Why that would be, he had no idea.
Nor did he understand why that bugged the hell out of him.
“As I mentioned at our last meeting, if anyone would like to join me for a rehearsal, feel free,” Julia said. “I’m having a great time working with the kids.”
One by one the reasons for why a committee member couldn’t make it to that night’s rehearsal went around the table, ending with the college intern, who apparently had a date.
Looked like Julia was on her own.
At least, she had been.
“Actually, I’m free this evening. I’d love to come along with you,” Ben said.
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Laura clapped her hands together in front of her chest. “I had mentioned to Julia earlier that she might want to chat with you about the script for the event. Perhaps the two of you can put your heads together once we’re done here.”
Just like that, Laura Taylor unknowingly greased the wheels for him.
“Sounds like a plan. Why don’t we chat over a quick dinner on our way to the Humboldt Park area?” Ben tilted his head in question at Julia.
Her hazel eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction, like a batter staring him down from home plate as Ben stood on the pitcher’s mound preparing to throw his next pitch. Sizing him up.
He found the fact that she didn’t jump at a chance to spend more time in his company when many scrambled to do so refreshing. Something told him that while Julia could be polite and professional when the situation warranted, she wasn’t one to hold her tongue if pressed for the truth.
And he wanted to know the truth behind her reluctance where he was concerned.
More importantly, he hoped she’d give him a chance to change her mind.
Chapter Two
“So tell me again, how did you find this restaurant?” Julia asked as she walked beside Ben along Division Street, the late fall sun slowly making its descent behind the businesses and apartments.
Once the meeting had wrapped up, they’d left the Chicago Youth Association’s office building on Wabash Avenue together. Since she’d taken public transportation, they’d driven in his Range Rover over to the Paseo Boricua area of town.
The popular Puerto Rican section of Division was bookended by large steel replicas of the Island’s flag, with red metal stripes, its blue triangle, and a cutout for the large white star seemingly waving in the wind. Along the street in between the flags, you were treated to several of the famous Humboldt Park intricate murals celebrating love of culture and their Island, along with a Walk of Fame recognizing those who had paved the way. Christmas wreaths with tiny Puerto Rican flags already hung on business doors and streetlights in preparation for the holidays. Evidence of how the buildings, shops, and citizens in this part of the city proudly wore and lived their Puerto Rican heritage.
It was Julia’s favorite street to stroll down because she almost felt like she was back home. Without the ever-present pressure to fall in line with her parents’ old-fashioned thinking weighing her down.
“My rookie season, the team was flying back from the West Coast. I started talking about how much I missed the Cuban food I’d grown up eating in Miami. On our next day off, one of the guys hustled me down to Gloria’s for lunch,” Ben said. “One taste of her amarillos . . . Mmm-mmm, that woman knows how to cook a sweet plantain, not to mention her rice and beans. And the lechón asado .”
He rubbed his flat belly like it was already full. Or maybe in anticipation of it being filled with the foods of her own childhood.
“I’m telling you her roast pork is to die for,” he went on. “Unless I’m on the road, it’s kind of a weekly ritual for me to pop by Gloria’s for a home-cooked meal.”
“You should taste my mami’s cooking. No matter how hard I try, I’m not sure I’ll ever be as good as she is.”
A little pang of homesickness pricked at Julia’s heart as she thought about her mother. The role model who’d taught her the value of working hard for your dreams. That’s what fed Julia now, despite knowing her dreams would take her away from her Island home and family.
“I’d like that,” Ben said.
“Hmm?”
Lost in thought about her family, it took Julia a moment to realize what Ben meant.
Diantre , she hadn’t intended that as an invite. Wow indeed. There’s no way her mami would ever meet Ben. Julia certainly didn’t plan on sharing his involvement in the fund-raiser with her brothers. Martín would have a conniption fit.
Unsure how to smooth over the verbal gaffe, she opted to let it go.
A brisk breeze picked up and Julia huddled into her jacket. Head bowed against the cold she was still getting used to, she didn’t realize Ben had removed his own jacket until he draped it across her shoulders.
“Oh!” she said on a gasp, touched by his gesture. “Gracias. I mean, thanks.”
He squeezed her shoulders briefly before he dug his hands into his front jeans pockets. Briefly, yet long enough to send shivers of awareness traveling down her arms, into her chest.
“De nada ,” he responded. “¿Tienes frío? ”
His question about whether or not she was cold, spoken in Spanish with what was actually a really good accent, had her footsteps faltering in surprise. Then she remembered an interview she’d seen on a Spanish sports channel with him and one of his Latino teammates.
“You okay?” he asked, stopping to wait for her.
She nodded as she walked the few paces to catch up with him. “I forgot that you’re fluent. Your question took me by surprise.”
“Forgot? As in, you knew that about me already?”
One of his brows arched, giving him a rakish look that had far too much appeal.
No way would she clue him in that she knew far more about him than she should. Thanks to her baby brother’s fascination with Ben’s career. Plus her older two brothers who played and coached and could rattle off anyone’s stats, background, and probably blood type if somehow that aided in a player’s ability.
“I heard you give an interview a while ago,” she admitted. “You speak Spanish well.”
“Gracias . I’ve worked at it. Learned on the field first as a kid, then around the dinner table with friends,” Ben answered.
The wind ruffled his dark blond hair and brought a rosy tint to his cheeks under his scruff. She caught the way he shortened his strides to match hers, angling his body in her direction when they spoke, as if she had his undivided attention. His courteous manner was charming. Unexpected from a man who was typically the center of everyone else’s attention.
“My brothers often interpret for some of their teammates who don’t feel as comfortable with their English,” Julia said, carefully stepping over a crack in the sidewalk to avoid scraping her boot heel. “I bet being able to speak with your catcher in his native language strengthened your connection when you played with the Cubs.”
¡Ay que estúpida!
She gave herself a mental smack on the back of the head at her blunder. Reminding Ben that he was no longer in the game wasn’t her smartest move. If he was like every other injured athlete she’d known, it was eating him up inside. He definitely wouldn’t like being reminded.
“So you have brothers in baseball?” he asked.
Dios mío , forget worrying about his undoubtedly touchy subject. She wanted to talk about her family and personal life even less than his shortened career.
On the drive over, sitting snugly warm in Ben’s classy Range Rover, the scent of leather from the plush seats mixing with his woodsy cologne, the sight of his strong hands gripping the steering wheel, and his camera-ready grin flashing her way, she’d caught herself relaxing with him. Enjoying his easy conversation as they’d made idle chatter about living in Chicago.
Then he’d asked what she liked to do in her free time.
A warning bell had gone off in her head and she’d reminded herself to stick to nonpersonal topics, preferably only the soiree.
This was a business dinner. Nothing more.
Yet, now she’d gone and opened the door leading him to poke around her personal life.
“¿Tienes hermanos en beisbol?” Ben repeated his question about her brothers in Spanish when she hadn’t responded.
“Yeah,” she answered.
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Older? Younger?”
“One older.”
Ben responded with a bark of laughter.
An older gentleman exiting a farmacia on the corner looked their way, his dark eyes widening with recognition when he saw Ben. Thankfully he only waved and welcomed them to his neighborhood rather than stopping them for an autograph.
Ben returned the man’s greeting in Spanish. When he glanced down at her, the corners of his mouth pulled up in that playful smile that inevitably made her stomach flip-flop.
“What’s so funny?” She tilted her head in question, eyeing him with uncertainty as she slowed her steps.
Once again Ben followed her lead, coming to a stop.
A woman pushing a baby stroller edged around them, her little one bundled up against the cold. Ben murmured “buenas noches” and received a mutual “good evening” in response.
Once the woman was several feet away, Ben turned his attention back to Julia.
The intensity of his clear blue eyes, focused entirely on her, had the world around them fading to nothing more than a blur. As if only the two of them existed.
“Back at the association’s office,” Ben answered, “when you talked about your ideas and the kids you’ve been working with, excitement dripped from your words. The way you described the decorations, adding the Three Kings to the mix out of respect for your Latino culture, I doubt anyone had trouble visualizing it all.”
“And?” she asked when he trailed off.
“And now that I’m trying to get to know you, I can’t seem to get more than a one- or two-word answer. How come?”
Had Ben’s tone been pushy, or his body language hinted at any amount of wounded ego petulance, she would have easily given him a firm answer meant to ensure he understood she wasn’t interested. She’d done it before with other guys who felt compelled to assert their misguided machismo.
But the honest inquiry in Ben’s slightly furrowed brow and the sincerity evident on his handsome face indicated his genuine interest in her answer.
Maybe the good guy persona was more than a facade for the media and endorsements. Laura Taylor spoke very highly of him, and Julia valued the woman’s opinion.
Suddenly the wind whipped down the street, sending stray leaves and a few empty cans rattling over the cement sidewalk. Julia grabbed the edges of the jacket Ben had draped around her, shivering with cold.
He immediately stepped closer, blocking her from the wind and gently grasping her upper arms. “Why don’t we table the inquiry until we’re seated inside? Gloria’s place is on the next block. I’m thinking your Island blood isn’t used to the Chicago weather yet.”
Once again, his chivalrous nature thawed the chill she had been intent on keeping between them.
“Wait,” she said, covering one of his hands with hers. “I don’t . . . I don’t mean to be rude.”
“You haven’t been. I mean, usually I get people who—”
“Fall over themselves, giddy with awe at spending time with an MLB All-Star, now the network’s new voice, like Carol did?”
The words slipped out before she could stop them, goaded by the remnants of her anger over a local ballplayer from her hometown who had dated one of Julia’s closest friends for years, only to toss her aside when he moved up to the big leagues. Apparently the groupies in every city held more appeal than the commitment he’d made before leaving the Island.
“Carol?” Confusion flit across Ben’s face. It cleared moments before he said, “Oh, the intern.”
Julia nodded, wondering how he’d react to her mini rant. That quick temper her mami always warned her about had chosen an inopportune time to flare.
The last thing she needed was to offend the soiree’s prized emcee thanks to her own personal hang-ups.
“You play hardball, don’t you?” Ben murmured.
His sheepish grin splashed cold water on her heated temper.
Julia closed her eyes on a sigh.
Ay, ay, ay . She’d never been this unprofessional in her life.
Why now? Why with this man?
Bueno , she knew why him. Because despite her promise to herself to never get involved with a ballplayer, this one seemed different. More approachable. Less ego-driven.
Yet, that had to be foolish thinking on her part. She’d seen too many girlfriends burned by a smooth-talking All-Star before. Dios only knew how many times a friend had cried on Julia’s shoulder, brokenhearted over some guy.
“Me, play hardball?” she asked, trying to come up with a way to smooth over her outburst. “Maybe.”
That rakish brow of his arched again, calling her bluff.
“Fiiiine,” Julia said, rolling her eyes on an exaggerated groan.
Ben’s mouth quirked in a grin and she couldn’t help but respond with one of her own.
“I guess you could say that,” she continued. “But here’s the thing.”
She took a step back, making his hands slip from her arms to drop at his sides. So what if she missed his touch. At this point, she couldn’t allow herself to.
Ignoring the chilly breeze that nipped at her, she squared her shoulders, determined to shove any personal feelings to the back, keeping things between them platonic and businesslike.
“Right now, all my energy and focus is on the Holiday Soiree. Ensuring its success. For me, it’s like a one-game playoff. Win or go home. And going home, back to Puerto Rico and my suffocating though well-meaning family, isn’t what I want.” Brushing her windblown hair out of her face, she stared back at him, willing him to understand the utter importance of the situation for her. “I need to knock this out of the park, Ben. I promise, you, Laura Taylor, the association, and especially the kids can count on me to give my best.”
Ben didn’t say anything. His expression remained schooled in that serious game face the television networks had repeatedly zoomed in on when he’d stood on the mound.
She had no idea what he was thinking. Which, she understood, was the point of his game face. Leave the opponent wondering, unsure what to expect.
Dios la ayude if he thought of her as the opponent now. Only, she doubted even God would be able to help her if she’d shot off her mouth and offended the All-Star.
After several gut-clenched-with-worry seconds, Ben gave a quick jerking nod. “I definitely understand a must-win situation. And I’ve been known to hit a home run in my time.”
Relief flooded through her at the olive branch he extended, especially since she should be the one doing so.
“The 2015 post season,” she said. “Game two of the Division Series against the Cardinals. Your shot to the left field bleacher seats was a beauty.”
“You saw that one, huh?”
The juxtaposition of Little Leaguer joy brightening his eyes and the confident, all-male grin tugging his lips had a laugh bubbling up from her chest.
“Are you kidding me? The whole world saw that hit. I mean, even if they weren’t watching the game live, there’s no way anyone missed the highlight reels running on practically every media site.”
Hands deep in his front pockets again, Ben let out a heavy breath. “Hitting that ball against our rivals did feel pretty great. Especially with the ups and downs of the next season, what with . . . well . . . never mind.”
Belatedly, she realized 2016 had been his last full season. While it had been a banner year for the Cubs, Ben had struggled at times due to his injury.
“That was a good game. A good day,” he murmured, head down, lost in his own memories. A dark cloud passed over his features, dampening the softness of his nostalgia. “Don’t get many of those anymore.�
�
A pang of regret for the shoulder injury that had sidelined him pierced her chest. She’d watched her older brother Alfredo deal with a similar situation after his car accident. The loss of the dream of making it to the big leagues still tore at Freddie, despite his move from player to coach.
“But you’re doing good things,” Julia told Ben. “You see that, right?”
Without realizing her intent, she moved closer, pressing a hand to his chest. Through the ribbed material of his turtleneck sweater his heart beat heavy against her palm. Strong. Slow. Steady.
“Different ones, sure,” she continued. “Think of the lives you shape with the clinics you sponsor. The ones you help with the money you raise.”
His confident grin had faded, replaced by a wistful smile. “Which brings us back to our mission here: grab a quick bite while we go over your thoughts on the script, then head to rehearsal at the youth center. Right?”
Subdued, his playful persona sadly missing in action, Ben turned to face the direction of the restaurant, poking out his elbow for her to hook her hand through his arm.
She got the message. The discussion about the new path his life had taken, post-baseball, wasn’t a topic he cared to discuss.
Everyone had their own dragon to slay. Hers revolved around her bid to move out from under her family’s thumb to forge her own path. Ben’s was . . . actually, she didn’t really know.
Frankly, she had no business asking him about it, even less business wondering or worrying.
Chapter Three
“Okay, okay, esperen un momento !”
Sitting off to the side, Ben watched Julia calling for the kids to wait a moment.
Laughter lingered in her voice. It softened her face and danced in her hazel eyes at the antics that had ensued as soon as she brought up the idea of some of them performing a solo during the bombazo part of the program.
Little Bernardo, the five-year-old firecracker she’d mentioned during the meeting earlier today, had been the first to jump up out of his seat.
They had gathered in one of the larger classrooms at the Humboldt Park Youth Center about fifteen minutes ago. Desks had been cleared out to accommodate an electric keyboardist and a guitar player in one corner. Regulation plastic school chairs with metal frames were scattered about for the kids to sit on while they practiced. The center didn’t own choir risers, but apparently Julia had rented a set for them to use for the soiree.
A Season to Celebrate Page 28
