Page 21 of The Disputed Legacy
“What’s all this?”
“Bar models.”
I made a face and he laughed. “That’s how I feel about them!”
“Well, tell me how they work.” I folded my hands together and paid attention. “I’m no Raul, but I can try.”
“Really? Mama said if I get an A on my next test, she’ll get me ice cream.”
“Sure. I can try to help. Tell me how it’s supposed to work.”
For the next half hour, I didn’t watch Willow. Obsessed with learning as much as I could about her, I instead sat there and solved the bar model math problems with Oscar. Her son.
As I worked through the problems with him and had him lay out the steps, he had moreahamoments and managed to grasp it better without any part of my understanding being necessary. Before my brothers started having kids, I had zero experience with children. I never wanted any experience with them, but it was the catalyst to my seeing how rewarding spending time with them was. It was more interesting seeing how Oscar’s mind worked. This wasn’t the same as when I held baby Isabella andhelped her to stop fussing, the same as the twins. Oscar could talk, rationalize, and humor me.
I was no expert, but he was a good kid. He was wrong—we were still strangers, but now that I knew Willow was his mother, that she’d had a child and clearly had a past that I wasn’t a part of, I was more hooked on finding out all I could about her.
Enjoying this study time with Oscar was fine, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t dismiss what else Oscar’s presence meant.
Willow had been with someone else before. At that thought, a new and hotter form of jealousy took shape inside my heart. I already envied my brothers for having wives and children. The concept of having a family was growing on me quickly.
But this jealousy that another man had this mysterious redhead before me?
I couldn’t stand it, too addicted to the instant temptation to call her mine.
9
WILLOW
When Saul started coming to the diner every night, Oscar noticed him. It was impossible not to notice that tall, muscular man. If his physique and charming smiles didn’t draw everyone’s eyes, then his finely tailored suits and expensive shoes did.
After all the construction guys coming and going, Saul stood out.
The way he’d come and only sit where I could serve him also stood out. Irene and Rosie would have to get over it. I didn’t encourage him to seek me out, but it was so obvious that he did. That he’d damn well do what he wanted despite my not giving him any indication that I wanted his attention.
It was just there. A connection of him noticing me no matter whether I talked to him past a hello and taking his order or I gave him the silent treatment and said nothing.
He’d become a staple at Tiny’s, so naturally, Oscar noted that new detail about his surroundings. He was always so perceptive and watchful of the world around him, probably because I was like that and hyper-vigilant about keeping an eye out for a threat.
Oscar was the first to mention Saul at home, saying he’d seen him. That started our private guessing game of who he was and what he was doing there. Margo joined in on our people watching habit, adding her opinions.
So far, I had admitted that he had to be a powerful lawyer or someone in an office nearby, so taken by the delicious chicken BLTS that he couldn’t imagine anything else for dinner. Secretly, I tried to convince myself that he really couldn’t be that stuck on seeingme, like it seemed.
Oscar’s made-up story was that Saul was like Superman, a superhero in disguise and out to save the world. Leave it to him to have a hero-worship approach.
Margo was blunt, guessing he was cheating on his wife and hiding.
When I spotted him talking to Oscar, I was nervous. Anyone I didn’t know talking to Oscar made me nervous, but my son was smart. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth if he felt uneasy. Still, I didn’t know who Saul was. What he wanted. And why he was still coming by. Until I had more details, I would remain wary around him.
“All I’m saying is that you didn’t have to offer him my name,” I told Oscar that first night.
“Sorry, Mama.” He hung his head as we walked home.
“I’m not mad,” I explained, mostly meaning it. “But we don’t know who he is. Not really.”
“Then I’ll get to know him for you,” he said with a grin. “And you’re wrong. He’s not six-five. He’s six-three.”
Good grief.I’d somehow given him the green light to inquire about the sexy customer who saw himself as something like a secret admirer of mine.
