Page 31 of Finding Mr. July

I t’s raining.”

I wake to Jonathan’s whispered weather report against my shoulder, his finger tracing the vertebrae of my neck.

“All the more reason to sleep in,” I mumble into the pillow even as my body comes alive at his touch.

“We did sleep in. It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

“It is?” I flip to my back.

He’s smiling down at me. “No, it’s nine thirty, but I know you don’t like sleeping the day away so… good morning.”

I grunt at this unfortunate truth. Jonathan’s bed is so comfortable, and the steady patter of rain outside could relax the most highly strung type A person, but tomorrow is Monday, which means my alarm will go off at 5:55, and we have photo shoot number seven this afternoon. I really shouldn’t linger.

“You’ve closed your eyes again,” he says somewhere nearby. “Does that mean we can stay in bed?”

“No.” I reach for him without looking and pull him to me. He doesn’t object as he rests his cheek against my shoulder and huffs out a small laugh.

The rain increases in intensity, creating an incessant whoosh against the siding of the house that surely will forgive another indulgent half hour.

His wayward morning hair tickles my nose, so I smooth it away, my hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

The weight of him anchors me to the soft mattress so that only my mind is free to drift.

“Hey. Sleepyhead.” This time Jonathan’s voice is right near my ear.

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s ten fifteen. We should get up.”

“What?” I open my eyes, yawn, and stretch. The rain is still pouring down outside, but the sliver of light visible between the curtain and the wall is brighter than before. “Is your bed some sort of wormhole in the time-space continuum?”

“Yup.” He pushes off the bed, jostling me in the process. Wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, he rounds the bed and peeks out the window. “Ugh. What time is the photo shoot?”

I sit up and reach for my phone on the nightstand. “I think we said three. Do we need to reschedule?” We’re meeting Xander and his dog in Green Lake Park for a shoot, but if the weather isn’t cooperating…

“Maybe. Does it say when the rain will stop?” Jonathan sits down on my side of the bed and puts one of my legs in his lap.

I open the weather app to check as I hook both legs around his waist and try to pull him closer to me. He obliges until he’s close enough that we can both see the screen.

“It says it’ll end around three. I’ll text him and see if we can move it to four.”

Jonathan waits while I do. Then he takes my phone from me. “Does that mean we can stay in bed another couple of hours?”

“You’re not done sleeping? It’s almost ten thirty.”

He runs his hands up my thighs. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

“I think rain is my new favorite weather,” I tell Jonathan hours later as I maneuver around bicyclists and construction trucks on our way east toward Green Lake.

The afternoon sun is bravely breaking through the receding rain clouds, making the changing leaves above sparkle like jewels, but the street gutters are still overflowing after the deluge.

Jonathan glances at me from the passenger seat, the window open behind him. “Let me guess. It’s because the air smells incredible afterward. Or wait, I know—it’s because you like plants, and plants need water.”

I slap him lightly on the leg. “Like you don’t know it’s because of all those things we just did in your bed. And in the shower.”

“Oh that.” He braids our fingers together. “Yeah. You’re right. That was better than plants.” His grin is wide enough that I catch it out of the corner of my eye. “And you know what else is great? We’re in the Pacific Northwest—the rainiest corner of the US of A. How lucky is that?”

I laugh. Lucky indeed. At least for a little longer. I squeeze his hand tighter.

Say what you want about rain, but the aftermath has the potential for spectacular footage.

With the canopy above us shimmering gold and bronze, and the lake in the background a perfect mirror, we start setting up.

Since Xander wants his prosthetic leg in the picture, we’ve decided on an action shot with him running on his blade.

He and Milton both seem pumped when they show up. High energy. Smiles all around.

After Jonathan has done a few light tests, he calls Xander over for a rundown of what needs to happen.

Milton sits patiently at Xander’s feet while they talk, his ears flopping up and down with a life of their own as if he, too, is taking directions.

Starting over there? Left ear up, right ear down.

Run to that boulder? Both ears up, head cocked left.

Pause, then run back the other way? Left ear down, head cocked right.

“Does he understand what we’re saying?” I ask Xander. “His expressions are so human.”

“Who knows?” Xander smiles. “He’s certainly smarter than many people I know.”

We’re about to start the shoot when a group of senior power walkers approaches, and since we’re taking up a bit of the paved path, we’re forced to wait until they pass.

While we do so, Jonathan explains to me what he does differently for motion and still shoots, so initially, we don’t notice one of the walkers separating from the group and approaching us.

I look up first and greet the older man with a questioning smile. To my surprise, he puts a finger to his lips and sets aim for Jonathan, hunching his tall frame.

I’m about to call out a warning when the man jumps in front of the lens Jonathan is looking through, making him startle.

“Haha! Got you there, son,” the man says with a smug grin. He has deep crow’s feet behind his round glasses and a neat, silver-heavy beard.

Son?

Jonathan blinks a few times. “Dad?” He looks around. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“I’m with my walking group. It’s Sunday.”

This seems to compute for Jonathan. “Ah, that’s right. But you usually walk in the mornings.”

“Too wet today.” He looks at me and then asks Jonathan, “Are you going to introduce us or what?”

Jonathan blinks another few times before getting it together. “Right. Sorry, Dad this is my Hol—I mean my colleague Holly King. Holly, this is my dad, Wayne.”

Wayne extends his hand, and we shake.

“Very nice to meet you,” I say.

Wayne gives his son a pointed look. “And you as well, my dear. I believe I’ve heard your name mentioned once or twice.” Another smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

Jonathan’s eyes widen. “Dad…”

“So tetchy, that one.” Wayne hikes his thumb toward Jonathan. “‘Artistic sensibilities’ they said when he was little.”

“Oh really?” I grin at Jonathan, who rolls his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

Wayne nods. “Once he cried because the color of the sky wasn’t the same as the crayon in his box.”

“Okay, okay.” Jonathan puts his hands up. “This has been fun, but we’re working here so…”

“So I should get going?” Wayne asks. “Nah, I’d love to see one of these calendar shoots.

Ruthie!” he calls to the group. “You all go on without me. It’s my son.

” He points to Jonathan. “I’ll see you later!

” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his navy jacket and rocks back on his heels, looking from his son to me. “So, what are you all doing here?”

Jonathan has no other choice than to proceed as planned. To help, I take Wayne aside so Jonathan can focus.

Xander and Milton do run after run in front of the camera, never losing steam. Jonathan tweaks little things each time—if Milton should be to the left or right of Xander. How far forward Xander should extend his arms. Their speed.

We’ve been watching in silence for ten minutes when Wayne turns to me. “I want you to know that I’m very grateful you made him do this,” he says. “This man…” He nudges a finger toward Jonathan. “I haven’t seen him in a very long time. I’ve missed him.”

His words stump me for a moment.

“Now try one where you’re running toward me,” Jonathan tells Xander.

“Honestly?” I keep my eyes on Jonathan while addressing Wayne. “It was purely selfish. I needed him for this project.”

“To win the fundraiser—yes, I know.” Wayne pulls off his Seahawks beanie and runs a palm over his closely cropped gray hair before putting it back on. “And I’m telling you that doesn’t matter. His hand needed to be forced. You’re the one who did the forcing. Credit where credit is due.”

Ten yards away, Jonathan yells, “And go!” snapping away as Xander and Milton jog toward him. “That was great,” he says with a smile. “Again.”

“That smile… I’d forgotten what he looked like happy. I’m not joking, dear. And you’ll have to forgive an old man for oversharing. I’m sure Jon would have my head if he heard me.”

“I won’t tell.” I give Jonathan a thumbs-up from afar. “And I’m glad,” I tell Wayne.

“You see the change, too, right?”

“I do.”

Finally, Jonathan is satisfied and returns to us, flipping through the images. “Want to see?” he asks me.

“Always.”

“How did we do?” Xander asks as they join us.

Jonathan shows him, too.

We agree our favorite photo is one where Milton looks like he’s flying.

His tongue is flopping out the side of his mouth, his ears stand straight up, and all four of his paws are off the ground.

Next to Xander’s running blade, it has a futuristic feel that’s artsier than the other photos.

We won’t put it in the calendar because those photos need to match in tone, but I promise to send him this one so he can blow it up and frame it.

Once they’re gone and we start packing up, Wayne still holds on to the camera.

“They’re really rather spectacular, son,” he says. “Glad to see it’s still in you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“The calendar is coming together, then?” Wayne asks me.

“Better than I hoped.”

“She’ll win for sure,” Jonathan says.

“And then you’ll be gone.” Wayne eyes me carefully.

I force a smile. “That’s the plan.”

Wayne is quiet for a moment. “And then what?” he asks no one in particular.

Jonathan and I both stop what we’re doing.

“What do you mean?” Jonathan asks.

Wayne tuts. “I may be old, but I’m not daft. You like each other, yes?”

My face flushes as I meet Jonathan’s eyes.

“Let’s not go there, Dad,” Jonathan says, a warning edge to his voice.

Wayne draws himself up to his full height, which is only fractionally shorter than his son’s. “Why not?”

“Because it’s complicated,” I offer.

“We know what we’re doing,” Jonathan says. “And it’s no one’s business but Holly’s and mine. She’ll win, and she’ll move away. We know this. We’re both adults.”

Wayne stares at him. “And you’re fine with that?”

Jonathan runs a hand across his forehead. “Why are we even talking about this? People leave all the time. I’m kind of used to it by now if you didn’t know.”

I flinch at the bitterness in his voice, and he notices.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay.” I force a reassuring smile as much for myself as it is for him. Maybe we do need to talk about this more because I have no intention of being lumped in with his mom and ex.

“It’s not like there’s anything major holding you to this job,” Wayne mutters.

“No?” Jonathan frowns. “How are you getting home from here? Oh, that’s right. I’ll drive you. Like I do basically any time you need to go places. Happily. You need me here.”

“I got a ride with Ruthie earlier.”

“Not to mention I still can’t travel. I’d say that’s a solid reason to stay put.”

“There are things you could—”

Jonathan puts his hand up. “Please stop.” Then in a softer voice, he says, “I know you mean well, but Holly and I aren’t worried about these things, so you shouldn’t be either. We’re fine.”

All I can think as I’m watching their argument is that I’m undeniably not fine.

I want to be fine. And I feel like I should be fine.

Jonathan is right—he and I have agreed to make this as uncomplicated as it can be.

And yet, is it so much to ask that he would entertain possibilities if only for a minute?

Think about what could be? The speed with which he jumps at settling for the status quo makes my chest constrict.

But I also know I’m not being fair. The place we’re in won’t stand for demands, and I know that. If anything, he needs me on his side right now, so I make sure we’re shoulder to shoulder physically at least when I smile at Wayne.

“We only just met,” I tell him. “We’re working well together, and we’re enjoying getting to know each other. Sometimes it’s nice not to dwell too much on the past or the future. I wasn’t always good at that. That’s why I’m gunning for this new start, a more worthwhile purpose to focus on.”

“But what gives life more meaning than—”

“Dad!”

Wayne’s lips remain parted as if he wants to say more, but one look at Jonathan and he clamps them shut. “Sorry,” he says instead. “I’m out of line. I’ll be quiet.”

Jonathan relents. “No harm done, old man. Right, Holly?”

“Of course,” I say. “Why don’t we pack up, and I’ll drive you guys home?”

“See, I’m not reliant on you driving me,” Wayne quips to Jonathan as we start walking to the car. “There are plenty of chauffeurs in the sea.”

I don’t point out that his argument is flawed since this particular chauffeur soon won’t be available. Instead, I take Jonathan’s hand across the console and try hard to live up to my earlier aspirations of being present in the moment.