Bach and Brandon Crawford

Beth pulled up and parked at the decent three-bedroom house in Yorba Linda. She was greeted at the door by the young Paul, who had a big smile for his piano teacher. He was always happy to see her, and he was excited to let her know how much he'd been practicing.
"Mom's setting up for a fundraiser tonight." Paul's mother was usually home on Fridays for the lesson. "So Jeff's watching me until Dad gets home for dinner."
"Oh... and where's Jeff?" As she entered the living room where the piano was, she could hear the *thwack* of aluminum on leather. There was a batting net set up in the backyard, and Jeff Henderson was there, in his Under Armour a-shirt and tight shorts. She had to keep herself from staring: his muscles tensed and tightened as he wound-up, releasing in a free and easy swing. Another ball thudded into the net.
"Ugh... he's always out there, hitting." Paul sounded like like the 12-year old boy he was: annoyed. "He never wants to play Xbox with me anymore. It's always baseball, baseball, baseball."
"Yeah... uh huh..."Beth was transfixed.
"Miss Wilson?" Paul tugged at her hand. "Can I start with the exercises you told me to practice now?"
Beth shook herself. Stop gawking at Jeff. Control yourself, woman. "Yes! Absolutely, Paul."
Beth took Paul through his lesson, listening to his exercises and correcting his form whenever needed. He was an intermediate student. His technique was solid and his span was wide enough to play octaves comfortably, but he struggled with sight reading music at speed, and complicated pieces still gave him trouble. He had passion, which she always said was the most important thing. While he played, Beth's eyes wandered around the living room. Jeff's baseball trophies and awards occupied the shelves in one corner, along with a framed, signed Giants jersey from Brandon Crawford. He was Jeff's favorite player.
About forty minutes into the lesson, Beth sat at the piano with Paul to demonstrate some more advanced fingering techniques, playing arpeggios in both hands that moved in different directions from each other. It was something the young pre-teen struggled with when he tried it at speed. When she finished the passage, a clapping from the doorway startled her.
"Very nice." Jeff was wiping sweat from his face with a towel.
"Thank you, Jeff." Beth replied, trying not to blush.