A Season to Celebrate

by Fern Michaels

He started in surprise.

  Her mom? That’s whose call she’d been avoiding?

  A slew of questions raced through his mind. But Julia had already started moving down the hall again.

  “Here we go.” Ben ushered her into the library.

  Her light gasp told him this must be her first time in the space.

  Eyes wide with appreciation, she took in the intricately carved bookshelves covering an entire wall, the shelves filled with titles varying from classics to contemporaries and from easy reads to legal tomes. A window seat with views of Michigan Avenue took up the outer wall, while a fireplace dominated the third. A dark brown leather settee with two matching armchairs squared off in front of the inviting fire, providing comfy spots to curl up with a book.

  “My cousin Rosa must love it here,” she said.

  “The librarian?”

  “Mm—hmm. Laura’s daughter-in-law,” Julia answered. “I’m sure she’s gotten lost in this room many times.”

  The loving note in her voice when she talked about her cousins, and usually her parents and siblings, too, brought a dull ache to his chest. He’d never had that type of relationship with his parents. He barely remembered his grandparents, who had all passed when he was a kid. As the only child of two parents who’d been only children themselves, he didn’t have any family to rely on or turn to. No aunts, uncles, or cousins.

  It wasn’t until he found baseball and when the Ramos’s had welcomed him into their home that he’d finally felt the true sense of familia .

  “Well, I’ll leave you to make your call,” he said, backing away. “I’m going to make my way to the bathroom, then I’ll wait for you out front.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said, waving him off. “Go back to the party.”

  It wasn’t much of a party for him unless she was there, too.

  Rather than admit that, he said, “No worries. It’ll be nice to enjoy the soft music and quiet before joining the fray again.”

  “I . . . I shouldn’t be long then.”

  “Take your time. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

  Whether she understood his subtext—that he’d be there when she was ready for more than friendship—he had no idea.

  Not wanting to scare her away, he gave a quick wink, then headed out.

  Chapter Six

  “Ay, Mami, por favor, no seas así ,” Julia said, struggling to keep the whine and the frustration from her voice.

  If not, her mother would ignore her plea to stop acting this way. Unfortunately, Paula Fernandez was the queen of passive aggressive behavior. Especially when she was on a roll.

  Like she was now.

  A heavy sigh blew through the cell speaker at Julia’s ear and she rolled her eyes. Immediately giving thanks her mother couldn’t see her.

  “Am I not supposed to be hurt that my only daughter is not home for the holidays?” her mother steamrolled on. “That when I ask when she will return to celebrate Las Navi-dades with her papi, hermanos, and me, to help with the cooking and preparations, she will not answer me?”

  Reproach dripped from Mami’s words. Each one a tiny pinprick of guilt to Julia’s heart.

  “Who will I rely on when the catering orders come in?”

  “Allegra is there,” Julia answered. “She does a better job at being your right hand than I do.”

  “Ha!” her mother scoffed. “Esa nena no sabe .”

  “Yes, she does know, Mami. More than you give her credit for.”

  In fact, her older cousin had been getting her hands messy in the kitchen several years before Julia had been allowed to even step inside.

  “She’s too much like her mother, and you know I can only take so much of your Tía Sonia. Why my brother had to marry that woman . . . ay , do not get me started.”

  Too late. The litany of woes had begun.

  Complaints about her sister-in-law, a recent issue with bookkeeping for the business, a new recipe she wanted to try but hadn’t found the time because she was short a helper . . .

  Julia rubbed her temple, desperate to ease the pounding slowly increasing in her forehead.

  “Mami, me tengo que ir,” she interjected, when her mom finally stopped for a breath.

  “What do you mean you have to go? We have barely talked.”

  Correction, Julia had barely talked. As for Mami, her guilt trip was flying first class.

  “I told you, I’m at the Taylors’ for a post-Thanksgiving dinner party. It’s rude of me to have disappeared this long already.”

  “Bueno , you should not be disrespectful. I will let you go.”

  Julia let out a heavy sigh, quickly pulling the phone away from her face so her mother wouldn’t hear. The woman had the ears of a bat, capable of picking up the slightest sound. Especially one you didn’t want her to catch.

  “Gracias, Mami. Adio —”

  “Wait!” Her mother’s cry stalled Julia’s good-bye.

  “¿Sí? ” she asked, taken aback by the urgency in her mami’s plea.

  “When I called to check on Rosa, she mentioned your big fiesta to raise the money for the children is in two weeks. After that, your work there will be done, no ?”

  Julia’s knees buckled under the weight of parental expectations and she sank onto one of the leather love seats. Elbow bent on the armrest, she cradled her forehead in her palm, Lili’s cell phone pressed to her ear.

  “¿Hola, nena? ¿Estás allí? ”

  “Yes, I’m here,” Julia answered, like the obedient child she had always been. Until now.

  Her heart pounding, she gazed into the fireplace. The flames danced and teased, suffocating the pieces of wood in the same way she felt her life being suffocated by the plans her mami and papi had mapped out for her.

  “I’m—I’m not sure. There may be something more for me to do here.”

  Another heavy sigh came through the line.

  “Bueno, cuídate nena. Te quiero .”

  “You take care, too, Mami. And, you know I love you, too, right?”

  “Sí . I do.”

  On her mami’s melancholy words, the call disconnected.

  Julia dropped her head into her hands, hunched over, engulfed by the guilt of keeping her true intentions from her mom. Yet, disappointed and keenly frustrated that those closest to her couldn’t understand or see how her dreams differed from theirs.

  * * *

  Ben eased his way down the hallway leading to the library, straining to hear any hint of conversation. If Julia was still on the phone, he’d turn around and go back.

  Twenty minutes had passed already and his unease hadn’t quieted. Not when he couldn’t stop picturing the worry that had knit Julia’s brow earlier.

  Then again, a twenty-minute chat between Julia and her mom might be the norm. Simply because his parental phone calls were the epitome of a quick three-pitch strikeout didn’t mean hers weren’t more along the lines of a batter knocking off foul ball after foul ball, making you throw a slew of pitches to get the guy out.

  Ben paused at the library door, unwilling to interrupt her. Silence greeted him.

  Cautiously leaning against the wood frame, he peeked inside. As soon as he saw Julia, shoulders hunched, palms covering her face, he hurried over to her side.

  The heels of his wing-tip shoes slapped the tile floor with each step. She didn’t even seem to notice.

  “Hey,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

  She glanced up, dejection blanketing her delicate features.

  “Hey,” she answered.

  The edges of her wide mouth quivered, as if trying to smile, but finding the effort too difficult.

  Ben sat down beside her, the need to comfort her driving him to wrap an arm around her delicate shoulders.

  “You doing okay?” he asked, half expecting her to pull away.

  Over the past few weeks she had started to relax in his company, greeting him with a brush of their cheeks rather than an impersonal handshake. But th
e demonstrative manner she shared with the kids during rehearsal—an encouraging hand on a shoulder, a playful hair fluff for Bernardo, warm hugs hello and good-bye for all—had not been extended to him.

  Not until she had reached for his hand out in the hallway earlier. He hoped that was a sign of progress.

  “I’ve been better,” she answered.

  “Care to talk about it?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh so heavy it seeped into him, forging his desire to soothe whatever pained her.

  “It’s not easy trying to figure out how to balance love and commitment to your family with your own goals and dreams. You know?” she said.

  Actually, he didn’t know. His parents had never held any strong expectations for him other than that he do well in school and find an area where he excelled. Sure, they’d probably thought it would be in academia, but they hadn’t balked at his choices. They’d been too wrapped up in their own research and studies.

  But he’d spent enough time at Octavio’s house to understand the pull a person’s family could have on them. The compulsion to make them proud, to give them your best. To remain loyal.

  It’s what Ben had found with baseball and his teammates. It’s what he missed.

  “Well, I may not know your family, but in the time we’ve spent together, there’s definitely one thing I know about you.”

  Julia slid sideways on the leather sofa cushion, angling to face him.

  His arm slid off her shoulder, falling at her side to rest near her hip.

  She stared up at him. A mix of doubt, sadness, and hope swam in the depths of her hazel eyes.

  “You care about those around you,” he continued. “And you give one hundred percent to your commitments. I bet your parents would be proud of the work you’re doing here.”

  She ducked her chin, giving a slight shake of her head. “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. If they raised you, they’re good people.”

  “Yeah, they are.”

  “That means even if they don’t understand what you need to do for yourself right now, eventually they will. In the long run, I’m betting they only want you to be happy.”

  A beat of silence passed, then she covered his hand with hers on the sofa cushion. The warmth of her palm matched the warmth in the sweet smile she gifted him with when she gazed up at him.

  “Gracias ,” she murmured.

  “For what?”

  “For calming the crazy thoughts salsa dancing in my head.” Her gentle laugh held a note of self-deprecation.

  “Anytime,” he answered, smiling back. “Though, you should know, I can also hold my own on the salsa dance floor. In case you were wondering.”

  Julia threw back her head and laughed. The rich sound tugged at his desire for her, enticing and strong.

  “I’ll have to verify that sometime,” she teased.

  He sure hoped so.

  Her cheeks brightened with laughter, the gloomy melancholy that had weighed her down moments ago dissipated.

  Ben grinned back at her, pleased to have helped lighten her mood.

  “Bueno , I guess we should head outside, huh?” Julia rose to stand next to the ottoman.

  She surprised him once again by holding out her hand to him.

  Not one to miss an opportunity, Ben placed his hand in hers. The smoothness of her palm pressed against his as she gently tightened her grasp.

  When they reached the doorway, Ben drew to a halt.

  Now or never. Once they returned to the group, who knew if he’d have a moment alone with her again.

  “Before we go back to the party, I have a quick proposition for you,” he said.

  Julia glanced up at him, curiosity arching one of her brows. “Oh really? And what might that be?”

  The soft sound of the holiday tune “Blue Christmas” drifted down the hallway from the living room. An appropriate song for how he’d feel should she continue to keep him at an arm’s distance.

  “I was thinking we could cross something off your bucket list this weekend. If you’re up for it.”

  She angled her head in question, lips curved in a playful smirk as she gave him a narrow-eyed once-over. “That sounds more like a challenge if you ask me.”

  “If it were, would that encourage you to say yes?”

  Her smirk blossomed on a husky chuckle that called out to the loneliness he kept hidden.

  “In my house, with my three competitive brothers, you never back away from a challenge. So, what are you throwing down?” she asked.

  The way she jutted her chin with confidence, her other hand balled in a fist on her slender hip, had his pulse quickening.

  “I’m thinking you, me, a private ice-skating session after the rink closes to the public. What do you say? Are you up for it?”

  Chapter Seven

  This was not a date. Merely a fun evening with a friend.

  Julia repeated the words to herself as her driver steered his car through the darkened streets of downtown Chicago Sunday evening, headed toward Ben’s home in the Southport Corridor neighborhood near Wrigley Field.

  The sounds of cars honking and snow crunching under the tires mixed with the voice of Michael Bublé crooning “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” over the radio. Outside her window, holiday decorations and lights flashed by, illuminating the car’s interior, casting shadows that matched the shadows of doubt she’d been battling all day.

  Lilí had practically pushed her out the door with an exasperated, “¿Nena, estás loca? Why would you not go?”

  Instead, Julia wondered if she was crazy for coming.

  Huddled in the backseat with the rush of the car’s heated air warming her, thoughts of Christmases on the Island swarmed her. The fiestas with her familia and friends, the late night parrandas going from house to house singing and playing instruments. She missed the comfort of the coquís serenading her at night when she fell asleep with her window open. Like the Islanders themselves, the miniature tree frogs indigenous to Puerto Rico had survived the horrors of Hurricane María and the aftermath. Battered, but not beaten.

  The strength to survive, something Mami and Papi had driven into her and her brothers, especially in those months after the storm, guided her now. It fed her determination to succeed here in Chicago.

  Which is why she had no business allowing herself to be distracted by heart-flutter-inducing romance. With a ballplayer.

  Ex -ballplayer, as Lilí had reminded her.

  The driver turned down a quiet neighborhood street adorned with holiday flair. Lighted santas, reindeer, and nativity scenes glowed in the small, snow-covered front yards. Christmas trees brightened windows and colored lights outlined many of the homes.

  They must be getting closer to Ben’s place. Julia’s shoulders shimmied with excited anticipation.

  After making a left turn onto West Addison Street, the car slowed to a stop in front of a gorgeous, redbrick, two-story home with a dark, burnished metal fence that matched the window accents.

  It was a large house, built to hold a growing family more so than a single guy who spent half of the baseball season on the road.

  “Here we are.” The gray-haired driver turned to look at her over his shoulder, his chin hidden by a thick green scarf wrapped around his neck.

  “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

  “It’s already covered by the guy who booked the car. Have a nice evening, miss.”

  Julia thanked him and offered the same, then slid out of the vehicle.

  Gingerly stepping over the snow plowed off to the side of the road, she made her way up the cobblestone path and several cement stairs to Ben’s front door. The porch light welcomed her, though a strange lack of Christmas decorations left his place the odd one out compared to his neighbors. She peeked at the front windows, but couldn’t spot a tree inside either.

  For someone who seemed more like a homebody than the partying bachelor most single, multimillion-dollar athletes were, Ben’s
lack of holiday spirit surprised her.

  As she stood in front of his door, her gloved finger hovering over the black, rectangular doorbell, a mix of emotions assailed her.

  Eagerness, at spending more time with him.

  Fear, that she was coming to look forward to seeing him. Far more than a mere friend should.

  Empathy, for a good man that life had thrown a major curve.

  Ben might not have openly admitted it, but she’d caught the sadness in his eyes, the dejection in his slightly sagging shoulders when the topic of his playing days came up.

  Just like with her brother, Alfredo.

  Only, the pang she felt for Ben wasn’t brotherly. Not in the least. And that’s what worried her.

  The wind kicked up, blowing a swirl of snow at her feet. A chill shuddered through her and she quickly pressed the bell.

  Seconds later the door opened to reveal Ben, all six foot plus of hunky male in dark jeans and a light blue sweater that heightened the icy blue of his eyes. His dark blond hair was slightly mussed, like he’d recently run a hand through it.

  His chiseled face brightened when he saw her. The grin he flashed made her heart flip-flop like a fish on the end of her papi’s favorite fishing pole line.

  “Hi,” Ben said. “It’s good to see you. Come in.”

  Moving aside, he gestured for her to enter.

  Julia stomped the snow off her boots before stepping into the house, then paused inside the foyer, biting her lip to keep her jaw from dropping open.

  While Laura and Sherman Taylor’s home might be grand opulence at its finest, Ben’s house was a veritable oasis. Intricate light and dark geometric patterns marked the inlaid wood floors while miniature palms rose up from the basement to tickle the first floor steps of a floating staircase connecting the home’s three levels. Columns in the same dark wood separated the various rooms on the main floor, with a trail of little wooden orbs the size of ping-pong balls stained to match dotting the curved archways of the cream-painted walls.

  “Here, let me take your coat,” Ben said. “Make yourself at home.”

  Eyeing the strong lines and intricate details in the design and structure, she slowly unwrapped her scarf. “This is absolutely beautiful, Ben.”