Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

“That’s just what I was thinking,” I replied, shooting Joshua a grin before wandering through to the bedroom. I could tell he was horrified, although he hid it well. “Oh yes. This is compact but perfectly doable.”

“There’s no bath in the bathroom,” Joshua called out.

“Doesn’t matter to me. I always have showers anyway. I think it’s great, Jas.”

“Would it be both of you on the tenancy?” Jas asked.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of Joshua Luca—Mr. Park Lane—living above a chip shop in Borehamwood. “No, it will be just me. Joshua already has a place.”

“Like I said, you’re lucky to get a one bedroom for the price. In your range, it would normally be a studio.”

“What’s your budget?” Joshua asked, looking confused.

“Mind your beeswax,” I said, tapping my nose. “It’s got a nice feel to it.” I wandered the three steps to the window and looked out over the rooftops. “And I like that it’s unfurnished. Means I can put my own mark on it.” I turned back to face the room. “Yes, I really like it. Do I have to decide quickly?”

“Even though it’s not available for five weeks, it will be rented by Friday. Like I said, it’s a steal. So if you’re interested, you need to let me know as soon as possible.”

I spent a couple of minutes going from the bedroom to the sitting room and then into the bathroom, trying to imagine myself in the space. It was very different to a tent in Yemen. For a start, it would be my own private space. I got to close the door and spend time by myself. That was a luxury I’d forgotten I enjoyed before I came back to London. Joshua and I had very different ideas of what indulgence was. To me, this flat was everything I needed.

The only thing missing was Joshua next door. It was nice to have him so near, even though my forcefield kept taking hits and had suffered a severe malfunction when we kissed. When I moved, I couldn’t imagine why we’d have reason to see each other. We hadn’t been friends before Yemen and like he said, he had a busy, full life. I doubted I’d have a place in it once I was out of his immediate vicinity. Even though I knew it was for the best, given my faltering forcefield, the thought curdled my stomach every time it surfaced in my brain.

We said goodbye to Jas and I promised him I’d call by the end of the day.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Joshua said as we got back into the car.

“It’s a three-hundred-and-fifty-square-foot flat. How long did you want to spend in there?”

He laughed, that damn dimple appearing out of nowhere to give me a ripple of God-knew-what between my thighs. “I don’t get it, Hartford. We’re in the middle of nowhere—I mean, is this technically still London? And it’s tiny. And not that great. You have money. You’re a doctor, for goodness’ sake.”

“Right, but I don’t want to spend my entire salary on a place just for the sake of it. I’ve spent the last year on a fold-up bed. This place will be fine for me.” I liked to save. You never knew when there was a rainy day down the road. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“But surely you could afford somewhere the bed isn’t pushed up against the wall and you don’t have to spend your life smelling of fish and chips.”

“You think it’s worse than the smell of Yemen?” I was completely serious. I didn’t want to put off my patients by coming to work with an off-putting aroma.

“I think that’s why it’s a knockdown price.”

Maybe I could invest in some perfume or something. And anyway, the smell would probably wear off by the time I got to the hospital. “I’m going to think about it. It’s a good option.”

“Thank God I’m setting you up with these guys before you move in. The smell of fried fish can be a turn-off.”

I laughed. “You’re such a snob. If he’s the right man, he’ll want me, chip fat or no chip fat.” I wasn’t sure about that, but I’d be two floors up. How bad could the smell be?

“You’re ridiculous,” he said. “But speaking of your dating life, I’ve picked out your first lesson in love.”

It was like someone had unexpectedly bumped me on a crowded train platform, and I had to take a second to regain my balance. He’s being nice. He’s trying to help me impress Gerry. Maybe I’d even find someone to fall in love with.

“His name is Tom. And he’s a photographer.”

I groaned. “Tell me he’s not used to being surrounded by Kendall Jenner and Gisele the entire day.”

He flashed a grin at me. “Nope. He takes pictures of food. See, this is a thoughtful setup. You like cake. He likes to photograph cake. It’s a match made in cake-heaven.”