Page 34 of Finding Mr. July

Y ou got a dog?” I’m frozen in Jonathan’s doorway as he squats to greet his newest family member.

“But look at these eyes.” Jonathan accepts slobbered kisses as he tries to wrestle the beast into facing me. “I couldn’t just leave Sir Leonard at the shelter. He deserves a home.”

“A home with you,” I clarify.

Sir Leonard lumbers over to me and boops my leg until I place a hand on his head. This big guy knows exactly how to get his way.

Jonathan gets off the floor. “See, he likes you.”

“I like him, too, but… How? When?” Despite my shock, I find myself digging my fingers deeper into Sir Leonard’s thick coat until he yawns with delight. Such a sweet old boy.

“Yesterday. I went back to the shelter after I photographed George. He convinced me it was the right choice.”

“Good ol’ George.”

“You’re not happy about it?” Jonathan studies me as I take off my shoes and set down my bag.

“No, that’s not it.” I go to him and rest my forehead against his chest. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“But?” He takes me by the hand and leads me upstairs. Sir Leonard follows.

But now he’s even more stuck here. Sir Leonard’s noble name notwithstanding, a trip to Scotland is now basically out of the question. Not that it was a real option before, and not that I should want it to be, but… but…

Fuck.

“I’m surprised is all. It’s a big responsibility.”

“Well…” Jonathan backs me up to the kitchen counter. “Maybe this past month has taught me that focusing only on myself and my misfortunes got me nowhere.” He reaches for my hands. “Much thanks to you.”

I should be thrilled about this. Thrilled that my career aspirations—and forcing him to be part of them—have led to such an epiphany. Except I won’t be here to enjoy the benefits of it. But Sir Leonard will.

Wait—am I jealous of a dog?

“I think he’s jealous of you,” Jonathan says in a startling echo of my thoughts. “Look.”

The Leonberger mix has his head on his paws on the floor, eyeing us with large, soulful eyes.

“He should be,” I grumble. “I was here first.”

Jonathan’s eyes twinkle. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.” I pull him closer, reveling in the promise of his warm embrace.

He makes a gruff noise in the back of his throat as his mouth slants over mine. His strong arms wrap around my back, almost lifting me to him as our lips have their fill.

When we come apart, I pull my sweater over my head and toss it on the stool next to us.

He’s quick to follow, shedding both his graphite crewneck and the white T-shirt he has on underneath.

His black jeans are slung low on his hips, and I can’t help myself—I run my palm from his sternum down across his flat abdomen as if needing to make sure he’s real.

“You’re pretty hot, you know,” I say. “Beneath that gruff facade.”

He hooks his thumbs under my bra straps. “I’m not gruff. You’re gruff.”

He lowers first one strap and then the other. His bare chest rises and falls on slow and steady breaths as he reaches behind me and undoes the hooks. The bra drops to the floor, and for a moment, he merely looks at me, lips parted.

“I’ll miss you when I leave.” The words spill out of me before I can stop them.

His gaze joins mine, holding there. “I thought we decided not to talk about that.”

My mouth has gone dry, so I swallow hard. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me. “We did. Sorry.” I’m not sorry. I should be, but what I said is the truth. I’ll miss him more than I want to.

He reaches for my cheek and runs his thumb along my jaw. There’s a storm raging in the gray of his irises. I rest my head against his palm for a moment but lift it again when he slides his hand into my hair and tugs lightly.

“Say it again,” he mumbles against my skin before placing a kiss below my ear.

“I’ll miss you,” I say, grabbing hold of his belt to stay upright as he lavishes kisses along my throat and clavicle. “Do you hear me? I’ll miss you so much.”

As if this is the fuel he needs, he pulls back and lifts me onto the counter. His hands roam from my waist down my thighs and up as he crowds between my legs and clutches me tight.

“I’ll miss you more,” he says. Then he carries me upstairs, blocking the stairs with a gate so Sir Leonard can’t follow.

I wake up before dawn, tangled in rumpled sheets that serve as a reminder of how good we are at cherishing what little time we have left together.

The plan for the day is to wrap up the final photo shoots.

Dennis’s gym buddy, Aroon, and Nick are scheduled for the Japanese garden later this morning, and then we have round two with Robert the vet after work.

With two days left until the photos need to be at the printer, it’s down to the wire, but layout and design are set, I’ve written the copy, and I’ve got my social media promos and email list ready, as well as tables booked at all the fall markets I’ve been able to find within the Greater Seattle area.

I glance at Jonathan’s naked form next to me, tempted to lure him out of sleep to celebrate everything coming together but decide against it. Our alarm will go off soon anyway. Instead, I turn on my phone, which instantly buzzes with messages.

The first one is from Rachel: Nick wants to know if he should bring his cowboy hat?

They’re still dating casually, and Rachel has asked to be at the shoot later.

A cowboy hat in the Japanese garden? My instinct tells me no, but who knows what opportunities might present themselves. Sure, why not? I text back. We don’t have any cowboys in the calendar so far.

I scroll past a few spam messages, but then one message catches my eye that jolts me upright. It’s a selfie of Robert by the Statue of Liberty with the text, Sry forgot I had a conference in NY this week. Rain check?

“Jonathan, wake up.” I shake his shoulder as I type, When will you be back? to Robert.

“What?” Jonathan grunts into his pillow.

“Robert canceled.”

“Who’s Robert?”

“The vet. Our twelfth guy.”

His eyes blink open. “You’re joking.”

I jump out of bed. So much for feeling on top of things. “I’m afraid not.” I check my messages, but Robert has left me on read. I let out a small growl and toss my phone on the bed before collecting my clothes off the floor.

“What are you going to do?” Jonathan asks.

“So now it’s me instead of us?” I snap before I can stop myself. I hear it before he can react and backtrack. “Sorry. I’m just freaking out. It’s not your fault.”

“Hey.” Jonathan pats the bed. “Come here.”

But even though I know he means well, that only furthers my irritation. “I don’t have time.” I finish pulling on my jeans and look at him. “I’m just going to go in to work and make a few phone calls before everyone gets there. I’ll see you at the shoot later.”

He calls my name as I leave the room, but I don’t stop.

Nick and I are first on location, along with his boxer Bo, who is as energetic as I remember him from the beach, and I do my best to put on a composed facade for them.

I’ve left messages with a guide dog training place, several pet stores, and two more vet offices, so at the moment, all I can do is focus on the task at hand and hope someone will return my call.

Bo is a welcome distraction to the unrest swirling in my stomach.

If he wasn’t on a leash, I’m convinced he’d dive straight into the pond to chase the ducks paddling about.

Midmorning on a Wednesday, there aren’t many people around, so we stroll the paths deeper into the garden while we wait.

Nick tells me about the brewery he’s opening with a few friends (I check, but none of them have dogs), and I tell him what he can expect from the photo shoot and ask him if he’d like his social media handles below his calendar image.

“You might get more DMs than you’re comfortable with, though,” I tell him. “We’ll be selling it nationally.”

“Could be good for the business,” he says, and I appreciate that he’s not immediately seeing it as a potential dating pool. Maybe he and Rachel are getting more serious. “By the way, I brought the cowboy hat.” He pats his backpack.

“You’re really into the cowboy theme, huh?”

He stops walking and lowers his voice. “Okay, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but it’s a childhood dream of mine.”

“To be a cowboy?”

“Clint Eastwood, specifically. I was obsessed with his Westerns when I was little. I was thinking I could lean over the railing of that bridge over there, looking out.” He gestures across the pond. “Maybe chew on a blade of grass, Bo at my side.”

“Wow, you’ve really thought about this.” I fight a smile.

He shrugs. “We live in Seattle. When else will I ever get a chance to don the hat and boots?”

He makes a good point. “I’ll run it by Jonathan—see what he thinks.”

“Is that him?” Nick nods toward the garden entrance. “If so, he’s already in character as my sheriff nemesis.”

Sure enough, there’s Jonathan, back in all black and with his tripod across his shoulder like a rifle. He eyes me and Nick with a furrowed brow as he approaches at speed.

I go to meet him. He never responded to my message apologizing for how I left this morning. “Everything okay? Did you hit traffic?”

“I left my tripod at the office,” he says. “Had to make a pitstop.”

I watch as he unloads his bags with more snap than necessary. “This is Nick, by the way. Nick, Jonathan.”

Nick smiles. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Anything I can help with?”

Jonathan doesn’t look up. “Is that so? No, I’m good.”

What the hell?

Nick’s smile falters. “O-kay.”

I offer him an apologetic grimace. “We’re going to set up. Maybe take Bo around the pond while you wait.”

As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Jonathan, my hands on my hips. “That was rude,” I say.

He straightens. “What was?”

I gesture to Nick and Bo. “He was making conversation, and you completely shot him down. Are you mad at me or what’s going on?”

“No. Nothing.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I just didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“We don’t. And even if we did, what’s the issue?”

“Then how does he ‘know all about me’?”