Page 18 of Finding Mr. July

Jonathan is running late, but I don’t mind. The crisp air is heady with earth and cedar at the trailhead, and Garrett and Bear show up only five minutes after I do.

“He’s restless,” Garrett says about his giant dog as he straps on his backpack. “This is his favorite thing in the whole world, and I swear he knows we’re about to head out as soon as he wakes up. You don’t mind if we get a head start, do you? Meet you at the falls?”

We’re not the only ones vying for the outdoors this Saturday.

A steady trickle of cars arrives at the gravel lot, unloading other hikers.

I get a few curious looks where I stand by my lonesome near the information boards, but I ignore them and focus instead on stretching.

I skipped the morning yoga to get out the door, but what do you know?

Jonathan’s tardiness has given me a chance to rectify that.

He pulls in a few minutes later in a pair of aviators that at a first glance makes him look a lot more Top Gun than Into the Wild .

As soon as he’s out of the car, though, it’s clear he’s done this before.

He’s in well-worn boots, gray pants, a red-and-black checkered flannel, and some sort of weather-safe jacket.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him in something other than black, and I say as much in greeting.

“What do you mean?” he asks, looking down.

“This,” I say, taking the collar of his flannel between my thumb and index finger. “Color. Didn’t know you had it in you.” Then, because getting handsy with his shirt has put me in rather close proximity to him, I let him go and step back.

“It’s my dad’s,” he says after a beat, his gaze inscrutable.

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not, so I roll with it. “That explains it. It suits you, though. Not that the black doesn’t, but it’s good to see you… um… branching out.” I gesture to the trees around us, and my mission is accomplished. He smiles.

“I like your smile,” I blurt. Good Lord, Holly. “Um, I mean, need any help carrying stuff?”

The glimpse of his teeth disappears, but his lips still tug up at the corners. “No, I’m good,” he says, reaching for the hatch. “And thanks. I like your smile, too.”

A sudden need to retie my boots makes me dip below the bumper out of sight. When I stand again, he’s aiming the key fob at the car. “Brace yourself—they should have fixed the alarm issue yesterday, but you never know.”

Yesterday… “Is that where you were? When you weren’t at work, I mean.”

He shoulders his equipment pack, which today is in one large bundle instead of several small bags. “Yeah, I took a personal day to take care of some errands. Car maintenance was one. Dad had a couple of appointments, too, so it worked out.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t tell me you missed me.” He gives me a look of feigned horror.

We start up the trail, now a solid fifteen minutes behind Garrett and Bear.

I roll my eyes, hoping it will hide how close to the truth he is. “You wish.”

He shrugs and then grins again. “Maybe I do.” He slows to let me get in front when the trail narrows.

Does he? We walk in silence for a few minutes, my thoughts refusing to come to a conclusion.

When counting pine cones no longer serves as a distraction, I switch topics and tell him about my pet store outing.

“Are you free tomorrow for another shoot? I know it’s last minute, but the puppies are getting adopted this coming week, so it’s our only chance. ”

He groans lightly. “But then I have to cancel my Sunday plans.”

Darn, I knew it seemed to come together too smoothly. “Well, maybe I…”

Jonathan reaches out and touches my shoulder. “I’m joking, Holly. I can totally do it tomorrow.”

Such a comedian today. I turn and keep walking backward. “You’re weird in the woods,” I say.

“Good weird?” He looks hopeful.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I guess I forgot how much I love hiking.”

There’s definitely something about it—the surrounding growth still and green yet bursting with quiet energy. It suffuses the air and seeps into your pores, its ongoing creation so filled with possibility that it could ease the most wearying burden.

“But how come you were with your brother?” Jonathan asks as we pass a couple taking selfies in front of an ancient, moss-covered tree. “I thought you had a date. Another bad one?”

“Depends on your definition of a bad date.” I pick up a long, straight branch from the ground that could serve as a suitable walking stick.

“Did he assume I was going to have sex with him after forty-five minutes? Yes. Did I reject him and get an earful? Sure did. Still on board for the calendar, though, so…” I imitate the two pans of a scale with my hands, almost poking him with the stick in the process.

“Oops, sorry.” I toss it back into the woods.

“I see. Still sounds like a crappy date to me.”

“Yup. Just thankful I’m not truly in the game. But I’m not going to use Pawsome Partners anymore. I’m canceling my account tomorrow. At some point in my life, I hope to have time for real dating again, and I’m afraid that it’ll put me off men forever if I do any more of these.”

Jonathan nods but doesn’t respond, and soon we fall into the meditative rhythm of footfalls and breathing, making our way to our destination.

The main waterfall is too crowded, but Jonathan knows of a hidden one off-trail, not far away, so that’s where we head for the shoot.

Bear is the biggest ham I’ve ever seen. As soon as Jonathan puts the camera to his eye, the huge Newfoundland swings his head in the direction of the lens.

Pose, click. Pose, click. A catwalk model has nothing on him.

I’ve brought a Davy Crockett–like hat for Garrett, and with his shirt off and Bear at his side, he looks every bit the woodsy thirst trap I was hoping for.

We get shots of them scouting the far side of the stream, perching on slick rocks, and peeking out from behind a tree trunk the width of a small car.

We’re nearly finished when Jonathan puts his camera down and mutters, “Now who’s this jamoke?”

Another hiker has walked into the shot with his pretty Dalmatian.

“You certainly don’t see this every day,” the guy says with an Irish accent, nodding to Garrett. He’s about our age with a groomed hipster beard and a large frame.

“Hey,” Garrett responds. And then, because Bear is padding toward the Dalmatian, he asks, “Okay if they say hi?”

“Of course.” Irish guy steps closer. “Is this a fashion shoot or something?”

The two dogs circle and sniff each other, but when that’s done, they go their separate ways. No soulmates in the woods today. Womp, womp.

“Sort of,” I say. “It’s for a fundraising calendar.”

“Oh really?” Irish guy nods. “Well, good on you. I’m fresh off the Charity Challenge Hike myself. What’s the cause?”

“Temperate rainforest conservation,” I tell him. “We’re with an environmental nonprofit.” I look at Jonathan and raise an eyebrow in question. Is he thinking what I’m thinking?

He gives a small nod. “We’re still scouting for models. I don’t suppose you and your dog would be interested?”

Irish guy makes wide eyes at us. “Me? Oh, I’m hardly built for it.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Pete. This is Nala.”

“Pete, he’s an award-winning photographer.” I gesture at Jonathan. “And you two would be perfect. Nala’s white-and-black coat against the green? Striking.”

“It’s a cool experience, dude,” Garrett says, proving again to be the only good thing to come out of Pawsome Partners.

Pete seems to think it over. He puts his hand on Nala’s flank. The Dalmatian looks up at him. “I can keep my shirt on?” he asks.

“Of course,” I assure him. I’m sure Jonathan can work some magic with that beard and rolled up sleeves.

“Fine, then. Let’s give it a lash.”

Jonathan and I linger as Garrett, Pete, and their dogs continue on forty minutes later.

Two-for-one is not bad for a Saturday, and the shots of the Dalmatian and her Irish handler are beautiful.

Jonathan managed to time a ray of sun so that it cut through the trees just right and hit the two where they were resting against a tree trunk on the mossy forest floor.

With Pete’s bedroom eyes and come-hither smolders, I predict his spread will be one of our most popular.

“Ready to head back?” Jonathan asks after packing up.

“Ready.” I slide off the log I’ve been sitting on, but no sooner is the word out of my mouth than my foot disappears through the moss where the ground meets the log. “Ah,” I yelp, tumbling to my hands and knees.

“Are you okay?”

I take stock. The ground is soft enough. “My knees are wet, but that’s about it.” I wiggle my foot to get it out of the hole. Huh. I try to turn my ankle and pull. Nothing. “I think I’m stuck, though. The stupid shoe.”

Jonathan’s legs come into view. “If it went in, it should come out,” he says.

“That’s what she said,” I quip under my breath.

“Very funny. But seriously. Pull.”

I do, trying to leverage my body weight against the pit of doom devouring my limb. “I can’t.”

“Okay. Hold on.” Jonathan sets his pack on the ground and crouches down behind me. “It’s a root. I’m going to…” He grips my calf with one hand and reaches into the hole with the other, bending my foot and twisting the boot at the same time. “Now try.”

I do, and with a squelch, I’m face down in the moss. “Oof.”

“There we go. How does it feel?”

I sit up and move my foot gingerly. “Okay, I think.”

He wipes his hands on his pants. “Let me see. If it’s twisted, I’ll have to wrap it before we head back.”

He unlaces the boot and pulls it off my foot along with the sock. His fingers are warm and gentle as they prod and bend, sending goose bumps up my leg.

“Thanks,” I say. “You saved me. Again.”

“You got stuck. Again.” He winks, putting my boot back on. “I think you’re all right. Want to try to stand on it?”

I nod, and he hauls me to my feet. He overestimates the effort, though, because I go flying forward, only stopping myself from crashing into him with a hand against his chest. I’ve been here before, inches in front of him, my hands against his warm body. Here and closer…

The water from the falls burbles in the background, and little winged things swirl about our heads. But I only see his chest rising and falling, a movement that’s matched by the rush of blood in my ears. His proximity is intoxicating out here in the wild.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

I shake my head and let go of him. “No, I’m fine.

” I force myself to look up. His gaze is searching, intense.

Eyes to drown in. But that would be a mistake.

I’ve mixed business with pleasure before and that did not work out.

Not to mention my impending emigration when he can’t fly. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Mustering whatever self-control I have left, I back up a step.

Jonathan clears his throat as he reaches for his backpack.

We start walking without another word.

But the thing about the woods is that it’s difficult to hold on to the awkward and the untimely.

With our muted footfalls below and the swooshing of branches above, we soon fall back into easy conversation.

We’ll need to make the beagle photo shoot an indoor one, but Jonathan has an idea for a setup that might still give the impression of being outside.

We’re closing in on the parking lot when he glances at me over his shoulder and then slows until we’re side by side. He scratches his neck. Pauses. “So, I was thinking.”

“Congrats.”

His lips press together. “These bad dates you’ve had to go on…

It’s a shame… I mean, it would be a shame if…

” He sighs, his hands fidgeting with the straps of his pack.

“Look, I don’t want that to put you off dating for good.

So why don’t you let me take you out? I promise not to be a creep like the others. ”

My stomach somersaults, and my lips part in surprise. That was the last thing I expected him to say. “Out?” I ask stupidly. “Like on a date?”

“On a date,” he confirms. “A good one for a change. Um, hopefully. Are you doing anything tonight?”

I would play it cool, but the muscles in my cheeks have a different idea.

I haven’t been on a real date in forever, and the prospect of Jonathan being the one to break the hiatus is more than appealing.

It doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe he feels bad about how his fellow men have treated me lately.

We’ve come to a full stop at the trailhead. “I have no plans. As per uzhe,” I say. “And I’d love to go on a date.”

Maybe the sun was already on him, but I swear his face gets brighter at my words. “Cool,” he says, tempering a smile in vain. “I’m filling in at a happy hour gig from four to six at Red’s Blues in Ballard. You want to meet there at six, and I’ll take you to dinner?”

I nod. “I do.”

For a long moment, neither of us looks away. It’s not a loaded silence as much as it is one filled with something buoyant and optimistic.

When he finally breaks away to take his pack off, I’m already mentally in my closet, thinking about what to wear.