Page 44 of Forget Me Not (The Shifters of Timberfall #1)

Syve

Three hours of sleep—that was all Syve had managed after pushing to finish preparing everything for her presentation, then waking early to make sure she looked, well, presentable.

Aimi had brought her coffee—one cup for now, one for later—she had said when she pushed one cup into Syve’s hand and set the other in the truck’s cup holder.

Her best friend had helped her load her suitcase full of freshly pressed clothes into the passenger seat, as well as two dress forms and a small hanging rack into the bed of the truck.

“You’ve got caffeine, clothes, and creepy ass mannequins. Drive safe, don’t let them tell you no, and call me as soon as you walk out! I want you to tell me about all the tears they shed over your beautiful work,” Aimi said, slapping Syve on the ass, then giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Go now, so you’re not late!” She pushed her friend into the driver seat and closed the truck door with a slam.

Eighty-five miles later, Syve was putting the truck in park outside of an old brick building in downtown Bozeman.

Unlocking her phone, she sent a quick text to Aimi letting her know that her brain thanked her for the second coffee, but her bladder would be sending a hospital bill for repairs after rupturing around mile sixty.

Then she sent Bastien a GIF of Sheldon breathing into a paper bag, letting him know she’d arrived.

It took fifteen minutes—and three trips—to haul all her things inside, plus a pit stop to the bathroom, before she found herself standing in the middle of a conference room.

A table of serious-looking people in suits all fixed their eyes on her.

The little gray poncho that Cam had broken the sound barrier over, hung on the rack alongside a child’s shirt, the children’s pants with reinforced knees, and a pair of men’s pants.

On the dress forms were a men’s shirt, with mesh panels hidden along the back and under the arms for air flow, and a unisex jacket that had an obscene number of pockets and a removable top layer that could be worn separately as a raincoat.

She’d laid out the flowy skirt—with hidden pockets and button details to pick up the length—across the table for close inspection.

On herself, Syve wore a loose-fitting shirt, fitted cargo pants with deep pockets and an adjustable waistband, and held a hanger bearing a tiny dress—complete with coverall straps and shorts hidden beneath the skirt.

“Alright, Mrs. Gehring, show us what you’ve got.”

Aimi picked up on the first ring.

“It has been two hours! I was worried you got lost ! Girl, you’d better start screaming!”

Syve’s voice was barely above a whisper, breathless and full of disbelief. “I got it.”

“Bitch! Yeah, you did!” Aimi hollered, followed by a muffled apology.

“Shit, I got too excited and upset Mr. Halsen. Toni! I’m taking five.

No, better make that fifteen…or thirty—can you just cover the counter till I get back?

Cool, just holler if you need me. Okay, start talking.

I want everything—don’t even leave out if one of them breathed weirdly! ”

Syve told her everything—how the panel was impressed by the numbers she’d run for cost, to the data she’d collected across various social media sites, including real poll results from actual people about whether they would buy the items she designed, and at what price .

One of the ladies, who seemed especially curious from the very beginning, made a comment about wearing the same size as the skirt on the table and asked to try it on.

Syve laughed as she explained the skirt was no longer in her possession—but that she did have thirty dollars cash in her pocket after the woman had begged to buy it so she never had to take it off.

Two other pieces had not made it back to her truck either—the poncho and the little dress went home with one of the men, who excitedly mentioned they’d likely fit his daughter by her birthday next spring.

“He offered to personally help me set up a website for Sew It Seams, since I still don’t have one. If this really goes the way I hope, I’m going to need a webpage for online sales.”

“Imagine selling a man a dress for his kid and getting paid with a ‘www dot,’” Aimi cackled. “I’m so proud of you! So, you get the dough? How does that work?”

“I do. I’ll be getting the money, and it’s more than I expected.

I can use it for expenses, like the mortgage and utilities, and also fabric and stuff to start making more pieces.

I now have the option now to hire someone to help—basically as an assistant.

Maybe a student or something, just to handle the simple mending while I focus on the big pieces, or even just to cut things out, I’m also getting full support for the entire release of the line.

They’ve given me contact info for a few people I can talk to about financial planning and other logistics, so I’m not running in blind and doing this all solo. ”

“I’m calling it now. I give it three years tops and your name will be on billboards along the coast.”

Syve could hear Toni in the background grumbling something about a high school half-day.

“Go, go. Handle the teenagers, I still need to call Bastien anyway.”

“Pray for me. I’m so proud of you! Love you!”

“Love you, good luck.”

The call ended and she quickly tapped Bastien’s contact, giggling again at Hattie’s ducklings when they popped up on the screen.

“Bambi, when can I expect to see your clothes in magazines?”

“Awfully presumptuous, aren’t we? You don’t even know if I got it or not yet.”

“Of course I do. They would have to be insane to tell you no. Are you home yet? We should celebrate.”

“I just pulled into town, actually.”

“Perfect, I’ll head over—see you in a few.”

Syve had just backed the old truck into a spot in front of the shop to unload when a silver Tahoe pulled in next to her.

“Sheriff, long time no see. Need help with anything?” she asked as the gray-haired man stepped out.

“I should be asking you, can I carry something? I was hoping to chat a minute, but I might as well get you all inside first.”

Her stomach turned as they hauled her things in.

No one ever made you wait for good news.

“I appreciate the extra hand. Would you like anything to drink?” she asked warily once the truck bed was empty.

“I’m fine, thank you. Listen, I’m sure you heard about the body?”

Syve nodded, she recalled seeing it mentioned in the group chat with Aimi and Cameron during one of the few breaks she had taken the night before.

“Well, we haven’t released this to the public yet, but we’re fairly certain it was an animal attack. It took us a bit to be able to identify the victim—maybe you should sit down.”

“Why are you telling me this? Who was it?”

Everyone she was close to she had talked to or heard from since the body was recovered. Well, almost everyone.

Shivers zipped across her limbs and she did exactly as the sheriff suggested—stepping back and sinking down onto the sofa. There was one person she hadn’t heard from in two days now. A cold sweat swept over her and she shivered; regretting having changed into shorts before the drive home.

“We had to use dental records. I’m sorry, but we’re positive it’s Gunther.”

Gunther. It was Gunther .

Gunther was dead .

She waited for the pain, guilt, anything—but the only emotion that came to her was relief .

“Syve?” She heard Bastien’s voice, but the flood of conflicting emotions kept her from responding right away. The two men spoke for a moment by the door, then the sheriff called out to her as he walked out the door, letting her know he would be in touch.

“It’s not Cy,” she finally mumbled when Bastien took a seat next to her.

“I think I’m supposed to be upset that Gunther is dead, because he was technically family, but I’m not.

I’m relieved , and I feel bad because I don’t feel bad .

That makes me such an awful person, doesn’t it?

God, Bas, for a minute I thought he was going to tell me it was Cyrus, because we haven’t seen him in days—I was more worried about Cy than anyone else.

What if he was involved? What if they just haven’t found him yet? What if Cy is out there hurt—”

“Cyrus is okay, Bambi. Mama called me when I was on my way over. He showed up just after I left the house; I had to have just missed him.”

Syve let out a tense breath.

“Bambi. I think you and I both know what side of an animal attack Cyrus is more likely to be on.”

The way he said it made her pause, she turned to him, wide eyed.

“Did he know? Did you tell him?” she whispered .

“I think he overheard us, by the fire. I also think it’s probably best if we don’t talk about it again either—unless you have a problem with that?”

“No, you’re right. We shouldn’t talk about it after this. Probably ever.” She took a deep breath. “Are you okay though? Do you feel…I don’t know…how do you feel about this?”

“It’s the ending I was aiming for originally, so I can’t say I’m mad about it.

I feel better knowing the son of a bitch isn’t a threat anymore, but…

I just wish there had been a conversation about it first, you know?

It would have been nice if we had been included in the decision, or at least informed of it.

I shouldn’t be surprised that Cyrus took care of it .

That’s kind of his thing, he’s a fixer.” He slid from the couch, landing to kneel between her legs.

“I don’t want to talk about that anymore right now.

I came here to celebrate you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. ”