Page 50 of Finding Mr. July

Seven months later

H ello?” I knock, pressing my ear to the heavy door in front of me. “Jonathan?”

There’s no response, but stray notes of music reach my ears from the other side, so I try again. “Can you hear me?”

I raise my hand to knock again, but this time, it meets air as Jonathan yanks open the door to his darkroom.

“Sorry, I had to finish fixing a couple of the photos.” He kisses me on the cheek while wiping his hands on a paper towel. “Are we late?”

“Not if we leave in five.” I trail him through the carpeted space that we’ve recently turned into a guest room–slash–movie hangout.

A foldable partition separates a bed, nightstand, and desk from the communal sofa and projector screen, and as we pass it, I can’t help but fluff the pillows on the bed one more time.

“Ava is going to love it,” Jonathan says, coming up behind me. “I love it. And once she goes back, I’ll come down here to sleep when you snore.”

“I’ve told you it’s Sir Leonard, not me.”

He tuts and shakes his head. “Blaming the dog… I suppose he’s responsible for the unique smells, too?”

“Very funny.” I set off up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Did everything go okay today?”

“Yes.” Jonathan turns off the light behind us. “The music is helping. I’m visualizing, I’m breathing.”

He’s been seeing a therapist for four months to combat his claustrophobia, and it’s starting to pay off.

Every week, he’s able to stay in there longer, and I can see how engaging with the medium manually like this is sparking his creativity.

For his part-time day job as staff photographer at a well-known dog-themed magazine, everything is digital, but he likes his colleagues, and Sir Leonard is a favorite in the office whenever he tags along.

Jonathan is also starting to regain his artistic reputation with his inspired photographic studies of the Highlands.

“Proud of you,” I say. “But now we really need to leave.”

“It’s evening. Traffic shouldn’t be bad.”

“Traffic is always bad around the airport.”

“Ah. Another reason I can’t wait to be allowed on a plane again.”

I toss him the car keys and grab my bag. “Would you prefer another seven days on a boat?”

He saunters over to me and corners me against the doorjamb. “I have nothing but good memories from that week.” He nuzzles the skin beneath my jaw. “Big sky, wide-open ocean, good food, lazy hours in bed…”

His lips find mine, and I allow myself to get swept away, back to our New Year’s journey where a whole lot of this took place. I even let him photograph me like one of those “French” girls. It seemed fitting since we were on an ocean liner. Thankfully, our journey was iceberg-free.

His hands find their way underneath my T-shirt, leaving thrills in their wandering wake. I groan, wishing we had time for more. Wishing I’d not waited to go get him until the last minute.

“We can’t,” I mumble against his cheek. “Jude will kill me if we’re not there when Ava lands. He’s been texting me nonstop.”

“I know.” He coaxes my lips apart one more time, our tongues meeting with a soft stroke before he pulls away, stepping back.

He adjusts himself, a gesture that, paired with his flushed face and rumpled hair, makes him look like a teenager caught red-handed.

It takes all my willpower not to dive straight back into his arms.

“I love you more every day,” I say. “Did I tell you that already?”

He holds the front door open to let me pass. “You did, but I’ll never tire of hearing it.”

As Jonathan backs into the street, I click open my email to get a bit more work done since I’ve taken the rest of the week off to help Ava get settled.

She’s staying with us for the summer to give Jude and Rachel some space.

At first, she wasn’t thrilled to see her dad dating someone, but when he made the surprise decision to stay in Seattle two more years to let Ava finish high school, she warmed right back up. Now she and Rachel get along great.

There’s an unread message from Rachel at the top titled “The gift that keeps on giving,” so I open that first. She starts with updates about my brother and how she’s remedying his lack of automobile know-how, and then she moves on to office gossip—who gets rowdy at happy hour, who’s dating, what projects they’re working on.

“Letitia is already being promoted from program assistant to associate,” I say to Jonathan. “Good for her.”

He hums in acknowledgment as he navigates a roundabout like he’s always driven on the left side.

Finally, I get to the meat of the email, and as I read, a wide grin blooms on my lips. When I reach the end, I read it again.

“You’re never going to believe this,” I say to Jonathan.

“What?” He glances at me but quickly returns focus to traffic on the M8. We’re getting closer to the airport, and I was right—it’s pretty bad.

“They’re planning another edition of the calendar for next year, and now Canberra and Brasilia want in on it, too.”

“No way.”

“Yeah, this thing has taken off.” I gesture to my phone.

“One of our Australian donors—a recreation gear retailer—has offered to fund an annual edition of it. Everything from models and photography to production and marketing. They are estimating it will net GCL well into the six figures every year by selling it globally.”

“Holy shit.” Jonathan laughs.

“Aaand…”

“There’s more?”

“Left, left, that’s our exit!”

Jonathan swerves and barely manages the turn. “Sorry, I got distracted. You were saying?”

“The board wants to auction off a framed print from the calendar—our choice—at that fancy Fourth of July gala next month. Not bad for a small pinup project, wouldn’t you say?”

Above us, a giant plane descends with a gut-punching roar.

Jonathan smiles. “Not bad at all. That’s awesome. So which photo do you think we should give them? The Samoyed? Or maybe the Newfoundland? They both have a lot going for them in tone and composition. If I may say so myself.”

“You certainly may.” I grin at him as he enters the parking lot and begins his quest for a free space. “And I’m not sure. I’ll have to spend some time on that.”

I keep my answer vague on purpose. For now, I’ll let him think this is up for debate. But as I look around me at the vast Scottish sky, still midsummer bright with Glasgow on the horizon, I already know what my pick will be—the photo that made all of this possible. My favorite and only choice.

My Mr. July.