Page 13 of Finding Mr. July

K erry Park is one of Seattle’s premier spots for skyline photography and consequently it’s often overrun by tourists.

But late on a Sunday afternoon like this, we only share the spot with a handful of others when we arrive for our photo shoot.

I’ve brought Rachel along since she knows Dennis, and I don’t know who’s more excited—she or Dennis’s petite Chihuahua, Tank.

As soon as Tank gets out of their car, he jumps up and down at Dennis’s feet, which, considering he’s leashed, gives an uncanny impression of a yo-yo.

Dennis scoops him up with one hand and joins the rest of us at one of the benches where Jonathan has set down his equipment bags.

Behind him, the Space Needle glows at the summit of the skyline, which peaks like a man-made imitation of Mount Rainier in the background.

The mountain is out in full force today, appearing superimposed against the blue September sky.

Rachel makes introductions, but it’s hard to hear her over the Chihuahua’s sharp bark, which for some reason seems aimed at me.

“Tank, hush,” Dennis tells the irate pup, but when that doesn’t work, he covers Tanks eyes with a giant hand and twists his face into an apologetic expression. “It’s your hoodie,” he tells me. “Tank doesn’t like zippers.”

I stare at him blankly. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing. Can’t stand them. Right, T?” He scratches Tank’s neck. “I’ve had to throw out half my closet. Can only do pullovers.”

I make eye contact with Rachel and Jonathan, who look as bewildered as I am.

“Okay, maybe I’ll hang back, then,” I say. “Give Tank some space?”

“No.” Dennis scratches his temple. “You see, he knows you’re here now. Part of the group. With the zipper. He’ll sense it.”

Jonathan tuts. “Come on, that’s—”

I stop him. “It’s fine.” It’s our first shoot—let’s not end it before it’s begun. “What if I take it off and lock it in the car? Would that work?”

Dennis considers this. “We can try.”

“Great.” I give him a tight smile before I hurry to the car to shrug out of the offending garment.

I only have a cropped workout top on underneath, having planned on a jog through Queen Anne once we’re done here, and the light breeze of the cooling day draws goose bumps across my skin.

But I’ve said it before. I’ll do whatever it takes to get this calendar right.

While away from the group, I also quickly check my email.

The printer got back to me on Friday and promised I’d have the contract before Monday, but still nothing.

I take a deep breath to placate the stirring unease inside me.

Yes, the weekend is almost over, but they’re a reputable place so I’m sure they’ll make good on their word.

Worst case, I’ll call them tomorrow and have them send it while I’m on the phone.

“It’ll be fine,” I whisper to myself. Then I force my brow to smooth out and tuck my phone away.

“There,” I say when I return sans hoodie. “Better?”

Jonathan’s gaze sweeps past my bare midsection once, then again in a double take. I pretend I don’t notice either that or the way it makes my stomach dip, but it does help me refocus on the present company.

Dennis removes his hand from Tank’s eyes, and the Chihuahua blinks at the light.

“Hi, Tank,” I try. “Who’s a good boy?”

This time, his tongue flops out of his mouth as he yawns. No bark.

“Great.” Jonathan taps his thighs. “Then we can get started.”

Rachel and Dennis take Tank for a stroll so he can get his zoomies out before the shoot while Jonathan heads to his gear.

“Can I do anything?” I ask him. He’s extending the legs of a collapsible tripod, working fast with an impassive expression on his face. The sleeves of his black Henley are pushed up to his elbows, and the muscles of his forearms play beneath the skin in the late afternoon sun.

“Nope, just want to get this ridiculousness over with.” Next, he squats down by the bench to go through his lenses, his fingers skimming each one almost reverently. He pauses by one, glances toward Dennis, mutters something to himself, and moves on.

His tone nags at me, but I’m determined not to take it personally.

As long as he’s here doing his job, he doesn’t have to like it.

And one glance down at my top tells me he’s not completely wrong.

There are aspects of the ridiculous at play here.

Even so, it would be more pleasant for everyone else if he could get over himself.

“Thank you for doing this,” I say, hoping to kill the grump with kindness. “I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”

He stands, the chosen lens in his hand. “You do what you got to do.” He scans the ground around him while scratching his head. “On second thought, can you get the reflectors from my car? Two soft cases in the trunk.” He tosses me the keys.

“Sure.” I count the request as a win. The car unlocks with a click, but the moment I touch the handle of the trunk, a violent beeping ruptures the stillness.

I jump back and aim the key fob at the trunk, pressing the button over and over.

“I don’t know what I did,” I holler over my shoulder as Jonathan comes jogging over. “I swear I unlocked it.”

He takes the key from me and wields it like a magic wand in front of him. Finally, the alarm stops. “Sorry, I’ve been meaning to fix this. I think it’s the key fob battery or something. Not your fault.” He reaches past me and hauls out the cases, handing me one so he can lock up again.

“It’s always something, right?” I say, going for common ground. “My trunk has recently decided it’s analog and only opens with the actual key. Cars…”

He makes a humming noise in response, nothing else.

We head back to the other equipment in silence, but when we pull out several shiny, circular screens from the cases, I venture another question, determined not to give up that easily. “How long has it been since you did this?”

Jonathan stops what he’s doing and looks up. “This?” He gestures toward Dennis and Tank.

“Not this specifically. I know my inspired vision here is not your jam.” I smirk. “I mean photography in general.”

His lips press together. “It’s been a while.”

“Should I not ask about it?”

“You can always ask. Can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“Smartass.”

I almost miss it—his teeth flashing bright with unguarded humor as he turns away from me. When he looks up next, his expression is once again composed.

I’m about to restate my question when Rachel hollers, “Are we doing this or what?”

Jonathan hoists his camera in one hand and a stool in the other and makes his escape. “Over here,” he calls to Rachel. “Let’s do it.”

Typical. Just when I was getting somewhere.

Dennis has his shirt off before he reaches us. “Pants too?” he asks Jonathan, fingers perched in the elastic of his joggers.

Jonathan levels me with a pointed glare.

“Pants stay on,” I hurry to say. “Thanks, though.”

While Jonathan arranges Dennis and Tank on the stool in front of the view, Rachel and I hang to the side.

The sun is setting, gilding everything and everyone, and I have to give credit to Rachel for her pick.

Dennis’s physique is impressive, if too bulky for me, and I can already tell this will make a great opening image in the calendar. Hello, Mr. January.

I tell Rachel as much while Jonathan starts shooting.

“Dennis might have a friend he can ask for us, too,” she says. “If we need more people.”

Jonathan has Dennis hoist Tank higher in the crook of his arm and look off toward Puget Sound. As he snaps pictures, something shifts in his posture. Gone are the restrained movements and the stony brow, instead replaced by swiftness and presence.

“Hello? Did you hear me?” Rachel nudges my arm.

“What?” I force my attention away from this new version of Jonathan. “Oh yeah. That’s good. We’ll need anyone we can get. Pawsome Partners isn’t off to a great start judging by the guy I met up with yesterday.”

“I thought he canceled?”

Jonathan straightens. “You went on a date?”

“He did cancel, but then he changed his mind. It should have been the first red flag.”

Jonathan edges a step closer to us. “Why? What happened? I hope you met him somewhere public at least.”

“Someone ca-ares,” Rachel singsongs under her breath so only I can hear.

“Does not,” I hiss through my teeth. To Jonathan I say, “Yeah, at a café. He opened with ‘I typically go for brunettes, but you’re not bad for a blonde,’ then went on to forget his clearly make-believe dog’s name in the first ten minutes. I excused myself after that.”

“Yeesh.” Jonathan grimaces.

Rachel concurs. “I’m telling you. It’s rough out there.”

“Fingers crossed for the guys I’m meeting this week. Surely one notch down on the creep scale can’t be too much to ask.” Though maybe that’s karma working her magic since I’m not being completely up front myself. The thought has started to gnaw at me.

“What do you think of something like this?” Dennis asks Jonathan. He’s put Tank on his shoulder to balance like a tiny cheerleading flyer.

With some reluctance, Jonathan leaves our date conversation and returns to his models. “Oh yay, tricks,” he says, his tone clashing with his words. Nevertheless, he picks his camera back up.

“Hey,” Rachel whispers to me after a minute, “I think he’s kind of into you.”

I paste on a smile and start walking toward the railing that prevents tourists from taking a tumble down the slope beneath the overlook. “I hope you’re talking about Tank,” I whisper back.

“Very funny. Didn’t you notice how he got all protective when you mentioned the bad date?”

I did notice, but… “You’re imagining things.” I lean against the railing and follow the dark outline of the islands against the water in the distance. “And even if you weren’t, I’m not interested. He’s not my type.”

Rachel rests her back against the metal. “Yes, hot, brooding photographer who can’t take his eyes off you. Bah-humbug.”

I glance over my shoulder. There is something about a man in his element.

Jonathan has Dennis seated on the railing with Tank in his lap.

It does not look safe by a long shot, but Dennis is all smiles, so I stay out of it.

He’s signed our legal forms anyway, releasing us from any obligations regarding potential risks as well as compensation for use of the images.

They’re far enough away that I can’t hear the instructions Jonathan gives Dennis, but at one point, there are gestures and conversation before Dennis lifts one arm and flexes his huge bicep.

I smile to myself—could it be Jonathan is getting into it more than he thought he would?

“I rest my case,” Rachel says to my right.

“I’m enjoying watching him work, that’s all.”

“But he’s ‘not your type.’” She air quotes my words.

“It’s the whole right brain, creative-type thing he’s got going. I like planning, logic, efficiency.”

“Sooo fun.”

I push at her shoulder. “Stop. I’m serious.”

“I know. Which is why you should be with someone like that. Plus, honestly, by your own admission, you don’t actually know what he’s like at all. You’re making assumptions based on his job.”

I want to object, but being who I am, I know better than to push when opposing counsel has a stronger argument. “Maybe,” I concede.

“Thank you. And for the record, that right brain, left brain stuff has been debunked. People are more complex than that. Including you.”

As I let that settle, Dennis jumps off the railing and sets Tank on the ground.

“All done?” Rachel calls.

“Done,” Jonathan confirms with a wave. He says something to Dennis, and the two of them laugh.

I really like his laugh.

“Everything go okay?” I ask when we reach them.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Jonathan still wears a smile as he tucks the camera away into its bag.

“I’ll send you a link, man,” Dennis tells him. “I’m not kidding—it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Cool.” Jonathan returns Dennis’s fist bump. “See ya.”

“Done what?” I ask. I’ve never seen him like this before.

“He was telling me about the shelter in Arizona where he found Tank.”

“Ah,” I say as if that explains everything. I look to Rachel for help, but she’s walking Dennis and Tank to their car.

The tripod disassembled and packed away, Jonathan turns back to me. “I was thinking I’d do a light edit on the top contenders and send those to you. It’ll be faster than going through all of them together. Then you can pick your favorite. Thoughts?”

Thoughts? Planning, logic, and efficiency are a few that come to mind. Damn. “That’s a good idea.”

He flashes me another smile and hoists the bags onto his shoulders. “Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” I say to his receding back, the word fluttering to the ground as Rachel returns to my side.

“You look like you’re doing a crossword puzzle in your head,” she says.

I start walking, fighting the urge to turn and watch the dip in the road where his car disappeared. “Um, yeah. Something like that.”

A gust of wind zips past us, making me shiver, and that finally snaps me out of whatever strange place I just visited. I pull out my phone to check my email again.

“Still want to go for a run?” Rachel asks.

I stop. Finally, the printer has sent the contract. “Hold on a sec,” I tell her while I open the attachment and skim it. Everything looks good. Except… My eyes snag on the production time clause. Fifteen days. “No, it’s supposed to say ‘five.’”

“What is?”

I show her the screen. “There’s a typo in the contract. Damn it, now I’ll have to wait for them to fix it.”

“So you’ll call them in the morning.” Rachel shrugs. “It’s a two-second fix. Now, come on. Let’s race.” She starts jogging in place.

She’s right. And a run is exactly what I need. It always helps me focus.

“Not sure about racing, but you’re on for a jog,” I say. A run, a shower, dinner, and a good night’s sleep. Then I’ll be back to work and have better things to think about than Jonathan Summers and how there might be so much more to him than I’d originally thought.