Holiday Home Run - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,10

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, joining 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