Page 15 of Finding Mr. July

S ilence permeates the air in Jonathan’s car as we pull out of the parking garage late the next afternoon.

I blame Rachel. When Jonathan stopped by our desks earlier to confirm times, my meddling mentor suggested he and I take only one car since parking is notoriously difficult near Alki.

I’m onto her. Clearly this is some sort of misguided matchmaking attempt, but it’s not like I could say no in front of him when he was on board.

Plus, Rachel does have a point about the parking.

So here I am, no more than a foot away from the guy who’s living rent-free in my head lately against my wishes. His car smells good—it’s not a new car smell, but a warmer, more comforting scent I can’t put my finger on. The tight space intensifies it. Which begs the question…

“How are you able to drive a car when you have claustrophobia?” I blurt.

He glances my way before stopping at a light. “It’s fine as long as I’m driving. And I’m okay in the passenger seat with the window down. Back seats, not so much, especially if it’s a two-door car. Something about cramped leg room and nowhere to go.”

Like on a plane. I’m about to ask if that’s what caused the issues with his old job, but he’s not done talking.

“And sometimes it’s unpredictable. I once successfully rode an open-air Ferris wheel, for example, while I’ve been close to a panic attack on a crowded escalator.”

“Sounds difficult.”

He shifts his grip on the steering wheel. “It can be.”

Outside the window, the tall buildings rush by as Jonathan navigates the obstacle course that is downtown Seattle. The sky is still a mottled blue with some heavier clouds moving in for predicted overnight rain. By the art museum, the leaves on the trees are starting to turn.

I hold my breath when we pass my old law offices.

The mere sight of the building makes my muscles tense.

The cronyism, the greed, the thankless hours I put in only to be blamed for Chris’s mistake—everything comes rushing back.

Jonathan doesn’t notice, but when he speaks again, his voice reminds me that as long as I win this thing, I’ll soon be far away from that chapter of my life, and that helps me relax again.

“You asked about the plane incident, and yeah, in a way, my claustrophobia made me lose my job,” Jonathan continues as if he read my mind earlier.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. Like you said, I ask a lot of questions.”

His lips quirk up. “I don’t really mind.” Another glance. Dancing gray eyes. “It’s sort of refreshing.”

“Okay.” I turn more fully toward him. “So what happened?”

He starts a right turn but pauses to let a mom with a stroller cross.

“I had to fly a lot in my old job. All over the world. Not ideal if you’re me, but I’d worked so hard to get there, to be afforded those opportunities, that there was no way I was going to turn them down.

In the beginning, I made sure to get on red-eye flights so I could sleep through it, but the busier I got, the less I was in control of my schedule.

So I’d drink instead. A breakfast whiskey in the airport lounge, a couple of beers, and more on the plane. It was the only thing that worked.”

“You were an alcoholic?” I give myself a mental slap for challenging him to a shot-drinking contest of all things.

“No.” The protest is definite. “No, that’s not it. I didn’t drink at all the rest of the time—only when I had to travel. It was more like self-medicating.”

Oh. “You couldn’t get an actual prescription for something?”

“Would have, could have, should have. I was a proud idiot.”

“So you got drunk on a plane. Don’t people do that all the time?”

He scrunches up his face and taps the steering wheel. “I got drunk on a plane and tried to fly it.”

Despite the seriousness of what he’s telling me, a snort escapes me. “Oh my God.”

“I know. Like I said, I do better in the driver’s seat.”

We’ve left downtown and are passing the sports arenas on one side and the industrial cranes that resemble giant Star Wars walkers on the other. In between stacks of shipping containers, glimpses of the water dazzle through my window.

“Anyway, they restrained me until they could do an emergency landing. Then I was arrested, fined, and put on a no-fly list, where I remain to this day. I lost my job and all other gigs I had lined up—no one wants to gamble on a loose cannon like that—and a few months later, my wife had had enough of my miserable ass and left. The end.”

“Holy wow.” I shake my head. “I’m really sorry.”

“Aren’t you glad you asked?”

I study his profile before responding. His eyes are firmly on the road, dark eyelashes sweeping down with each blink, but the tension in his jaw betrays his casual question.

“I am,” I say, putting as much sincerity into my voice as I can.

I didn’t expect him to be this honest, and the peek into his mind makes his blurry contours sharpen. “Thanks for telling me.”

I consider his story as we navigate the residential streets closer to Alki in search of a parking space. I know something about low points, too, and about what it’s like being forced out of a profession you excel at. And here I used to think we were so different.

“Good thing you had Manny,” I say. The same way I had Rachel.

Jonathan nods. “Thankful every day for him giving a screwup a chance.”

I wait until he’s parked and we’re out of the car to continue. “Even though you hate the job?” I squint at him.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Come on. It’s obvious to every single person at GCL that you don’t want to be there.”

Instead of answering, he opens the trunk. When I join him, he’s still surveying its contents. “I don’t hate it,” he says before facing me. “It’s complicated. Web design is…”

“Not your passion?” I supply.

“More than that.” He reaches for his tripod and hands it to me. “It’s a daily reminder that I failed. I had everything. Now I have a paycheck.” His eyes flash with suppressed emotion.

I reach for his arm and grasp it gently above his elbow. His muscles tense beneath my touch—a familiar sensation that reverberates through me. Still, I don’t release him right away. Not until he says my name.

“Holly.” It sounds like it should be followed by something more, but instead it trails into nothing.

I step back. “Sorry. About all of it.” I gesture to the trunk. “Can I carry something else?”

For a while, the unloading of equipment provides a welcome respite.

We’re a few blocks from our destination, and with each house we pass, each turn we get closer to the water, the air gets easier to breathe, the tension subsiding.

But seeing him carrying his camera equipment, I can’t help but wonder if my project is bringing his regrets to the surface, reopening the wounds.

I’m looking for the right words to apologize for that, too, when we emerge from between buildings and an unencumbered view of the water is before us.

“The clouds will work to our advantage,” Jonathan says, face tipped upward. “They’ll make for a dramatic sunset. Where did you say we’re meeting them?”

He’s switched to photographer mode. A seamless transition that I’m not sure he’s aware of.

But I’m not about to get in the way of it, so I put a pin in our earlier conversation and point him instead toward the beach near the lighthouse.

We’re not allowed on the actual lighthouse property since that belongs to the US Coast Guard.

“That’s them,” I tell him as we make our way along the stony shoreline toward the spot where Oliver and his dog are playing catch. “Hi there!” I call out to Oliver.

“Lucy, go fetch.” He throws the ball our way, and his golden comes running, her coat shiny in the low sunlight.

Jonathan drops to his knees and puts the camera to his face on instinct.

Click, click, click goes the shutter. As Lucy returns to Oliver, Jonathan checks the screen.

“Yup, should be good,” he says to himself.

He holds the camera out for me to see. It’s an action shot where Lucy is just about to catch the ball. Pure energy in a snapshot.

“Nice.” I smile at him.

He looks at it again. “Wouldn’t win any awards, but…” He shrugs.

“So modest.” I bump his arm with mine. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I’m sucked in, almost tripping on a piece of driftwood in our path.

“Whoa there.” He catches me by the shoulder and prevents a tumble.

“Hello,” Oliver calls out. He approaches and introduces himself to Jonathan. “And this is Lucy.” The dog is sitting pretty at his side, panting.

Jonathan drops his hand from my shoulder. It’s instantly colder. “She’s gorgeous,” he says.

“So,” Oliver says, extending his hands to encompass the rocky beach. “Where do you want us? I’ve never been in front of a camera like this.”

A gust of wind sweeps past us, making me shiver. It ruffles Jonathan’s dark strands. His hair has gotten longer since the night of poor decisions. There’d be more to grip now.

I turn away from them, right as Jonathan asks Oliver, “How would you feel about getting in the water?”

I can’t believe Oliver agrees, but he signs our paperwork without questions asked, and maybe it’s not so bad since Jonathan is a professional and takes care to be quick with the shoot.

Lucy is also a professional, posing exactly as the men tell her to, nose to the horizon, the wind rippling through her coat.

In the background, the sky is shifting pink and purple with darker clouds lined in bright orange.

I don’t have to look at the photos to know they’ll come out well.

While Jonathan packs up, Oliver dries off with a small hand towel that was wrapped around one of the lenses before. I wait until he’s pulled on his jeans and shirt before I approach.

“Thanks for being a good sport. I’m sure that wasn’t pleasant.”

He grins. “Refreshing.” The blue tint around his lips tells a different story, but who knows? There are people who enjoy that sort of thing. “Do you think you got what you need?”

I assure him that we did.

The sun is slowly disappearing, trailing remnants of color on the far sky that cast the low clouds in ominous relief. The rain will be here within the hour, so we’d do best to start moving.

“See the sky?” I ask Jonathan.

“Almost done.” He shoves a reflector into its bag.

Oliver pulls on his sneakers and gives a sharp whistle to get Lucy to come. “Hey, I was wondering,” he says to me after leashing her. “I’ve seen you around at the café, and I’ve been meaning to ask. Would you be interested in grabbing drinks at some point? Maybe this weekend?”

I glance at Jonathan, who’s finished packing up and is standing stock-still with his back to us. “You’re asking me on a date?”

Oliver smiles. “I am.” He cuts his gaze between me and Jonathan. “Unless you two are… Ah shit, did I step in it?”

“No, no, not at all,” I hurry to say. “It’s just that I’m completely immersed in this project right now. Between work and the photo shoots, there’s no time.” That’s a valid excuse, right?

But Oliver isn’t so easily deterred. “Maybe when you’re done, then? With the calendar, I mean.” He wears the exact same expression as Morris does when he’s hoping for a treat.

“Maybe,” I say, unable to cut him down outright.

“Cool.” He grins. “See you around. Come on, Lucy.”

“See ya.”

“Later, man.” Jonathan lifts his hand in goodbye, making it clear he’s heard the whole conversation. “Nice guy,” he tells me when Oliver is out of earshot.

I yank one of the bags onto my shoulder and set off in the direction we came from. “Yeah, you think I should have said yes?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t say no. I thought a guy was ‘the last thing you need.’”

“I did turn him down.”

“You said maybe.”

I stop to face him. “The guy sat in like fifty-five-degree water off and on for twenty minutes for us. I didn’t want to be rude.” I walk a few more steps but then stop again. “But you know what is rude? Eavesdropping.”

He lets me take the lead over boulders and slippery pebbles, trailing several yards behind me with his heavier load.

“You’re not going to go on a date with him, then?” he asks after a while.

I sigh, trudging on. “I’m hopefully moving soon, remember? What would be the point?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Right.”

I slow and let him catch up on the concrete ramp leading to the street, slightly out of breath from the rock-strewn trek.

“Besides, in case you missed it, I’m currently in the midst of an up-close-and-personal field trip into the world of online dating, and I can’t say it’s leaving me wanting more. ”

We walk shoulder to shoulder past a few old single-family homes and a condominium, and we’ve just passed a cute stick library for dogs when the first raindrop hits me square on the nose.

“You don’t miss having someone, then?” he asks suddenly.

It’s such a direct question that every ready-to-go, hating-on-dating response flies out the window. Because of course I do. I’m human. Which is probably why our little misstep has played on repeat in my mind since it happened. But I can’t tell him that.

“Do you?”

“I asked first.”

I huff at his insistence. “Fine. To be honest, it’s been so long that I’m not sure I remember what I’m supposed to be missing. That said, I believe there can be purpose to aloneness, too. Like, right now, I need to get the other parts of my life in order. Not being attached frees up my time.”

We reach the car, and he pulls the key out but remains standing with his hand on the hatch for a moment. “Huh,” he says. “Interesting. As if choosing it makes it noble instead of sad. I might have to steal that when my dad tries to set me up with his friends’ daughters.”

Before I can decide whether to object or probe further, the quiet of the evening erupts in light and noise as his car alarm goes off again.