“Hmm,” Charlie says before licking his fingers clean. “Pretty tasty knowing all that.”
Clearly pleased, Dario orders Charlie another. When Charlie bites it, the initial flavor is jarring. “Oh, uh, I’m not sure about this one.”
If he were not trying to win Dario’s affections, he might spit the rest out in one of the compostable napkins stacked nearby. Instead, he muscles through and swallows with a weak smile.
Dario nods, orders a second, and tastes it himself. He barely conceals his own cringe. “What about it isn’t working for you?” he asks.
“It smells like chocolate, but it tastes too tart? I’m not sure that’s the word I’m looking for,” Charlie says.
Dario pulls a small notebook from his pocket and writes down the word TART. He underlines it several times, which makes Charlie feel like his opinion is important.
“That’s good data to have. You see, cocoa only grows in specific climates. Due to global warming and deforestation, it’s becoming harder to import. What people don’t realize is that the familiar flavors of chocolate come out through the roasting and fermenting processes, not so much the cocoa bean itself. Here, our scientists and artisan chocolate makers are working to find a substitute for the cocoa bean. What else can we roast and ferment to make chocolate?” he says with mounting enthusiasm. “It might take years to perfect, and many of our competitors are ahead of us, but I think it’s worth the investment and time if we can lessen our carbon footprint with a subset of cocoa-less products.”
Charlie was never any good at science, but this all makes overwhelming sense to him. “For a chocolate maker, you seem very excited about not-chocolate.”
A glittery feeling spangles inside Charlie’s chest. The whole plane ride over, he assumed he would meet with somestandoffish, Lothario billionaire only concerned about the dollars and cents of selling candy. Dario clearly cares about the world at large and is kind of a nerd about it, which is…hot?
Dario licks his pink lips.
Oh, yeah. Definitelyhot.
“Not-chocolate is, dare I say, the future of chocolate.” A shadow of contemplation falls over Dario’s face.
“Sounds fake, but I like your passion,” Charlie says. “Mind if I order a normal chocolate now to get this taste off my tongue? It’s starting to sour on me.”
“By all means,” Dario says. “Change does not happen in a day.”
A pleasingly pink confection with swirls of white and grooves of flower petals pops out of the wall. Sweet hibiscus leads the flavors marching along Charlie’s tongue. “Delicious. I’m even tasting some vanilla in here.”
“We haven’t come up with a name for that one yet,” says Dario.
“A rose by any other name would taste as sweet. That play takes place in Italy,” Charlie says, recalling his freshman year English class where he played Romeo in his graded scene presentation. He got an A, but everybody who actually memorized their lines got an A, so that wasn’t saying too much about his acting skills. He thought he might need to deploy every ounce of those acting skills to show interest in the chocolate maker, but Dario has made such a strong impression that every interaction has been effortless and comfortable, no performing necessary.
“The scene is laid in fair Verona. Not Perugia,” says Dario.
“But you could call it The Juliet, or something. I don’t know. Just an idea,” Charlie says, self-consciousness creeping into his voice. Dario is a professional, international businessman; he doesn’t want to hear Charlie’s silly thoughts about candy names.
“I really like that,” Dario says, and it sounds sincere. But Charlie still clams up, afraid he’s overstepped. Dario opens his notebook again.
“What’s in there?” Charlie asks, unable to stanch the flow of his curiosity too long.
“Pages of ideas. Everything from the good and the bad, to the outlandish and the simple. My grandfather used to do it, so now I do it as well. He used to say, ‘Tutto fa brodo,’ which means ‘Everything makes broth.’”
“Broth?” Charlie asks, slightly stumped by the connection.
“Every little thing counts toward the big picture. The smallest idea can be the biggest innovation if you believe in it,” says Dario, smiling in a way that makes his handsome face even handsomer.
Charlie has always found passionate people deeply sexy. Plus, there is a manliness to Dario’s slightly crinkled eyes and facial hair but a boyishness to his rounded, bouncy cheeks and colorful outfits. At once, Dario seems both wise beyond his years and as playful as a newborn kitten. That duality is intriguing; it makes him want to lean in and look closer. What other contrasting traits might make up this successful man?
“I keep a notebook on me at all times, too,” Charlie says, producing his sketchbook with a small charcoal pencil wedged through the spiral, top-side binding.
“Great minds,” Dario says, eyebrows rising and smile expanding.
“You must really love this business,” Charlie says.
Dario looks away contemplatively. “I do. I really do. I love it so much that I’ve agreed to marry for it.”
“You don’t want to be married?” Charlie asks, reading into his dark tone.
