She Gave My Kona Coffee the Worst Score of the Competition. Then She Asked to See the Farm

We signed the contract in December. I used a small business loan to rebuild the drying deck and buy a new fermenting system. I set up an LLC for the farm for the first time in sixty years, the way my accountant had been begging me to.

Claire came back in February to check on the new harvest.

Then again in April. And June.

Her company has a lot of farms. I asked her once why she visited mine so often.

“Quality control,” she said, completely straight-faced.

One night in July, sitting on the lanai again, with two cups of coffee and the sun sinking into the Pacific, she put her cup down and looked at me.

“I need to tell you something unprofessional,” she said.

“Okay.”

“The first time I saw you, in that parking lot, I almost changed the score.”

I stared at her.

“I didn’t,” she said. “Because it was the wrong score to change. But I wanted to.”

I reached over and took her hand.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I said. “I’d never have fixed the deck.”

She laughed. Then she leaned over and kissed me, slow and sure, with the ocean turning gold below us.

That November, my coffee scored eighty-nine at the festival. Third place.

Claire wasn’t allowed to judge it. Conflict of interest.

She sat in the front row and cheered louder than anyone.

Could you fall for someone who started by telling you the hard truth? Tell me in the comments.