboughtit, under the condition that their master blender stayed on. I think you’ll like her. She’s a genius.”
“And you didn’t commercialize it?”
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the way she was trying to frame him as some sort of savior instead of a guy with too much money and the privilege of indulging his whims. “Introduced a few new products. Made some small upgrades. But for the most part, they’re making rum the same way they did when my grandfather started working here in the fifties.”
She paused mid-step. “Your grandfather? Did your family own it?”
He huffed out a laugh. “No, we didn’t have that kind of money. It’s been run by the Donato family for a hundred years.”
“But this is where your family is from?”
“My mother’s family, yes. I was born in Brooklyn, and after my dad left, my mom came back here and we lived with her parents until I was five. My grandfather brought me here sometimes. I grew up among these barrels.”
Ava’s stunning eyes searched his face, and after a moment, she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Show me.”
Inside, they met up with Joaquín, one of the Donato sons who still worked there. He was around sixty now, with a ruddy complexion, stocky build, and close-cropped gray hair. He wore black jeans, sneakers, and a navy-blue polo shirt with the Casa Donato logo. Joaquín was the only remaining person who remembered seeing little Roman running around, and while Joaquín no longer led the tours, Roman had asked him to do this one as a special favor.
Joaquín began in the museum, where he recounted the history of Casa Donato. Then he brought them into the distillery, where he showed Ava the still and explained the process of making rum. He took them through the rows of stacked barrels, where the scents of oak and alcohol and molasses brought Roman back to his youth. Ava asked lots of questions and Roman could tell the older man was delighted by her interest in the subject. When she wasn’t looking, Joaquín shot him an approving grin.
After the tour was over, Ava clapped and Joaquín gave a little bow.
“This is where I leave you,” he said, and nodded to Roman.“You know your way around. Estrella will meet you when you’re ready.”
Roman thanked him, then led Ava back through the rows of barrels. He gazed up to the high, shadowed ceiling and breathed in the familiar, comforting scents. “This was my favorite spot,” he mused. “When I was a kid.”
Her head tilted with curiosity. “Why?”
He shrugged. “It just felt so old. But it was also cool and quiet. They let me run up and down the rows, after making me promise not to knock anything over. I never did.”
“It’s sweet that your grandfather brought you to work with him. Do your grandparents still live around here?”
“They passed away two years ago. My grandfather first, and my grandmother within the year.”
“I’m sorry. You must miss them.”
