The Slow Burn: Buc-ee’s, Bourdain, and a Shot in the Dark (Part III)

The conversation starts to stall.

Not awkwardly, just that quiet moment where everyone runs out of small talk and starts wondering if it’s time to wrap things up.

And then, Kaitlyn saves the day.

She casually nods toward one of the owner's watches and says something like, "Beautiful piece, you don’t see that in the wild very often."

Now, I should mention, my wife works in luxury goods. Big-time. She’s a leader at a global luxury conglomerate that owns, let’s just say… some of the most coveted names in horology. If it’s bougie, rare, or built by hand in a Swiss mountain village, Kaitlyn knows about it.

And she doesn’t just know it, she lives it.

Meanwhile, I’m over here happy if my watch tells time and doesn’t smell like campfire.

The owner perks up instantly. Like, watch-nerd awakened. He jumps up, walks over, and suddenly they’re off to the races.

Within minutes, the other owner joins in. Now it’s a full-on luxury goods summit in the back of a boutique cigar HQ. I’m just in the corner, smoking an unrelased version of one of their blends (it was fantastic), nodding like a guy who knows something about balance springs. I do not.

They’re dropping names like Panerai, Vacheron Constantin, IWC, brands where the complications (those little features beyond basic timekeeping) are borderline magic.

Minute repeaters. Tourbillons. Moon phases.
We’re talking precision engineering on par with Formula 1.

Turns out, these guys aren’t just into fine cigars; they appreciate craft in all its forms. And Kaitlyn? She’s fluent in the language of craftsmanship.

She’s got them absolutely eating out of the palm of her hand… or her wrist, I should say.

It’s not just that she knows her stuff, it’s how she carries it.

Graceful, sharp, totally unpretentious.
She’s not trying to impress anyone.
She’s just being herself, and they respect the hell out of that.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there watching this all unfold and thinking,

“If this ever works out, it’s because she closed the deal.”

Sometimes the magic doesn’t come from pitching or posturing.
Sometimes, it comes from authentic connection.

From shared passion. From mutual respect. From knowing when to shut up and let the person next to you shine.

So yeah, I may have lit the spark, but Kaitlyn fanned the flame.

And in that moment, sitting in a cigar sanctuary deep in Central Texas, surrounded by espresso, horological flexing, and a room full of good people…

I felt the slow burn catch.


In between inquiries about limited productions, a command cut clean through the hum of espresso machines and watch talk:

“Take a seat.”

No hesitation. No smile. Just an unspoken vibe: We’re shifting gears now.

So I sat down. Quietly. Ready.

The conversation settled into cigars. Finally.

“So… you’re the Brolo guy?”
“Yes, sir. That’s me. In the flesh.”

“Where are your cigars made?”

“Well… quite honestly, I’m living on a prayer right now. I don’t have any sticks yet, but I’m in talks with a few notable factories.”

I could feel the pitch slipping, so I tried to pivot.“Do you guys do any private label projects for others?”
“No.”

Short. Definitive.

Later I’d find out they do private label work, but only for a select few. People they trust. People who’ve earned it.
Not… outsiders.

“Who are you in talks with?”

I rattled off a couple of names.
They looked at each other.
That silent look that says more than words.

Surprise. Curiosity. Respect.

But then came the gut punch, with a twist of grace:

“I’mma shoot you straight. I don’t give two shits about what you got going on... but because your wife is so awesome, I’mma drop some knowledge on you.”

(Legendary opener, by the way.)

“We get a lot of people through here ‘starting’ cigar brands. We smile and wish them luck. But the reality? There’s way more to this than having a loaded wallet.

Anyone with $10K can fly to Nicaragua, slap a band on a cigar, and try to flip it. Almost all of them fail.”

That hit.
Not in a discouraging way.
In a truth cuts deep kind of way.
Not aggressive. Not rude.
Just real.

This was the moment where dreams meet the industry wall. The part where most people pack it up and say, “You know what? Maybe this isn’t for me.”

But I didn’t flinch.

Because I’ve heard this before.
In other rooms. In other industries.
From people who couldn’t see the vision, until they could.

They weren’t trying to break me.
They were trying to see if I’d break myself.

And I didn’t.

I smiled. Nodded. And kept my seat.

And then something unexpected happened:

We kept talking.

For the next two hours, we dug deep into blending philosophy, distribution strategies, consumer behavior, brand DNA, production pitfalls, running lean, value props for factories...
We nerded out hard.

And slowly, the energy shifted.

I wasn’t just “that Brolo guy.”
I became the little brother, still on the outside, but invited closer to the fire.

I could feel it.
They saw the passion.
They heard it in the way I spoke about storytelling, strategy, connection.

I wasn’t some schmuck with a few bucks and a Canva logo.
They saw the flicker.
Maybe they even saw the flame.

We bonded over our shared reverence for the leaf.
For the process.
For the people.

I’m forever grateful to Skip Martin and Michael Rosales of RoMa Craft for the generosity of their time, wisdom, and straight talk.

Their insights on cigar consumers hit deep:

“Consumers today want more than just a good cigar. They want a reason to care. They want connection. They want to know who’s behind it, and why it matters.”

That stuck with me.

Side note, RoMa comes from Rosales and Martin.
Brolo? Same roots. Brotherly Love.

It’s funny how some things just align.

And by the end of the conversation, they dropped one more gem, an opinion on the two factories I was considering.

They didn’t know my preference…
But they picked the same one.
Perfect alignment.

In that moment, I didn’t walk away with a deal.
But I walked away with something far more valuable:

Direction. Clarity. Confidence.

Everything they told me not to do?
I had already decided not to.

Maybe, just maybe…

I actually know a little something about this game.

The flicker’s getting stronger.

The slow burn continues…

Pictured from left to right: Mike Rosales, Joshua Stephens, Skip Martin