Page 96 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“Shirley, Theodora, Enid, and Mae.” He repeated the names of the quilters. There was something about the four of them that he was missing. He turned to Madelyn. “How do you and Mae know each other?”
“I met Mae and her friends after I was hired to find a nanny match for Rowen Gale and his niece, Phoebe. You see, I learn as much as possible about my clients, which meant learning about Phoebe’s parents and the people who knew them. Her father, Andrew Gale, is from Denver and her mother, Melanie Funke Gale, grew up in—”
“Stratlin, Colorado,” Sebastian supplied. “The quilt.” His pulse kicked up. “Phoebe and I found the chapel. Inside, there was a quilt withSTEMand Stratlin, Colorado stitched into the corner. That’s you,” he said, not sure he could believe his eyes. “You’re STEM. You’re STEM Development. You’re a tech mogul. Your online financial tools are second to none,” he finished, his mind blown.
“I like this one,” Mae remarked and tossed him a wink.
“STEM Development also holds a ten percent stake in Zinger,” Claudette added.
“Ten percent of a company estimated to be worth a trillion dollars? Whoa,” he breathed.
Mae chuckled. “My friends and I invested at the right time, but before we founded STEM Development and began partnering quietly with investors, we were teachers at Stratlin High School. Theodora and I were the computer science instructors, and Enid and Shirley taught graphic design. Melanie Funke was our star student.”
“Phoebe’s mom,” he said, recalling the signature in the wedding log.
“My heart broke when we learned of her and her husband’s deaths. She was bright, vivacious, and one heck of a coder. She didn’t let anything hold her back. We didn’t have many resources at Stratlin High. When Phoebe’s mom was our student, Melanie coordinated a fundraiser to supplement the tech budget. She planned a cookout near town hall and sold—”
“Hot dogs,” Sebastian answered as the pieces came together.
“And chocolate chip cookies.”
“I had a feeling you’d recognized Phoebe. Why didn’t you tell her? Why did you pretend you didn’t know how to set up a sales page on your website? Why were you working at a lodge?”
“Shirley, Theodora, Enid, and I purposefully keep a low profile. Extreme wealth can alter one’s perspective. We agreed years ago that we’d invest anonymously. You learn a lot about people when they only see you as a little old lady doing needlework or running a lodge. We’d asked several LETIS participants for help. The two of you were the only ones who offered assistance.”
“That was all Phoebe,” he answered.
“And you,” Mae countered. “You were right there beside her. I meant it when I said that the two of you worked well together.”
“That might be true, Mae, but I hurt her, and I don’t know how to win her back.”
Mae patted his hand. “I figured as much when she checked out with tears staining her cheeks.”
Sebastian flinched, hating himself for losing perspective and breaking Phoebe’s heart.
Madelyn pegged him with her gaze. “Do you want to help Phoebe, dear?”
“More than anything. I love her. She’s got to be my match, right?”
The matchmaker folded her hands in her lap. “That’s not my call to make. My job is to set things in motion. The rest is fate. But I do have a feeling your boxing knowledge and a special person from your past will help you figure out what to do.”
Boxing knowledge and a special person from his past?
He was about to ask what she meant by that when a memory came to him. He was young—three, maybe four years old—as he sat on a little stool next to his mum, watching his dad train in the ring. And then the image of his dad’s last fight played in his mind. His mum wasn’t by his side—Mibby was, and so was Phoebe. Quirky and open, accepting and abundantly kind, Phoebe Gale was pure magic.
All his life, he’d been surrounded by women—accomplished, intelligent, caring women. He lifted his tie and studied the hue of deep blue. He understood why it looked familiar. “This tie is the exact color of Phoebe’s eyes and . . .” He gasped.
“I think he’s got it,” Madelyn said softly.
He stared at the matchmaker as he recalled the dream that had snapped him out of his six-month playboy stupor—the dream where his mother had drifted into his subconsciousness. In it, she’d spoken one word.Fight. He’d figured the utterance was his unconscious mind weaving in boxing terminology. But she wasn’t telling him to fight in a ring. She wanted him to fight for love. And in his dream, his mother was wearing a dress that happened to be the same color as his tie.
“How would you know about the dress?” he asked the matchmaker, disbelief coating his words.
“What dress?” the woman replied with her signature all-knowing twist of her lips. “Now, tell me, what does Phoebe need?”
“Someone in her corner. Someone who’s got her back. Someone who’ll fight for her.” Conviction flowed through him. He’d never been more sure of anything.
Madelyn smoothed her scarlet scarf. “Now you understand.”
