Page 59 of Sycamore Circle

Bo raised his hand, acknowledging that he heard.

When he walked through the main house, Seth called out to him. “Beauman, come here for a sec.”

“I can’t. Sorry,” he said as he walked out the door.

Glad that Joy had allowed him to pick her up at her house before their date, Bo headed there practically on autopilot. It gave him a moment to not only give thanks that he had his phone nearby when she’d called, but to also wonder what was happening between them.

He didn’t date a whole lot. Not because he hadn’t had the opportunity, but because he was picky. Picky with who he wanted to spend time with and picky about how he wanted to spend it. Sleeping with women he barely knew didn’t interest him.

And even though being physically close to Joy had crossed his mind, sex wasn’t what they were about. He cared about her. She fascinated him. There was simply something about her that he wanted to know.

He hadn’t even kissed her yet and he was feeling like she was the one for him. He shook his head. He didn’t know what that was about.

All the lights were on in Joy’s house when Bo pulled into the driveway. She was scared. He wished he’d brought her a bottle of wine or a pint of ice cream or flowers. Something that would’ve eased her mind a bit.

He pulled out his phone.

I’m here. Walking to your front door.

She opened it the moment he arrived on her front step. “Hi.”

Her hair was up in a messy bun and she wore black leggings and a baby-blue T-shirt. Her feet were bare. She looked so sweet—and scared to death. “Hey, sweetheart.” Before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms.

She tensed for a second then wrapped her hands around his middle. Held him tight.

He closed his eyes, so glad she was seeking comfort from him. Gently, he rubbed her back. “You okay?” he murmured. “I got here as soon as I could.”

“Yes.” Looking embarrassed, she pulled away. “I’m so glad you’re here... but I think I’m overreacting.”

“Joy. Honey, look at me.” When her eyes met his, he reached for her hands. “I’m glad you called. I don’t care if you’re overreacting.”

“You said you were doing something. What was it?”

He rolled his eyes, hoping to make her smile. “I was listening to a guy named Grafton cry and whine about a girl who broke his heart.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? I... I didn’t think guys did stuff like that.”

“A lot don’t. Grafton, all six-foot-one, two hundred pounds of him? He does it a lot.”

“Poor guy.”

“Yeah. But poor me too.” He smiled. “Listening to a grown kid continually moan about a woman not being true gets old, quick. I hate the reason you called, but honestly, I was happy to have a reason to get out of there.”

She smiled. “Glad to be of service.”

He tugged on her hand. “Come show me this letter of yours.”

As expected, the tension in the air rose. “It’s over there, in the kitchen.”

She pointed to the envelope on the counter, and he walked over and pulled out the paper. The words had been written in bold, black marker. It wasn’t scribbled; there was something deliberate about the way the author had formed each letter. Whoever had written the note had taken his time on it.

He picked up the envelope and looked at the writing there. It was obvious that it was the same author, but the writing had been done in a ballpoint pen. There was nothing alarming about it, other than he thought it was odd to see writing done in all block letters.

“What do you think? Do you think I should’ve just thrown it out?”

He hated that she sounded worried, like he was going to disagree with her judgment or think she was overreacting. “I think you were right to be worried, sweetheart.”

Her expression eased. To his surprise a small smile appeared on her lips before it vanished. “What just made you smile?”

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