While two adult volunteers accompanied them on the keyboard and guitar, the group of teens who sang in their high school choir had taken charge of the various percussion instruments. Two girls with heavily lined eyes and pouty lips held a pair of maracas, one set more like little eggs that made a shushing sound when the girl moved her hands to the rhythm. A third girl with straight dark hair and a shy demeanor gripped the pandereta, as they called the instrument, its silver jingles sounding with each shake. A scrawny kid with a wide smile grasped the dried, hollowed-out gourd called a güiro in his left hand, creating a scraping sound as he dragged a wide metal comb up and down the ridges carved into one side of the instrument. Finally, an older teen named Rico, a husky guy with a football player’s physique who seemed to be the leader of the group, held on to a plenera , keeping the beat by tapping a steady rhythm on the tight leather spread across the top of the tambourine-looking hand drum.
In the midst of the hoopla, young Bernardo stood center stage, shaking his hips in a solo dance, his chubby belly jiggling with his efforts.
Ben chuckled and Julia shot him a “you’re-not-helping glare.” He covered his grin with his fist. Message received: the rambunctious kid did not need any encouragement.
Hands raised to gain the group’s attention, Julia joined Bernardo in the center of the room.
Rico laid off on the beat, earning Ben’s respect when the rest of the group followed his lead. Including Bernardo, who slumped in a chair next to the older boy.
“Bueno , if we want to do a round of bombas ,” Julia went on, “who here wants to take one of the shout-out verses in the middle of the song?”
About ten of the thirty-five or so kids raised their hands. Naturally, Bernardo raised both of his.
Julia reached over to ruffle the boy’s hair playfully, slapping his raised palm in a high five. Her ease and comfort with the kids made Ben wish she felt the same camaraderie with him. But no, from the moment they’d walked into the youth center, she’d been all business.
Of course, it probably didn’t help that it’d taken them an extra twenty minutes to work their way through the throng of kids who had rushed him near the entrance as soon as he’d been recognized.
Countless selfies, a few Snapchat and Insta story videos, even a call to a brother working his pizza delivery job but who supposedly was the world’s biggest Cubs fan, and too many autographs for Ben to keep track of had transpired before they left the open lobby area to make their way down the right wing, which housed the larger classrooms for the arts programs.
“You’re like the Pied Piper of Humboldt Park,” Julia had murmured.
A quick glance behind them gave credence to her claim. Along with those returning for the second rehearsal, his arrival had picked up enough new choir members to fill a baseball team’s starting lineup, and then some.
Unfortunately, the one person not responding to his Pied Piper call was the outgoing, confident, engaging woman standing before him.
He hoped to change that, if she gave him a chance.
So far, he was batting .000 when it came to learning more about her.
Their dinner conversation had remained solely on the event. Any time he’d tried to veer off topic, she expertly countered his maneuver.
Once the rehearsal had started, it’d been all bets off as her attention had rightly remained on the kids.
“Will you be singing with us?” Bernardo pointed to Ben, seated in one of the black plastic chairs near the guitarist and keyboardist.
Julia spun around to face him, her long, black hair fanning out behind her before settling to drape across her shoulders. The dark tresses contrasted with the cream material of her sweater dress, a color that heightened her silky smooth tan skin.
Confusion swam in her hazel eyes, her mouth opening and closing as if she was unsure how to respond.
Ben stood up, grasped the back of his chair, then moved it closer to the little boy’s. “I’ll already be on stage as the emcee. If you don’t mind, I’ll gladly join the parranda party.”
“Oye , he pro’bly don’t know the lenguaje ,” a teen from the back of the room called out. “But maybe the songs in English, no? That’d be pretty cool.”
Swiveling in his chair, Ben scanned the group, searching for the kid who’d piped up. He spotted him when another boy reached out to give him a fist bump.
“Mira, no soy Latino, pero puedo hablar español. Mejor, puedo cantar ,” Ben answered.
Several jaws dropped.
A few fists covered mouths that howled a “No way!” exclamation at Ben’s claim that while he might not be Latino, he could speak Spanish, and even better, sing.
But the shouted “wepa!” a cheer he’d heard many Puerto Rican teammates yell after a good play, made Ben grin.
The sound of Julia’s spiky boot heels tap-tap-tapping on the linoleum floor had him looking to his right. She laid a hand on his shoulder, then gifted him with a sweet and genuine smile of thanks, her glance warm, maybe even inviting.
“Sí ,” she responded. “Ben can definitely speak our language. Now, whether or not he can sing might be another story.”
She punctuated her teasing challenge with a wink and, hot damn if he didn’t feel like he’d just won Pitcher of the Month.
Rico gave Ben a tough guy chin jut of approval that he acknowledged with a tilt of his head.
“Here.” Julia handed him a packet of papers with the song lyrics. “Looks like you’re going to need these.”
“Yep, and I guess that means I’ll also need to attend rehearsals with you.”
Something flared in Julia’s hazel eyes. Wariness or interest?
Before he could be sure, she blinked and it was gone. Replaced by the same cool confidence she’d shown at the meeting, then again later over dinner.
“Well then, you better get ready. I can be a hard taskmaster when the need arises.”
“No worries about me slacking,” he teased back. “I’m ready to hit this out of the park.”
She huffed out a short laugh. It sparkled in her eyes, giving her face an appealing glow of joy that made him want to make her laugh again and again.
Back-peddling to the center of the room again, she extended her arms out to her sides, like she meant to gather the group around her.
“All right, everyone, let’s start at the top of the song list and go through each one. For anyone who thinks they’d like to try a bomba ”—she pointed at those who’d raised their hands earlier—“think about what you might say over the next week. Instead of having you make up your words on the fly like we normally do, for this occasion I’m going to need to give your verse the okay beforehand.”
A few grumbled about the lack of spontaneity, but settled down once the keyboardist played a few bars of the first song.
Rico tapped out the beat on the plenera hand drum and they started with what Julia had told him was a classic, “Ábreme la Puerta ”—a call from the carolers for the home owner to “open the door” for them.
Bernardo wiggled his chair closer to Ben’s, leaning over to read the lyrics with him. The boy’s easy acceptance, the kinship shared by all the students as they sang and smiled and moved in their seats to the Spanish rhythm, reminded Ben of the times he’d hung out with Octavio’s family in Miami. The get-togethers he’d been invited to by other Latino players. They all thrummed with the same close-knit camaraderie experienced in a team’s locker room and clubhouse.
Suddenly an undercurrent of longing grabbed a hold of him. So strong, so forceful, it threatened to drag Ben under. His chest tightened. His throat constricted and he struggled for breath.
All his life, any sense of belonging had come through sports. Through baseball. Without that connection, he’d been lost. Adrift for the past year and a half—since he’d left the game.
But spending time with these kids and watching the joy on Julia’s face as she wove through the chairs, encouraging the shy singers, giving a youngster a friendly pat on the back, jo
ining one of the teen girls in a shoulder shimmy duet. Her feet and hips moved naturally to the beat, her lilting voice joining in the melody.
For the first time since he’d announced his retirement, Ben felt a connection to something. To someone.
To her.
Maybe it was crazy. They’d only met today.
All he knew was, he didn’t want today, with her, to end.
Now he simply had to figure out a way to keep the music playing, or at the very least, how to replay it again. Soon.
Chapter Four
Julia couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, but somehow during the hour-long rehearsal, something in Ben had changed.
Sí , the playful glint in his icy blue eyes remained the same, but a strange sort of intensity crackled in the air whenever she caught him looking at her.
He’d laughed and joked with the kids, especially Bernardo, who’d moved his chair so close to Ben’s, the five-year-old might as well have sat on Ben’s lap.
Now, the ballplayer stood over near the far corner, talking with the cop who had agreed to play the guitar for them. The policeman taught guitar lessons at the center and had recruited a couple of his students to sing.
The older gentleman who’d volunteered as their pianist, a retired businessman who also regularly helped at the center, was busy packing up his keyboard and stand, though Julia noticed him occasionally joining in their conversation.
With rehearsal at an end, she called out good-byes to some of the kids and answered a few questions from others. All the while, her gaze kept straying to Ben.
His relaxed, laid back manner made him seem more like the handsome boy next door rather than the face that had graced the cover of nearly every sports magazine on the shelves, and a few other nonsports related ones, too.
She allowed herself to admire his athletic build and chiseled profile for a few short minutes.
With the central heat on inside the center, Ben had pushed up the sleeves of his navy sweater. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he held the acoustic guitar, following the cop’s instructions on where to place his fingers so he could strum out a chord.
The strength in Ben’s large hands as he finessed the strings had her fantasizing about his fingers on her. Strong yet soft in a skin-tingling caress.
Her pulse sparked at her silly imaginings and she pulled her thoughts up short. Estaba loca .
Sí , she had to be crazy, allowing her mind to go down a path like that.
The last few stragglers finally drifted out of the room and Julia strode over to a nearby seat where she’d left her thin jacket along with Ben’s. She’d really have to invest in a better coat with winter approaching.
As soon as she picked up Ben’s, she caught the scent of his cologne lingering on the material. The hint of spice in the undertones piqued her senses, making her body warm in intimate places. Just in time, she stopped herself from bringing his coat up to her nose so she could take a deeper whiff.
Ay Dios mío , talk about groupie behavior.
Reminding herself about her priorities, which did not include going all boba over a ballplayer, she headed over to meet up with the musicians and Ben.
“Muchísimas gracias , I appreciate you playing for us. Tonight and the night of the benefit.” Julia shrugged into her jacket as she thanked them.
“My pleasure,” the cop answered.
“It’s Diego, right?” she asked, waiting for his nod before she turned to the older gentleman. “And Señor Pérez?”
The keyboardist tipped his head in greeting. He made a few smart suggestions about the playlist order and Julia jotted down the notes. After reassuring her they’d return the following week, they exchanged farewells, then the two volunteers headed out with their instruments.
That left her and Ben alone in the empty classroom.
The sound of the musicians’ footsteps faded, blending with the murmur of voices drifting down the hallway from the common area.
Hands in his pockets, Ben swiveled on the heels of his leather work boots to face her. He rocked forward on his toes, leaning closer. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.”
That intense scrutiny was back in his expression. Like a scientist studying an intriguing specimen, he honed in on her.
His interest was clear. No way was she misreading the gleam in his eyes.
The tilt of his body, the teasing quirk of his mouth . . . they were all signs she’d learned to read. Read and avoid. She didn’t have time for relationships and the drama. Her sights were set on landing a permanent position here in Chicago.
“Um, yes, I guess it is.” She shuffled a step to the side, moving in the direction of the door. “Thanks again for sitting in tonight. You were a hit with the kids.” She combed her hair back, brushing it over her shoulders. “I should get going. Need to either call for an Uber or start the walk to the train station.”
“Don’t do that. I can drive you.”
She waved off his offer. Mostly for her own sanity. “That’s okay. My place is out of your way.”
“How do you know that?” Ben drew back, his brows angling with confusion.
Julia gave a mental head shake at her slip of the tongue.
She knew because her fanatic younger brother had read, often out loud, every article he came across that mentioned Ben. Including the one about him and several other teammates who lived near Wrigley Field, where they enjoyed walking or biking to the ballpark.
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 pl
atform 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.
A Season to Celebrate Page 29