Holiday Home Run

by Priscilla Oliveras

  Not that she’d admit to knowing that much about him. No need to sound like a stalker.

  “Um . . .” Ave María purísima, how to explain this one. Hail Mary full of grace indeed.

  Ben tilted his head in question, waiting.

  “Umm, I just figured. Assumed, I guess?” Lame answer if she’d ever given one.

  “I’m in the Wrigleyville area. The Southport Corridor neighborhood, actually,” Ben said, lifting his left shoulder in a half shrug. “But I don’t mind taking you wherever—”

  “You see? I’m downtown, in the opposite direction. Thanks anyway.” She flashed him a smile meant to cover her own uncharacteristic awkwardness.

  “I was going to say, it doesn’t matter. I can drive you. No need to wait for a car or take the L when I’m free, and willing, to give you a lift.”

  There was really no good reason for her to refuse his offer.

  Bueno, other than her own sanity. But he didn’t know that.

  Unbelievably, Julia found herself drawn to an athlete. Despite her vows to never let that happen.

  After living with three her entire life, you would think she’d had enough of their smelly uniforms stinking up the house. Their annoying habit of tossing baseballs back and forth or, God forbid, bouncing a rubber ball against the wall between their rooms. The superstitions, the confidence that often crept into cockiness and, even worse, the competitive drive that seeped into every single aspect of their lives.

  Yet, she’d seen none of those last ones from Ben.

  In fact, he’d been generous with his time and quick with his laughter, even poking fun at himself when he’d flubbed some of the Spanish lyrics that ran together like a tongue twister.

  “So, what do you say? Shall I be your chauffeur home?”

  Ben did that lean-in move again, an expectant, hopeful expression lighting his handsome face, and . . . ay, Ave María purísima, if she didn’t want to meet him halfway. Erase the distance between them and steal a kiss.

  The very idea had her drawing back with a jolt.

  “A simple ride home among new friends,” Ben said. “That’s all.”

  As if he sensed her teetering on the edge between yes and no, but didn’t want to push her, Ben scooped up the strap of the black shoulder bag with the small percussion instruments. She noticed he slung it over his left, noninjured shoulder and she wondered if his right one might be feeling sore.

  “You sure you don’t mind?” she asked.

  Waiting outside for her car to arrive or, worse, standing on the cold L platform waiting for a train didn’t sound nearly as comfortable as a ride in the warmth of his Range Rover, cradled in the plush leather seats.

  That’s the only reason she would say yes, she assured herself. Uh-huh.

  “I wouldn’t offer if I minded,” Ben answered.

  The genuine note in his deep voice persuaded her.

  “Okay, then, thanks.” She tucked her hair behind her ear in what she knew was a nervous gesture. “I appreciate it.”

  “Any time.”

  Ben flashed his heartthrob smile and her breath hitched.

  Too late she realized that maybe a frigid wait for a train would have been smarter. It certainly would have helped to cool the heat simmering inside her whenever she was around him.

  “Shall we go?” Ben gestured toward the door, waiting for her to lead the way.

  She could change her mind. No harm, no foul. But when it came down to it, she didn’t want to.

  Fool that she might be, she bowed her head in a slight nod, then started toward the door.

  One ride home . . . What could it possibly lead to?

  Chapter Five

  “Let me get this straight. Ben Thomas, THE Benjamin Thomas. As in, the Cubs pitching ace whose jersey hangs in my closet at the condo has been giving you a ride to parranda rehearsal the past two weeks and this is the first time you’re telling me?!?”

  Julia swiveled in the passenger seat of Lilí’s Corolla to face her cousin, lifting a shoulder, then letting it fall in a blasé “and so?” shrug.

  “No lo puedo creer,” Lilí murmured.

  “You can’t believe what?” Julia asked.

  Her right hand on the steering wheel, the other pressed to her forehead, Lilí gaped at her with a wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression.

  Since starting her job as a victim’s advocate out of college a few years ago, her cousin had decided to grow out the sassy pixie ’do she’d worn, choosing to go with a longer, more professional look. However, the style change had done nothing to tame her cheeky personality.

  As close as Julia was to Lilí, she’d purposefully not told her about how Ben had taken to stopping by the association’s main office the past two Tuesdays to go over sponsor updates and other details with her. How they’d fallen into the routine of meeting, then grabbing a bite to eat on their way to parranda rehearsal at the youth center.

  They’d gone back to Gloria’s once, then grabbed deep dish pizza last week.

  Working dinners. Between friends.

  That’s the way Julia continued to think about the hours she spent with Ben.

  Yet, she’d kept the information from Lilí because . . .

  Because her cousin put the “die” in die-hard Cubs fan. Her love for the sport rivaled that of Julia’s brothers. As soon as Lilí had heard about Ben’s involvement with the soiree, she had jumped at the chance to serve as an extra pair of volunteer hands the night of the event.

  So, when Julia found herself spending more time with Ben, she hadn’t said anything to avoid this exact reaction.

  “I can’t believe you held out on me like this,” Lilí continued with her complaint. “Chica, you’ve been hanging with baseball royalty all this time. How cool is that?”

  Lilí’s gaze darted back and forth from the highway to Julia as they traveled from the cousins’ family home in the nearby suburb of Oakton back into the city.

  They’d spent Thanksgiving Day celebrating with Lilí’s sisters and their familias. That’s how Julia’s not-so-secret secret had gotten out, thanks to Jeremy, Laura Taylor’s son, who was married to Julia’s cousin Rosa.

  Right after his “please pass the tostones,” he’d casually said, “So my mom tells me you and Ben Thomas have been working closely together on the soiree.”

  Julia had been so shocked, she’d nearly dropped the tray of fried green plantains she held out to him.

  Lilí had actually spit out her water, drawing a howl of laughter from her sisters’ toddlers and a shoulder-shaking giggle from her nine-year-old niece, María. Naturally, Yazmine and Rosa had been none too pleased with Lilí’s lack of table manners. Equally as naturally, Lilí had taken their older sister admonishments in stride, waving them off for more important matters. Like talk about Ben Thomas.

  At first, Julia had tried skirting the topic at the dinner table. Every question Lilí tossed at her had been lobbed back with a noncommittal answer tied to the soiree. Julia had carefully kept her tone light, devoid of her conflicting feelings for the hunky ballplayer. As soon as she could, she’d changed the subject.

  No way did she want to risk giving away any hint of her burgeoning attraction and have it inadvertently make its way back to her mami. And it would. With Rosa pregnant and due in early January, Julia’s mom called to check on her fairly regularly.

  Unfortunately, Lilí had remained undeterred, pushing for details. “All the good ones,” as she’d put it, her eyebrows waggling playfully.

  Thank goodness having little ones at the table kept their parents occupied, often missing part of the table conversation. So while Yazmine, Rosa, and their husbands tended to their kids, Julia had sent Lilí a narrow-eyed glower, mouthing “later” before taking a big gulp of wine.

  Looked like “later” had become “now.”

  Night had fallen and they sped along I-90 toward the city, on their way to post-dinner cocktails and dessert at the Taylors’ downtown penthouse.

  The entire Fernandez f
amily had been invited, but after the day’s festivities, the little ones were overtired and Rosa’s obstetrician had ordered her to get more rest over the school break.

  That left Lilí and Julia to represent the family for an invite many A-listers in Chicago and its surrounding areas would clamor to receive.

  “Quit holding out already,” Lilí pressed. “What’s the guy like? I mean, he seems like buena gente in his interviews. Is he really?”

  Was he good people, like her cousin asked?

  Julia didn’t have to think twice about her answer.

  “Sí,” she replied. “He actually is.”

  And that was the problem.

  Ben actually seemed too good to be true. Friendly, considerate, quick to laugh. Humble.

  And yet, there was a sad undercurrent she often sensed when one of the kids, someone at the office, or a fan on the street asked about his playing days.

  He didn’t talk much about his wins or stats. Surprisingly, any talk about his playing days focused on the people and relationships he’d formed. In the locker room, while traveling, during practice, on their days off.

  The times he asked about her family, the conversation steered more toward their traditions, whether she would miss being home for the holidays.

  If you asked her, he seemed lonely. But how could a man everyone wanted to be friends with feel alone?

  It didn’t make sense.

  Most of the time she wondered if she might be projecting the little homesickness she felt onto him.

  “Has he shared any insider baseball stories with you? You know, the kind we don’t hear on the news?” Lilí asked, intruding on Julia’s musings.

  “We actually don’t discuss baseball all that much.”

  “Ha! It’s crazy,” Lilí said on a chuckle.

  “What is?”

  “Your situation. I mean, how often have you told me that you’re tired of living and breathing baseball with your brothers? Then you come here and wind up working with one of the best this city’s seen in ages.”

  Lights from the oncoming traffic shone through the windshield, illuminating Lilí. She shook her head, a corner of her mouth quirked in a satiric smirk.

  “I guess that’s good for the Youth Association and Mrs. Taylor.” Lilí flipped her signal as she maneuvered her Corolla to exit I-90 onto West Congress. “No worries about you being star-crazy. If there’s one type of guy you’d never fall for, it’s an athlete.”

  “You got that right,” Julia answered.

  She turned away to stare out her passenger window at the blur of holiday lights decorating the downtown city streets.

  “No chance of that happening,” she murmured.

  All she had to do was keep reminding herself of that.

  * * *

  Ben stood near one of the fire pits strategically placed around the expanse of Sherman and Laura Taylor’s penthouse terrace. After the gourmet Thanksgiving meal shared at their Victorian-inspired dining room table, the group of fifteen or so had moved outside to enjoy the atypically mild late November weather.

  The Taylors were known for hosting intimate gatherings like this, where important, oftentimes invaluable, personal and professional networking took place. Once, Ben spent an evening enjoying drinks and the picturesque Chicago sunset with several bank execs and their wives, discussing everything from fishing off the coast of Miami to investment opportunities. By the end of the night one of the men wound up donating a hefty sum to the youth baseball clinic program. Without any prodding or mention of the need for funds on Ben’s part.

  But tonight, while the prominent players in Chicago’s business and legal professions seemed content to relax around the dancing flames with their bellies full, Ben strategically sat on one of the dark brown wicker ottomans facing the formal living room inside. From his vantage point he had a clear view of the archway that led into the foyer with the penthouse’s private elevator doors.

  The same doors Julia would enter through once she arrived.

  That’s the main reason he was still here, other than his manners reminding him of the rudeness of leaving so soon after dinner.

  He’d thought about going to Miami for the weekend. Touching base with his parents, spending time with Octavio’s family. Then Laura had issued her invite and mentioned the Fernandez sisters and Julia should be here.

  The idea of spending more time with Julia and meeting the cousins she spoke about with love and laughter in her voice had him bagging his travel plans to stay in town.

  Through the thick glass windows he spotted the housekeeper striding into the living room, heading toward the foyer. He couldn’t see the gilded metal elevator doors, but he hoped the older woman was on her way to greet . . . his thought trailed off as Julia came into view.

  She and another petite, dark-haired woman with a similar athletic build and golden tan skin strolled around the corner, stopping under the archway.

  He watched as Julia unbuttoned her cream winter jacket, slipping it off her shoulders to reveal a dark green sweater over a black pencil skirt and black knee-high boots. His pulse sparked as she brushed her fingers through the length of her black, satiny hair. It was a habit of hers he’d noticed over the past couple of weeks.

  A habit that made him want to run his own fingers through her tresses and feel the silky strands. Among other parts of her.

  The housekeeper took Julia’s jacket from her and, while Ben couldn’t read Julia’s lips as she said something, he caught her gentle smile of thanks.

  The other young woman, probably Lilí, followed suit before the two cousins began making their way across the mottled white and cream tiled floor. They strode past the ornate antique hutches displaying priceless vases and sculptures, on their way toward the sliding glass doors leading to the expansive terrace. And while others may have been drawn to the beautiful decorations and touches in the Taylors’ artfully designed home, Ben only had eyes for Julia.

  He rose from his seat, anxious to be with her again.

  The past three Tuesdays hadn’t been enough. Not for him.

  Laura Taylor excused herself from a small group standing near the outdoor bar off to the right and she and Ben reached the doors at the same time as Julia and her cousin.

  Politeness had him holding back, allowing the hostess to greet her guests. Warm hugs were exchanged, then Laura held out her arm, welcoming him into their close-knit circle.

  “Lilí, I’m sure you know who this is, as I’m aware of your baseball knowledge. But Ben, I’d like you to meet the youngest of the Fernandez sisters, Lilí. She’s a victim’s advocate at a clinic that serves the Humboldt Park area.”

  He extended his hand to shake, but Lilí leaned in for a hug as was customary in her Latino culture.

  “Hugging’s in my DNA,” she said with a laugh. “But even if it wasn’t, I’m giving myself this one chance to fan-girl over you. Then I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  Ben chuckled at her cheeky grin. It turned into a full out laugh when Julia rolled her eyes and murmured an “Ay Dios mío.”

  “What would you two like to drink?” Laura asked.

  Julia declined, so Laura and Lilí headed toward the bar together. As they moved away, Julia turned toward him, that easy smile of hers curving her lips.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” she said.

  Stepping closer, she lightly grasped his upper arms and rose up on her toes to press her cheek against his in the not-quite-a-kiss gesture she’d greeted him with the other day. Instinctively he placed a hand on her waist, taking in a deep breath sweetened by her floral scent. The urge to wrap her in his arms, give her the kind of hello kiss that would knock her stiletto boots off, pounded in his veins.

  But she’d given him no clear sign that she was interested in moving their relationship out of the friend zone into something more. Until he was sure, he’d play it casual. All while upping his game, determined to woo her.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he said, pleased when she
didn’t move away after their brief hug. Instead she stayed close, keeping their conversation intimate. “When I heard you were having a family dinner in Oakton, I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

  “Lilí and I skipped dessert. Though I may or may not have snuck a sliver of Rosa’s flan on the way out.”

  The teasing glint in Julia’s hazel eyes easily drew an answering smile from him. He wanted to whisk her away to a quiet corner where he could have her to himself. Spend the evening enjoying the heat from the fire and sharing a bottle of wine while the lights from Navy Pier in the distance and the stars sprinkled across the sky sparkled around them.

  “With that sweet tooth of yours, I’m sure Rosa expected you to sample,” he told Julia, pleasure warming his chest when her smile broadened into a huge grin.

  “Ah, you know me too well.”

  “Not yet.”

  Julia tilted her head, giving him a speculative look. Before she could respond to his not too subtle intent, Sherman Taylor approached, his hand outstretched in greeting.

  The prominent lawyer ushered them over to chat with two middle-aged couples seated in a pair of dark brown wicker patio couches and matching ottomans. A brick and metal gas fire pit nestled in the center of the gathering space creating a warm, inviting ambiance.

  Introductions were made for Julia, then Sherman drifted away to pour her a glass of pinot noir. One of the husbands, a salt-and-pepper-haired criminal defense lawyer, asked Ben how he enjoyed living near the ballpark in Wrigleyville. This led into a discussion of the relatively new area known as the town square, the Park at Wrigleyville.

  “Have you been yet?” the lawyer’s wife asked Julia.

  “No, I haven’t. Though I hope to get there to try a bit of ice skating,” she answered. “That would be a first for me.”

  “You should go!” the woman encouraged. “I took our kids last weekend and they had a great time.”

  The conversation moved on to other topics, though Ben listened with only half an ear.

  He was too busy concocting an idea. One he hoped he could entice Julia to say yes to. So far, any mention of sharing dinner or coffee outside their event planning had been politely declined. But this . . . it just might be the ticket.