A Season to Celebrate

by Fern Michaels

  Of course, she’d kept this hidden from her parents and three brothers. No one knew about her ultimate goal.

  No one except her cousin Lilí, here in Chicago. But that was only because Julia had to confess her plan to someone .

  The guilt. The doubts. The excitement.

  They all thrummed in her chest like a swarm of picaflores hovering. Tiny wings flapping at race speeds as the hummingbirds readied to dive-bomb into her belly when doubts sprouted.

  She’d come to Chicago over Labor Day weekend on the guise of visiting her three primas . Two of her cousins were married now, popping out babies like all their tías expected them to do. Especially Julia’s mami.

  Lilí was the youngest of the three sisters. Since Julia was barely a year older than her, they’d always been pretty close. Or, as close as social media, WhatsApp, and occasional visits back and forth between Chicago and the Island facilitated.

  Both were still single and approaching their midtwenties. Both working on finding their niche in their respective fields, Lilí as a victim’s advocate and Julia as an event planner. Both ignoring the pressure from members of their familia to “find a good man and settle down already.”

  For Julia, those cries were tied to the never-ending questions about when she planned to take over the catering business her parents had started years ago. No one ever asked if that’s what she wanted. Somewhere along the way it had simply become a given.

  The expectation was that she’d find a nice man on the Island. Marry. Start a family. Continue in her mother’s footsteps. And eventually take over the family business.

  The problem was . . . while she admired her mami’s tenacity in building the catering company from a small venture, preparing food for neighborhood and church parties, to the well-recognized and respected business that handled large corporate affairs, Julia wanted something different.

  Somewhere different.

  Some place a little less suffocating.

  Never mind that no one had ever assumed one of her brothers would step in. Dios mío , not when their whole lives revolved around baseball. A good chunk of her childhood had been spent on her way to a ballpark, at a ballpark, or leaving a ballpark, thanks to her three brothers.

  In Puerto Rico, baseball was like a religion. One her parents and brothers faithfully worshipped. She’d been baptized in the sport’s waters, raised on the catechism of Major League Baseball and Puerto Rico’s winter ball. Knew all the stories of the greats, like Roberto Clemente and Orlando Cepeda and so many more.

  Frankly, she was relieved to be missing the start of winter ball this year. If she did things right with this temporary assistant position she’d lucked into, thanks to Rosa’s mother-in-law, Julia might be staying in Chicago for good.

  She’d deal with how to deliver that news to her parents and brothers when the time came.

  For now, she was focused on helping to plan the best-attended, highest-earning Holiday Soiree the Chicago Youth Association had ever held. If that meant dealing with yet another baseball player, one whose mere name caused grown women to swoon and whose career stats drove grown men to envy, she’d keep her personal qualms to herself and “just do it.”

  She’d dealt with big-name players in the past. Many whose big bank accounts and prowess both on and off the field created inflated egos that left much to be desired.

  Down the hallway, the elevator doors dinged.

  Carol visibly shivered with glee. The young intern patted her long blond hair, then ran a jittery hand down her wool skirt.

  “How do I look?” she stage-whispered from her perch near the glass door.

  Julia pushed back her rolling chair, rising to stand at her place at the long conference table. “You look fine. What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big . . . ? Um, it’s Ben Thomas .”

  If Carol’s bug-eyed expression didn’t scream “What’s wrong with you?” her outstretched hands certainly did. “Chicago’s most eligible bachelor? Probably the best baseball player who’s ever lived?”

  “Bueno , I’d have to counter that last statement,” Julia answered, holding up a hand to stall the girl’s rant. “But no matter what, I’ll tell you this—”

  She broke off as Laura Taylor and several others came into view through the glass conference room walls. Standing a full head taller than everyone else was Ben Thomas.

  Even though he was dressed in a navy, ribbed turtleneck sweater to ward off the mid-November chill, rather than a baseball uniform and cap, she immediately recognized his square jaw, straight nose, and piercing blue eyes.

  Not because she was a groupie. Por favor, no .

  More so because her youngest brother Martín had the guy’s rookie season baseball card stuck on the wall over his bed. Martín’s main goal in life was to pitch as well as Ben did. Or rather, as well as Ben had before injuries took him out of the game way too soon.

  Ben had been a pitching phenom. One for the record books. Every baseball executive had clamored to get his arm on their team. Players had raved about his leadership in the dugout and the locker room. His coaches and managers always wanted him in the game. That desire to have him deliver on the mound had led to him blowing out his arm. Needlessly, if you asked her.

  However, pitching phenom or not, to her, Ben Thomas was simply the emcee of the Holiday Soiree that could be her ticket off the Island and a huge help to setting her on her way to starting her own independent life. Nothing more.

  Admittedly he was definitely a papi chulo, as her cousin Lilí liked to say when describing a hot guy. But Julia wasn’t in the market for a guy. Not right now anyway.

  “Tell me what?” Carol prodded.

  Straightening her shoulders, Julia looked her new friend in the eye, hoping to calm Carol’s nerves. “Remember this, famous pitcher or not, Benjamin Thomas puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us.”

  Carol’s brows dipped together in a deep frown that matched her perplexed, “Huh?”

  Julia laughed, the sound louder than she intended. It drew the attention of Laura Taylor, the five other committee members, and Ben Thomas as they entered the room.

  Ben’s gaze caught Julia’s. A twinkle shone in the blue depths of his eyes, a sexy grin tugging up the corners of his full mouth.

  She sucked in a quick breath, cutting off her laugh.

  Ay Dios mío , that grin, in person, was far more enticing than when seen on the television screen or in the sports section of the newspaper.

  As the other committee members found their seats, Ben strode forward to drape a light jacket over the back of a chair. Dark jeans hugged his strong legs. A pair of brown lace-up leather boots and the light scruff dusting his cheeks gave him a rugged look he wore far too well.

  Laura began the introductions with Carol, who had remained near the door, her awe obvious in her stuttered greeting. The poor girl’s cheeks flamed as she stumbled over her own name.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Ben said, inadvertently worsening the fan-worshipping Carol seemed unable to control.

  “S-same to you,” she murmured around the hint of a giggle.

  “Carol’s a student at DePaul,” Laura said. “She’s interning with us for the semester and is a marvelous addition to our team.”

  Julia admired how Laura, half of one of Chicago’s most respected power couples, managed to maintain a regal, unflappable manner while making everyone around her feel comfortable and welcome. In the short amount of time Julia had been working with her, Laura had become a true mentor.

  Laura gestured toward her. “Ben, I’d like you to meet Julia Fernandez, the brains and creativity behind this year’s theme for the Humboldt Park Youth Center.”

  “Well, it’s more of a group effort. That old sports cliché ‘There’s no I in team’ comes to play here.” Julia stepped to her right as she spoke, meeting Ben and Laura at the head of the conference table.

  Someone else in the room chimed in to agree with Laura, adding their praise
for Julia’s entertainment idea, but Ben’s large hand engulfed hers in a firm handshake and whatever else was being said faded.

  A rough callous on his palm rubbed against her soft skin. The smile in his eyes turned the icy blue to a warm winter sky, the kind of blustery Chicago morning Lilí complained about but Julia actually enjoyed.

  “I’ve heard rave reviews about your thoughts for the soiree,” Ben said, a teasing note in his deep voice.

  If he’d been clean shaven, she might have seen the sexy dimple in his left cheek. The one female fans, and some male ones, too, sighed over. With the light scruff he now sported, the dimple was hidden from her view, though she found herself checking for it. Not that she was attracted by his sexy, rolled-out-of-bed appeal.

  “I’m looking forward to working with you,” Ben added.

  “Likewise,” Julia answered.

  She took a deep breath, willing the picaflores flapping their little hummingbird wings in her belly to calm. Unfortunately, her deep breath brought her senses in close and personal contact with the hint of his woodsy cologne, its spicy undertones heightening her awareness of him.

  All of a sudden she found herself needing to repeat the reminder she had shared with Carol earlier. This time, for her own good.

  Ben Thomas was just like every other guy. No need to go all boba over him. She didn’t do boy crazy. Ever .

  It was simply a matter of remembering: Pants. One leg at a time.

  * * *

  Ben tried hard to keep his focus on the details Laura Taylor, Jeff Louis, and the rest of the committee discussed throughout the meeting. Hell, he was a master at focusing. Ask any of his old teammates. Nothing got him out of the zone unless he wanted it to.

  Problem was, right now his zone seemed to be honed in on one Julia Fernandez. It had been since he’d walked into the conference room barely thirty minutes ago.

  Not only because her petite frame, delicate features, and wavy, long, black hair had made him take a second look, then a third, followed by a . . . hell he’d lost count.

  While he hadn’t been able to stop glancing at her, though, she never seemed to have trouble not looking his way. Barely making eye contact. A hair shy of aloof.

  He wasn’t used to women not being interested in him.

  As soon as the thought flashed through his mind, he pulled up short.

  It wasn’t that he expected to be the center of attention. In fact, most of the time he worked hard to go incognito and avoid recognition.

  With Julia, though, something made him want her to take notice.

  Something more than her attractiveness.

  It was the confidence she exuded as she brought the committee up to date on several tasks for the event.

  It was the way she praised others, acknowledging their efforts.

  It was the slight lilt to her words. The touch of her Spanish accent that reminded him of home and growing up surrounded by the Cuban influence in Miami.

  His first real crush had been his buddy Octavio’s older sister, Amada. A short-lived crush as she’d become more like a sister since Octavio’s place had become Ben’s second home, his teammate’s family semi-adopting him once the two boys started playing select ball together and it became apparent that Ben’s parents weren’t around much.

  Two professors, Ben’s mom and dad had always been elbow-deep in their research. Oh, they’d been supportive, more or less encouraging him to pursue his goals. They simply hadn’t truly connected with him in sharing his love for the sport.

  His “family” dinner experiences had taken place around the Ramos’s table. That’s where his affinity for Latin food, Cuban food in particular, had been born.

  Listening to Julia talk about her plans for the holiday fund-raiser, all with a Latino flair, heightened his melancholy for the loss of family and sense of home he’d been dealing with since his forced retirement from playing ball.

  “Since the funds raised at this year’s event will benefit the Humboldt Park Youth Center, which serves a large Hispanic community, the entertainment will feature the kids giving a pseudo rendition of a parranda or a posada ,” Julia told him, her Spanish accent hugging the words.

  “I hate to admit that I had never heard of a parranda before,” Jeff Louis said. The middle-aged bank executive had removed his suit jacket and now leaned back in the black leather chair, his expression earnest. “Despite the number of Hispanic kids and families we serve. Makes me realize I have a lot more to learn.”

  That’s what Ben liked about working with this committee and the Chicago Youth Association’s auxiliary board in general. They were comprised of individuals who were committed to their mission statement and the children.

  “Now a posada , yes,” Jeff continued, smoothing a hand down his tie. “I’m familiar with that Mexican tradition. People caroling from house to house like a parranda , but with statues of Mary and Joseph. Like they’re seeking shelter. I think introducing the cultural aspects, both the Puerto Rican caroling with the parranda and the Mexican posada , will enrich the event.”

  “Exactly.” Laura Taylor gave a firm nod. “Having the kids as the singers is a beautiful touch. We’ve never featured the youth in the past and they’re the reason why we’re here. Why we do what we do, right?”

  Hands clasped on the slick black tabletop, the older woman looked around at each of the members present. Answering nods of agreement along with a murmured, “Damn straight,” from Dan Roberts, a local builder, met her perusal.

  With her blond hair smoothed back in a tight bun low on her head, Laura looked the epitome of the high society matron often featured in the local pages of the paper. Straight-laced, savvy, and dedicated to the charities she worked hard to assist.

  Ben had met her during his rookie season with the Cubs when he’d volunteered for a youth baseball clinic. Now, eight years later, he was still involved with helping out Chicago youth.

  Actually, thanks to Laura’s uncanny ability to lure a person into her world of volunteerism and civic duty, he’d kept his head above water—barely—the past few years of injury, surgery, rehab, and ultimately, early retirement.

  Between his work with the youth centers and his burgeoning sports-casting career, he was putting one foot in front of the other. Not dwelling on the what ifs, should haves, and if onlys. Most days, anyway.

  “When I first met Julia at a family gathering over Labor Day weekend and heard about her background in event planning in Puerto Rico, I mentioned the upcoming soiree,” Laura said, drawing Ben’s attention to the beautiful woman seated across from him.

  The bright, mid-November, late afternoon sun shone through the picture windows behind Julia, creating a halo of light around her dark hair. In a short-sleeved ivory sweater dress, a delicate gold necklace with an intricate cross hanging to her midchest, she was almost like a holiday angel here to guide their efforts with her creativity and vision.

  “By the end of the evening, I knew she’d be the perfect addition to our committee,” Laura said. She reached out to place her hand over Julia’s and gave her an endearing, almost maternal smile. “I think we all agree that’s been the case.”

  Julia’s tanned complexion darkened with the hint of a blush at Laura’s praise and the answering “You got that right!” and “Most definitely!” heard around the table.

  “Gracias ,” she murmured.

  Ben liked that she accepted the praise rather than brushing it off. She knew her worth and didn’t shy away from accepting the compliment.

  She mouthed a thank-you to several others in the group, but when her gaze fell on him he could have sworn the smile in her eyes dimmed. Before he could be sure, she moved on to wink at the young intern who’d yet to say a complete sentence to him. Poor kid.

  During their short break earlier, he’d done his best to ease her sports star awe, asking about her major, classes, and expected graduation date. Typical icebreakers among college students. So far, no dice.

  Give her another meeting or two
, the run-through for the event at the very latest, and she’d see he was a regular guy. One who happened to throw a ball pretty fast, occasionally with a mean curve that brushed a batter back off home plate. At least, he used to, anyway.

  “I’m heading to the youth center for a choir rehearsal tonight. It’s only our third, but we’ve had a decent response to our call for participants.” Julia ran her fingers through her hair as she spoke, combing it back off her shoulders.

  “There’s also a nice mix of ages. From as little as five . . . ay , Bernardo’s a cute little guy without a shy bone in his body.” Julia chuckled, a low husky sound that had others joining in and Ben wanting to do whatever he could to elicit that sound again. “To a handful of students in their high school choir. I asked if they might help recruit a few more for good measure.”

  “Let me know if you’d like some help drumming up singers,” Ben said.

  “Really?” Julia’s brow furrowed, a mix of surprise and doubt clouding her features.

  “Sure.” Ben shrugged, wondering at her reaction to his offer. “I’m involved with the baseball camp the Humboldt Park Youth Center holds in the summer. I could probably round up a few of the athletes.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks. I’ll see how it goes tonight and will ask Laura to get in touch with you if we need assistance.”

  There was definitely a strong note of hesitation in Julia’s voice. Whether she doubted his sincerity or his ability to come through for her, Ben couldn’t be sure. Neither reason was a good one as far as he was concerned.

  For most of his life, few people had doubted his ability to accomplish anything. Some had even believed he’d beat the odds after his last surgery, eventually getting his pitching arm back to full strength.

  However, while Julia’s exuberance, striking good looks, and ease with the others on her team intrigued him, it was evident that when it came to him she had some reservations.