Page 71 of Forget Me Not
She opened her mouth to object, only to snap it shut when he cut her off with a quick, “Nope. Non-negotiable.”
“I swear I won’t leave this room until you get back, scouts honor.”
Syve turned her head to see Cyrus holding one hand over his heart and the other in the air.
“Hell, I’ll even crawl in bed and snuggle him too, if you want.” He waggled his eyebrows and winked, ducking when she launched a pillow in his direction.
That was what led to her standing forlorn in the center of her shop, one chaste kiss and a half hour later. Dragging her feet, she trudged over to the counter, booting up her tablet so she could check her email. She was just about to press the play button on the answering machine when the door swung open as none other than Gunther came stomping in.
“Syve, Lord, there you are! I’ve only called about a hundred times!” He sighed dramatically while she glanced at the number on the phone receiver. Seventy-three. Silently she contemplated clearing the messages unheard—it would be worth missing one or two genuine calls to not be forced to listen to seventy voicemails from Gunther.
“Are you listening to me? Where have you been?”
“Well, good to see you too. I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Syve deadpanned, crossing her arms. “What do you need, Gunny?”
Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he walked to the counter, clearly favoring his right leg. She hadn’t noticed before thathe was holding anything, until he slapped a pile of fabric in front of her.
“Gunny? I’d rather you called me ‘Stud’ or even ‘Hot shot’,” he mocked. “Unfortunately, Doll, I’m here on business. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I slipped on a wet rock crossing a creek last weekend. Twisted my ankle and caught my sleeve on a branch just right—ripped a hole right through it. I need you to doctor it up for me.”
“I can take a look at it, but I can’t make any prom—” A loud ringing interrupted her. Gunther held up one finger, digging his phone from his pocket with the other.
“Go for Gun,” he said with the phone to his ear, covering the speaker for a beat to whisper to her. “Thanks, Doll. Just drop it by my place when you’re done, yeah?”
Leaving no time for her to answer, he smacked the counter once, shot her a finger-gun salute and was out the door.
Blinking a few times and shaking her head at the menace that was Gunther, she turned back to her tablet, choosing to ignore the answering machine all together for the time being.
Syve opened the email app, and her stomach instantly fell to her toes. The first email in her inbox read, “Montana State Women owned business grant: Final submission deadline is today by 5:00pm MST.”
The email was two days old.
It had been years since she’d been to Gunther’s home. Erhard had taken her once before Noah was born and then they’d never gone back. One step in and she remembered why.
The front door was wide open when she walked up.
“Hello? It’s me, Syve—doors open so I’m coming in!” she hollered as she stepped inside.
Deep in self-pity for having missed her deadline, she had buried herself in her work and Gunther’s camo had proven quick and simple to repair. As much as she wanted to refuse his ‘request’ to drop it by his house, it was on the way to Bastien’s and it meant she would not have to dread the man showing up to her shop any time soon.
So, she texted him, asking when he would be off work, then spent the rest of the day finishing the final touches on the remaining piece from her submission—though she asked herself why she was bothering at least a dozen times.
“Be out in a minute, Doll.” Gunther yelled from somewhere deep in the house.
A plethora of taxidermied heads greeted her as she turned from the entry hall into the living room, causing her stomach to sour. She spun in a slow circle, searching for anything tolook at that hadn’t once held a beating heart—and found a wall of photographs at the back of the room.
Carefully stepping around fur rugs, she made her way over, hoping to find family pictures or even pictures of fish. Instead, she found shot after shot of Gunther posing over his trophies.
Disgusted, she was about to turn away when one photo in particular caught her eye. In a simple black, five by seven frame, was Gunther kneeling with a rifle in one hand, the other pointing a cigar at the camera, or likely the person holding it, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. But that wasn’t what had gained her attention, no, it was the body lying before him.
Awkwardly bent, with blood oozing from its slack jaw, was a majestic wolf with coal black fur. Its beautiful copper eyes almost appearing gray from the fog of death.
She stumbled back, hand over her mouth, until she bumped into a piece of furniture, her hand reflexively reaching back to catch herself. Thick fur slid between her fingers like a memory, soft and familiar. Hesitantly, she looked down at the pelt, carelessly tossed over the back of the sofa. Chills skittered across her skin and bile rose in her throat.
Syve whipped around, the room spinning more than it should, and stared in abject horror at the black wolf, preserved in its entirety save for its eyes—so clearly just yellow marbles. Her knees buckled beneath her but before shecould meet the floor a strong arm slipped around her waist and spun her into a broad chest.
“Shit, Doll, you don’t have to get all swoony for me,” Gunther teased, his breath on her ear sending unpleasant shivers down her spine.
Careful to school her grimace, she pushed him away, leaving him to grab at his repaired coat as she stepped back and let go of it.
