Page 29 of Finding Mr. July

I ’m alone in bed when I wake up the next morning.

Whiffs of something sweet and comforting drift through the half-open doorway, making my stomach rumble.

I flip to my back and blink at the ceiling, every muscle in my body protesting in the best of ways.

I had at least four orgasms last night. That’s a new personal record.

Granted, I had a couple of years to make up for.

I yawn and stretch like a cat, arching my back off the bed.

Then I sit up and rub my eyes. Now that my senses are waking up, I make out faint notes of music coming from downstairs and the clanging of pans.

A glance at my phone tells me it’s almost ten o’clock.

I also have a missed text from Jude: Have you been kidnapped or was the date that good?

I smile to myself. I should have texted him when I decided to stay over. I send him a brief, The latter. I’m fine , and then I pad across the floor to the bathroom as I pull my hair up in a messy bun.

My clothes from last night sit folded in a neat pile on a stool outside the shower, but what’s even better are the sweatpants and T-shirt Jonathan has set out on top of them as an option. I take a quick shower, get dressed in his clothes, and head downstairs to investigate the lovely smell.

“Good morning.” Jonathan greets me with a wide grin as he flips something in a pan on the stove. “I was about to come get you. I hope you like French toast.”

“Love it.” I go to him and nestle into his arms. “When did you get up?”

“Couple of hours ago.”

“You should have woken me up.”

He pushes a strand of hair that’s escaped my bun off my temple and hums. “You looked so peaceful; I didn’t want to disturb you. Plus, you definitely earned your rest last night.” His mouth pulls sideways as his eyes glitter. “That was…”

“Amazing,” I fill in, tipping my face up to his. Merely thinking of it makes my body alert again.

After a leisurely kiss, he untwines from our embrace. “Gotta flip these,” he says. “Grab a plate. There’s orange juice in the fridge, and I’ll grab the coffee in a minute.”

I do and sit down next to where his laptop is open on the counter. “You’ve been working?” I ask as he serves me two thick slices of gooey, cinnamon-dusted toast.

He sits and moves the syrup bottle within my reach. “I want to show you the images we have so far, see if you want any more tweaks. And don’t hesitate to tell me if you do. I know you want the calendar to be as perfect as it can be.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it.

I watch his profile for a moment. “That’s not a problem, right?

” I ask. “That I want it to be perfect because I need to win this job?” Maybe it’s a blunt question in light of the night we just shared, but it has to be asked.

We both agreed we could handle “complicated,” but I don’t want either of us hurt.

Whatever this is, it has an expiration date in the not-too-distant future, and we can’t forget about that.

He looks up from the screen. “Of course not. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m proud of these photos, and I’ve never been one to settle for less than perfection myself.”

I search his expression for signs of something other than earnestness but find none. “Okay,” I say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

He leans his shoulder to mine. “That would take a lot more than fundraiser talk. I’m pretty sure this”—he waggles his finger between us—“is an unkillable mood, and if you let me know the minute you’re done with breakfast, I will carry you to the couch over there and prove it to you.”

His words fan the embers in my belly. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. We’re good. But maybe we agree not to go there with, um, the rest of the stuff.”

“Okay. Good. I like that.” I have a bite of French toast, relishing how the cinnamon and maple syrup mix on my tongue.

There has to be a way for us to enjoy whatever temporary thing this is.

Maybe if we both are adults about it and say what’s on our minds?

I decide to give it a go. “Honestly, I just want to be with you while I can. Have some fun.”

He nods. “Me too. No need to overanalyze and get all serious.” His nose wrinkles.

“Right.” I mimic his expression automatically, eager to move on from this corner of the conversation. I know I said it first, but there is a small part of me that still recognizes that his words don’t go down as smoothly as I want them to.

Thankfully, that notion gets easier to ignore when he says, “And as promised, there is something we could do today to find more models. If you’re free,” he hurries to add. He types something on the computer and hits ENTER , but nothing happens. All we get is a spinning color wheel.

“Not again,” he grunts. “Hold on, I need to reboot the router.” He disappears into the office, returning moments later. “Sorry. It’ll be a minute. My internet leaves a lot to be desired at times.”

“No worries.”

Finally, the page loads, and he shows me the screen.

“Bellevue dog adoption fair,” I read out loud. “That’s perfect.”

“Yeah, I figured, since this week was stressful and we still have spots to fill before Friday.”

As in, time is running out. As in, I’ll hopefully be leaving Washington soon. Even though this isn’t news, the realization sits jagged in my throat for a moment before I gulp it down. “Let’s do it,” I say, taking care to make my voice upbeat.

But first I want to see the photos. I have, of course, seen them before as part of his editing reels, but this is the first time I’m seeing them laid out as calendar pages.

We’ve decided on a template to use that comes with the major holidays already listed, and with the professional images in place, my project comes to life.

Jonathan steps aside to let me flip between the pages, but his hand rests against my back as if to let me know he’s still there. “I know you haven’t decided which photo will be used for what month yet, so that’s something that will change.” He points.

But here they all are: Tank the Chihuahua at Kerry Park, Lucy the golden glowing at the beach at sunset, the bearlike Newfoundland in the woods, and the bonus Dalmatian, the beagle puppies that wrapped Jonathan around their tiny paws, and most recently the fishing Samoyed.

Each image is stunning, and I keep clicking back and forth between them to choose a favorite.

“It’s impossible,” I say eventually. “I can’t pick one. They’re all so good.” I tilt my face up to find him looking down at me.

He kisses my forehead. “Then I’ve done my job.”

Jonathan gives me a head start so I can stop at home to change into my own clothes. Then he picks me up, and we head east across the bridge to Bellevue.

The adoption fair is sponsored by one of the big eastside shelters, and a crowd of people has already gathered in the parking lot of the church that’s hosting it.

“So how many more do we need?” Jonathan asks as he parks. “I mean, I know we have six photographs so far, but you had some other guys lined up, too, right?”

“Yeah, Xander from the dating site is tomorrow, I rescheduled the vet for Wednesday after work, and then there’s Nick the volleyball guy. I’ve not been able to confirm Dennis’s gym buddy yet, but that will most likely also be Wednesday but during the day. That leaves another two.”

“We’re cutting it close.”

“I know.” I unbuckle my seat belt and look at him. “But thanks for saying ‘we.’”

He reaches for the handle. “I guess we’ll have to make today count.”

He comes around to my side of the car, and together we approach the crates, kennels, and pens set up beneath white party canopies all around.

The adoptions are already in progress with excited prospective owners being interviewed and signing forms. There are dogs of all ages, colors, demeanors, and sizes. Something for everyone.

We’ve barely entered the fray when Jonathan grabs my hand and squeezes.

It could be to ensure that we don’t get separated, but I prefer to think he does it on impulse simply because he wants to.

It’s different than being at his place because here I can see us reflected in the other people milling about us.

Can see what they see. To them, we’re no different than any other couple browsing for new family members on this overcast October Saturday.

What if you were? my brain asks unprompted. Would that be so bad?

The vision appears fully formed before I can stop it.

Jonathan and I waking up together on some future weekend morning in tangled sheets, except it’s my place, too.

My books in his bookcase, my clothes in his closet.

Our closet. We’d roll out of bed, have breakfast, read a bit maybe, or go back to bed.

We’d go for walks at Alki holding hands, and at some point, there might be a smaller version of him or me swinging between us or searching for shells on the beach.

I see family dinners, vacations, celebrations, funny inside jokes, deep conversations, fights and makeups. A life.

“Holly?” Jonathan tugs on my hand to make me stop. “Where did you go just now?”

I blink the vision away, glad to see it dissipate.

It must be the lack of sleep playing tricks on me because I know that’s not in the cards for us.

That it’s not the path I’m on now. I need to get as far away from Washington and my past as I can to start afresh without the implosion of my legal career weighing me down, and this GCL opportunity is the solution.

This is my lucky break, and I’d be foolish to jeopardize that. “What?” I ask.

“I said, look at that one.” He nods to a crate where a large dog sits observing the passersby with big, droopy brown eyes.

“He kind of looks like my dad. Poor buddy.” Jonathan releases my hand and crouches by the crate.

Instantly, the dog sidles up as if pleading for pets.

“What’s your name, bud?” Jonathan asks. “Aw, you’re a good one, aren’t you? Just want some ear scratches.”