Page 2 of Sycamore Circle

The barista pointed to the bakery case. “Would you like something to go with it? Everything was baked this morning.”

“Nope.” Remembering Mason’s warning about his resting expression, he smiled. “Thanks, though.”

She smiled back. “Anytime.”

He paid for his coffee. When he noticed Mason was talking on his phone, he stood off to the side, over by a table of napkins. And then he looked at the woman again.

She was pointing to something in a workbook.

Barely able to stop staring at her, Bo tried to figure out why she was affecting him the way she did. The woman wasn’t flashy, she wasn’t wearing much makeup, and her clothes were nondescript. Just jeans, a soft-looking sweater, and brown suede boots.

The women he dated tended to show a lot more skin, had more of an attitude, and were still in their twenties. This lady was likely older than him.

But maybe that was her appeal. There was something about her that made him want to linger a while, just to hear her speak. Needing something to do, he pulled off the plastic lid to his cup, grabbed a wooden swizzle stick, and stirred his coffee that didn’t need to be stirred. All so he wouldn’t look like he was doing what he was doing—loitering nearby.

The man mumbled something again, stumbled over a word, then corrected himself.

“That’s right,” she said. “Now you’ve got it. Look at you!”

He’d been thinking that very same thing. Look at you, lady. So sweet, so kind, so blessed with the kind of long brown hair that only God could give a person. It was thick, slightly wavy, and nearly reached her waist.

He’d never been one to stare at hair, but again, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was yet another thing about her that was beautiful.

As she and Anthony spoke softly to each other, a woman walked over to where he stood. Bo realized she wanted one of the stirring sticks too.

“Excuse me.”

He stepped to the left.

“It sure is cold out,” the woman said.

After an awkward pause, he realized she was speaking to him. He cleared his throat. “Yes, it is.”

She smiled, her extremely red lipstick catching his attention. “And you don’t even have a coat on.” She stepped closer. Lifted her hand a couple of inches, like she was thinking about touching his arm. “Aren’t you cold?”

She was flirting with him.

He bit back a sigh. He’d been blessed with what his Mama had called good genes. He had blond hair that he liked a little on the long side, light blue eyes, and good bone structure. One woman in a bar had once said he was a ringer for Brad Pitt in the nineties. He wasn’t sure if that was the case or not.

What he was sure about was that his good looks weren’t so much a source of pride with him as an inconvenience. Some people didn’t take him seriously and some women couldn’t seem to refrain from touching him. He really, really didn’t like uninvited hands touching his skin.

The other guys in prison had commented on his looks, too—which was why he’d spent a good portion of his first month in the pen in solitary. The prison guards hadn’t seen fit to step in when some of the lifers had wondered how he’d swung.

Realizing that he needed to say something, he tried to recall what she’d been talking about. Ah, yes. His coat. “I run hot.”

She giggled. Tossed her head back, bringing with it a chunk of carefully highlighted blond hair. “I bet you do.”

“Bo, you coming or what?” Mason called out from the door.

“In a minute.” Turning to the woman, he nodded. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

And just like that, all the heat slipped away. The frosty look the blond directed his way before sauntering out almost made him smile.

Glancing at the seated woman again, he realized that she was looking directly at him. The spark of amusement in her expression practically made his breath catch. When their eyes met, he knew he had no choice. He might not always believe in fate, but he sure believed in divine intervention. Given his past, Bo knew it was only because of God that he was standing on two feet instead of lying in a box six feet under.

He worked in mysterious ways, and Bo had long ago given up trying to understand the why’s and the how’s. All he knew was that there were times to pay attention.

This was one of those times.

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