Page 23 of Finding Mr. July

A s it turns out, I don’t see Jonathan in the office Monday.

I don’t know why this surprises me. Before the fundraiser contest, I saw him so rarely that someone could have told me he was an occasional contractor and I would have believed them.

Only his attendance at the weekly meeting gave away that he was an employee.

It doesn’t mean I’m not keeping an eye out, though, and when Rachel invites me to tag along to a conference on environmental sustainability at Microsoft on Tuesday morning—something I’d normally have enjoyed—my first thought is of the distance that puts between Jonathan and me.

Rachel must sense my hesitation because she plays the mentor card and tells me it’s not optional.

“I want to introduce you to the people from Climate Solutions. They’ll be valuable connections for you to have.

” Then she lowers her voice. “Besides, you have another photo shoot with him later anyway.”

I scan our surroundings to ensure no one else is there to catch her insinuating tone, but everyone is at their desks across the room.

Eric didn’t land the Chihuly museum venue, so I know he’s been scrambling to find another space, and Ashley spends most of her time on the creative side of the elevators with her social media maven, Pippa.

Only Letitia appears both in control of her fundraiser and still engaged in the day-to-day work of her internship.

She’s currently on the phone with our Brasilia office, impressively peppering the conversation with Portuguese phrases she’s “picked up.” I’m not going to lie—I sometimes miss the steel-trap brain I had in my twenties.

At least Manny isn’t playing favorites, and I take it as a positive sign that he wants me involved in the grants process for our Save the Reef efforts in Australia.

For days, he’s been sending me articles to read so I’ll be able to keep up at the meeting next week. If only I could find the time to do so.

I wish I could say I take full advantage of my opportunity to mingle at the environmental conference.

I try, but mentally I’m already at Discovery Park where I’m meeting Jonathan later.

As much as I know I’d be better off not getting involved with him, at this point we might just have to knock boots if for no other reason than to clear the air. I’m too pent-up to think straight.

I park at the south lot of Discovery Park a whole twenty minutes before the photo shoot thanks to the conference ending early to allow for happy hour.

It’s a sunny October day, but the air has that unmistakable crisp tinge of fall that always serves as a reminder to locate tucked-away scarves and sweaters.

Because I’m early, I text Jonathan to meet me by the old chapel and set course toward the wide, sloped expanse of the park.

The canopy is yellowing but still thick enough to feel like a secret passage separating the park from the city, an illusion made more magical by several white bunnies scurrying into the thicket, likely descendants of pets released into the wild.

I take my time, enjoying the peace after a day of intense socializing.

I’m not alone in reveling at this urban lung and its beautiful view of Puget Sound.

There are plenty of joggers, hikers, and dog walkers about.

I move to the side to let two women with golden retrievers pass in matching yoga pants (the women, not the dogs).

One of them waves to a guy in the distance who’s walking a beautiful white floof.

A Samoyed, I think. I only know that because my eighth-grade PE teacher had one.

Seeing the two goldens and the Samoyed together forces me to take stock of my fundraiser progress.

I have a week and a half until the finished calendar goes to the printer and so far, only five photo shoots are done.

If not for the fact that I have three other guys scheduled, I’d feel a lot more anxious.

For the four spots that remain, I have a verbal promise from Rachel that Nick is game, Dennis’s gym buddy is one more good lead, and I have calls out to both North Seattle Fly Dogs and a poster up at the local dog run.

That’s decent progress by any standards, I think.

Except, I’ve never been one to settle for good enough, and my goal is twelve photos not nine.

So while the three strangers and their dogs congregate, I linger out of earshot from them and pull out my phone.

Using the camera, I zoom to get a better look at the guy.

He has long hair under his beanie and is shorter than both of the women, but when one of them says something funny, his smile radiates through my screen.

He’s cute in a hemp-sweater, granola sort of way, and considering my stint as a virtual catfisher, surely it’s not beneath me to approach men in parks, too.

I wait until the women leave before I follow the guy and his dog down a trail to the left of the chapel.

They move in sync, the dog frequently looking up at its owner, and the more I watch them interact, the more convinced I am that they’d make an excellent addition to the calendar.

All I have to do is figure out the best way to approach them.

After a few minutes, the guy veers off the paved path, cutting across the hilly meadows where dirt trails meander this way and that.

At one point, he stops and glances my way, so I quicky feign interest in the yellowed grass at my feet.

Then I scan the horizon on my left for good measure before continuing after him.

We’re going uphill now, and he’s faster than I am, so by the time I reach the crest where a paved path intersects, I’m breaking a sweat.

A gust of wind sweeps past, blowing hair into my eyes, and when I’ve forced the strands into place behind my ears, the guy and his dog are gone, swallowed by the earth.

What the hell? I rest one hand on my head and do a three-sixty turn that yields nothing, and I’m about to give up when the two of them step out from behind a large bush, startling me.

“Why are you following me?” the guy asks. “Did Kiera send you?”

Whoa. I back up a step. “Um, I don’t know a Kiera.”

“Because I’ve told her a million times, I’m not seeing anyone else. But I can’t not walk Sam, can I?”

Sam the Samoyed. How original. “I wasn’t following you. Not for that reason any—”

“Yeah, you were. You were filming, too. Those two women are friends of my sister’s, nothing else. If you’re going to show her the footage, at least tell her that.”

I frown. What kind of noir plot have I stepped into? “Tell who? Look, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you. But again, I don’t know a Kiera. She sounds fun, though.”

The guy stares at me. “If you’re not with Kiera, then why are you stalking me?”

“I wouldn’t call it stalking as much as—”

He interrupts again. It’s almost enough to make me feel for this Kiera person. “From all the way up there”—he points—“over the field and back here. I’d call that stalking. So what gives?”

When he puts it like that… “I thought your dog was pretty,” I say meekly, flushing hot with embarrassment.

He tightens his grip on the leash. “You’re after Sam?” He steps forward and points at me. “Over my dead body. I’ll scream. There are people about.”

Am I really that scary? “No, no, no. I’m not going to steal your dog. I’m looking for models,” I hurry to say before he can cut me off again.

He balks. “Like a sex thing?”

Oh jeez. “No, of course not.”

“Then what? You have thirty seconds.”

In my peripheral vision, a tall figure comes hurrying down the slope on my left. Jonathan.

“Everything okay here?” He stops a yard away from me but positions himself between me and the guy.

“He thinks I’m a stalker,” I say under my breath.

Jonathan spins toward me. “Why?”

“Are you a cop?” the guy asks. “This woman has been following me for the past ten minutes. She says she wants my dog.”

I huff out a breath and cross my arms. “I did not say that. I said I’m looking for models for a calendar.

” I take a step forward, which makes the guy retreat.

“I’m sorry I followed you, but I promise I mean no harm.

” To Jonathan I say, “I was waiting for a good opportunity to approach. Don’t you think they’d be perfect? ”

“Perfect for what?” The guy looks horrified.

“Okay, why don’t we back up a few?” Jonathan asks. “Get some facts straight.”

“Maybe I should wait up there?” I ask, indicating the chapel.

“Might make this easier,” Jonathan agrees.

“Sorry again,” I tell the guy as I back away. “Didn’t mean to freak anyone out.” With that, I head up the hill with my fingers crossed that Jonathan can clean up my mess.

He joins me five minutes later, waving a piece of paper in the air. “He’ll do it,” he says. “I showed him the other photos, and he came around. Said he’s big on fishing, so we’ll find a good place for that.”

“Is he available this week?”

“Yeah, but…” Jonathan scratches his temple and scrunches up his nose. “You can’t be there. It’s his one request.”

I scoff. “I really wasn’t being creepy. I promise.”

“Be that as it may.”

I scan the slope to see the Samoyed’s white tail disappear into the trees. He’d make model number nine. Or ten, actually, if I count Nick, even though he still needs to get scheduled. “Fine. I trust you.”

“You do?”

I do, I realize. “You’ve come a long way from accusing me of producing soft porn. Just don’t let it get to your pretty head.”

He looks at me with amusement. “Pretty head?”

“You know what you look like. You have a mirror.” I start walking, and he follows.

“It’s an odd choice of words, though. Not ‘handsome’? Or ‘chiseled’?”

That awards him a cheeky smile. “I said what I said.” I check my phone for the time. “Where is this guy? Didn’t we say five?”

We lap the chapel, but there’s no sign of our model, and considering this is Mikael the giant Swede from bad date number umpteen, he should be easy enough to spot.