Page 36 of Finding Mr. July

A t least when I met Wayne, it wasn’t planned so there was no time to be nervous.

As I wait for Jonathan to show up to photograph Jude, my stomach is in knots.

I don’t know if I want the two men to like each other or not.

I mean, I do—I’ve pictured them getting along before—but wouldn’t it also be easier if Jude saw the merits of Jonathan’s and my decision to not make a big deal of our fling?

If he thinks Jonathan is a stand-up sort of bloke, I’ll never hear the end of how I deserve to be happy and how, where there’s a will, there’s a way.

I jump when the doorbell rings and run my hands down the front of my jeans. Here we go.

But it’s not Jonathan. It’s Rachel. She sashays into the kitchen carrying a tray full of cookies.

“Um, what are you doing here?” I ask.

“Hello to you, too.” She points to the tray. “Sustenance.”

Oh no, she can’t fool me. “Wearing a sheer blouse and skinny jeans? That’s your date outfit.”

“Can’t a friend get dolled up visiting another friend?”

“They could, but I doubt that’s what’s going on here. Exclusive or not, does Nick not mind you coming here to gawk at another guy?”

“Doubtful.”

“Aha! So you are here to”—I lower my voice to a whisper—“gawk at my brother.”

Rachel stuffs half a cookie into her mouth and says around the crumbs, “I practically orchestrated this whole event.” She gestures around the room while she chews and swallows.

“You’re welcome, by the way, since I believe your deadline is tomorrow.

” Then she cocks her head and gives me a once-over.

“You’re looking pretty dolled up yourself. A skirt?”

“I just got home from work.”

“A different skirt than the one you wore to work.”

Before I can respond, the doorbell rings again, and this time it is Jonathan. He was completely normal today when I saw him at lunch, no weird vibes, so I’ve chalked up yesterday to exactly what I thought it was—a bad day.

“Hi.” He steals a kiss while we’re alone in the foyer, but for once that doesn’t settle my nerves because of course Jude will like him. Which means I know what’s coming my way later—a brotherly talking-to.

Jonathan has changed out of his black “uniform” and is in dark blue jeans and a moss-green sweater that makes his eyes shift in colors of seagrass and sage behind the gray. Rachel, who isn’t privy to the variations in his closet the way I am, makes wide eyes as he enters the kitchen.

“Green,” she chirps. Then she holds out the tray. “I mean, cookie?”

“Maybe later.” Jonathan nods toward the back of the house. “The light is disappearing. We need to hurry up. Is he ready?”

By “he,” he means my brother. Who will soon be in a calendar full of hot guys. Shirtless.

“I can go get him,” Rachel offers, a picture of innocence. “Give you two a moment.”

“No, no.” I step away from Jonathan. “Arm length’s distance,” I tell Rachel, pointing at her. “At all times.”

She rolls her eyes.

Like he’s a boxer ready for a round, Jude comes downstairs in shorts and a robe when I call his name. He runs his hand through hair that looks unstyled but that I know he’s probably spent at least thirty minutes on and bounces lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Jude, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, Jude,” I say, making introductions. “Rachel you know.”

“Hey, Rach.” Jude gives her a small wave before shaking Jonathan’s hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Rach? The fact that he’s given my friend a nickname temporarily distracts me from the fact that the two guys currently at the top of my list are meeting for the first time.

I quickly put a pin in it though as Jude takes us through the house to the backyard.

We have maybe twenty minutes of good light left.

“I’ve seen your photos,” Jude says to Jonathan. “They’re impressive. But I honestly have no idea how I let Holly rope me into this. I’m no model.”

Jonathan looks at me with a cheeky spark in his eyes. “She can be persuasive,” he says.

“All you have to do is take off your robe and stand still,” Rachel says. “Nothing to it. You’ll be great.”

I send her a pointed glare that she ignores.

If Jude is apprehensive about posing for pictures, Morris is all about it.

The goldendoodle could not be more excited to have a whole group of people with him in the backyard who might throw a ball if he only wags his tail and looks cute, which is all the time.

We waste at least five minutes chasing him around before deciding that the only way to get him to be still in the photos is for Jude to hold him.

The results are some pretty darn adorable pictures of my brother and his best friend hugging cheek to cheek that I know will fit perfectly into the calendar.

Only Rachel is disappointed. “You can’t see his pecs,” she complains quietly to me. “Morris is covering him up.”

I shrug gleefully. “Too bad, so sad.”

“But can I please get a copy of the photo anyway?”

“You can buy the calendar,” I say, fluttering my lashes at her before I announce to the group that we’re done.

We head inside, and Jude offers to put on coffee for everyone while I pull out Ava’s cookie tin to add to Rachel’s plate.

Ava isn’t home, but I know she won’t mind.

She’s been working her way through a pastry cookbook this past week, so there’s been no shortage of sweets around.

I’m grateful she brings most of the batches to school or tennis.

“I can get the cups,” Rachel offers next to Jude. “Just point me in the right direction.”

He smiles at her. “Thanks. Up there.” His robe falls half open as he points, and her eyes drift to his chest.

I’m about to get between them but pause, momentarily rendered immobile by the vibe. Because there is one between them. A strong one. Is this not just Rachel teasing?

“Okay.” I finally snap to it. “Jude, why don’t you go put on clothes. Rachel and I have got it.”

“Party pooper,” Rachel mutters under her breath.

Am I? Has the solution to Ava’s moving problem and Jude’s loneliness been staring me in the face this whole time? I watch my friend move around my brother’s kitchen. Huh. This may require further thought once we’re done here.

When the coffee is ready, we find Jude and Jonathan in jovial conversation on the living room couch.

“You didn’t tell me Jonathan is a musician,” Jude says. “I was just telling him about how I met Jolene at a Norah Jones concert where I was working extra as security.”

I sit down next to Jonathan. “That’s right. I forgot about that.”

While they talk, I put on Norah’s Come Away with Me album as a soothing backdrop to the rise and fall of our conversation.

Like I suspected, Jonathan and Jude get along like biscuits and gravy, moving seamlessly between topics from music and photography to dog ownership and travel.

Rachel interjects comments here and there, but I mostly observe.

With this last photo session done, a new calm is settling in that makes me feel like I could sleep for several days.

I think I might, once the files are off to the printer tomorrow.

Jonathan will edit Jude’s photos tonight, and we’ll put everything together tomorrow for submission.

I go with Jonathan to his car when he leaves a little after 8:00.

“Cool guy,” he says, nodding toward the house where Jude is handing Rachel her jacket. “I can see why you’re close.”

I nestle into him and look up. “Funny, he said the same thing about you.”

“I’m glad.” Jonathan kisses me lightly through a smile. “See you tomorrow?”

I’m tempted to ask why Jude’s opinion of him matters. Against better judgment, it thrills me that it does. But ultimately, I lose my nerve. “Bright and early.” I squeeze his hand before letting it go.

Jude is waiting for me in the kitchen when I get back inside. “So, you did it,” he says with a grin. “Twelve months of photos. Are you excited?”

I sink onto a counter stool and reach for the last of Ava’s cookies. “Very. And exhausted. But I’m not done yet. It’s got to sell, too.”

“Looks like Jonathan has come a long way since you started. I’ll admit I was a little worried he was going to be that brooding force you described back then.”

“No. Not anymore.” A series of rapid-fire images of him play like a reel before me. Jonathan and the puppies, Jonathan bent over the keys of his grand piano, Jonathan and his dad, Jonathan feeding me French toast.

Jude points at me. “That smile is not the smile of someone who’s going to be fine picking up and leaving the country in a month or two. Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

I start to reassure him, but the brotherly way he sees into my soul stops me. I press my lips together and then slump back in my seat. “Fine. Maybe not entirely. I mean, I will go. And I will be okay. So there’s no need to worry.”

“And what about him?”

I wave off the question. “Jonathan will be fine. He’s better than me at keeping things…” I make a downward motion with both hands extended forward, palms facing each other.

“Linear?”

“I was going to say ‘neat.’ Or something. He’s very clear that there are things keeping him here and what they are.” A little too clear. Which makes him less likely to entertain other prospects. “We’ve known this was the plan all along.”

“Uh-huh.” Jude looks skeptical. He licks his finger and presses it against some crumbs on the empty plate.

“You know what I think? I think you need to talk and come up with a better plan. Life is too short. I would know. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

” He taps his palms on the counter and pushes back before he takes the cookie plate and sets it in the dishwasher.

I watch him wipe down the counter with one practiced sweep, rinse the cloth, and hang it up—the very definition of a neat man who desperately needs someone to shake him up. Because life is too short.

“Hey, I had an idea for your next date,” I say.

“We’ve already been over that. One was quite enough.”

I pop the last bite of the cookie in my mouth and wait until he’s retrieved a dishwasher pod from under the sink. “I was thinking you could ask Rachel.”

Jude stills with his hand halfway to the detergent hatch. “What?”

“She’d say yes. Something to think about.” I stand. “And now I’m heading to bed, but thanks again for doing the shoot.”

“Rachel who was just here Rachel?” he calls after me.

“I’ll give you her number,” I call back, satisfied that will knock him a little off course.

And who knows—maybe Jude was right. Maybe while I’m at it, it’s time I shake things up for Jonathan and me, too.