Holiday Home Run - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,5

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