Holiday Home Run - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,13

she’d changed the subject.

No way did she want to risk giving away any hint of her burgeoning attraction and have it inadvertently make its way back to her mami. And it would. With Rosa pregnant and due in early January, Julia’s mom called to check on her fairly regularly.

Unfortunately, Lilí had remained undeterred, pushing for details. “All the good ones,” as she’d put it, her eyebrows waggling playfully.

Thank goodness having little ones at the table kept their parents occupied, often missing part of the table conversation. So while Yazmine, Rosa, and their husbands tended to their kids, Julia had sent Lilí a narrow-eyed glower, mouthing “later” before taking a big gulp of wine.

Looked like “later” had become “now.”

Night had fallen and they sped along I-90 toward the city, on their way to post-dinner cocktails and dessert at the Taylors’ downtown penthouse.

The entire Fernandez family had been invited, but after the day’s festivities, the little ones were overtired and Rosa’s obstetrician had ordered her to get more rest over the school break.

That left Lilí and Julia to represent the family for an invite many A-listers in Chicago and its surrounding areas would clamor to receive.

“Quit holding out already,” Lilí pressed. “What’s the guy like? I mean, he seems like buena gente in his interviews. Is he really?”

Was he good people, like her cousin asked?

Julia didn’t have to think twice about her answer.

“Sí,” she replied. “He actually is.”

And that was the problem.

Ben actually seemed too good to be true. Friendly, considerate, quick to laugh. Humble.

And yet, there was a sad undercurrent she often sensed when one of the kids, someone at the office, or a fan on the street asked about his playing days.

He didn’t talk much about his wins or stats. Surprisingly, any talk about his playing days focused on the people and relationships he’d formed. In the locker room, while traveling, during practice, on their days off.

The times he asked about her family, the conversation steered more toward their traditions, whether she would miss being home for the holidays.

If you asked her, he seemed lonely. But how could a man everyone wanted to be friends with feel alone?

It didn’t make sense.

Most of the time she wondered if she might be projecting the little homesickness she felt onto him.

“Has he shared any insider baseball stories with you? You know, the kind we don’t hear on the news?” Lilí asked, intruding on Julia’s musings.

“We actually don’t discuss baseball all that much.”

“Ha! It’s crazy,” Lilí said on a chuckle.

“What is?”

“Your situation. I mean, how often have you told me that you’re tired of living and breathing baseball with your brothers? Then you come here and wind up working with one of the best this city’s seen in ages.”

Lights from the oncoming traffic shone through the windshield, illuminating Lilí. She shook her head, a corner of her mouth quirked in a satiric smirk.

“I guess that’s good for the Youth Association and Mrs. Taylor.” Lilí flipped her signal as she maneuvered her Corolla to exit I-90 onto West Congress. “No worries about you being star-crazy. If there’s one type of guy you’d never fall for, it’s an athlete.”

“You got that right,” Julia answered.

She turned away to stare out her passenger window at the blur of holiday lights decorating the downtown city streets.

“No chance of that happening,” she murmured.

All she had to do was keep reminding herself of that.

* * *

Ben stood near one of the fire pits strategically placed around the expanse of Sherman and Laura Taylor’s penthouse terrace. After the gourmet Thanksgiving meal shared at their Victorian-inspired dining room table, the group of fifteen or so had moved outside to enjoy the atypically mild late November weather.

The Taylors were known for hosting intimate gatherings like this, where important, oftentimes invaluable, personal and professional networking took place. Once, Ben spent an evening enjoying drinks and the picturesque Chicago sunset with several bank execs and their wives, discussing everything from fishing off the coast of Miami to investment opportunities. By the end of the night one of the men wound up donating a hefty sum to the youth baseball clinic program. Without any prodding or mention of the need for funds on Ben’s part.

But tonight, while the prominent players in Chicago’s business and legal professions seemed content to relax around the dancing flames with their bellies full, Ben strategically sat on one of the dark brown wicker ottomans facing the formal living room inside. From his vantage point he had a clear view of the archway