Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

“Over-the-counter sales? Which drug is it?”

I shook my head. “I can’t say. I’m sorry. I wish I could. It would be great to get your help with it.”

He frowned. “If it’s a bad idea, the regulator will say no, won’t it?”

If only life was that easy. “You’d hope so.” I wished I could tell him everything. “But we want to make sure that children’s interests are being looked after.” Gerry and I had started to unofficially lobby against the drug. We’d mined our contacts to see if we could reach people who had influence at the regulator and were briefing them privately. Gerry was also using his high profile to get booked on TV and radio to talk about the effects of the recession on children, and bringing up the importance of mental health and doctor-parent collaborative care. It felt like we were taking action, and it was exciting to be part of something bigger than just treating individual patients. What we were doing could impact tens of thousands of children.

“It’s a drug for children?”

I nodded. “Children with ADHD. We’re trying to make sure desperate parents aren’t taken advantage of.” I shouldn’t say anything else. I knew Joshua didn’t have much experience in pharma, but the world was a small place and I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble. “So anyway, I’ve been researching stuff and planning things with Gerry. We’ve been busy. So no babysitting duties for you.”

Joshua squeezed my hand as he led me across the busy road to the park. “I’ve never babysat for you, Hartford. You’re perfectly able to look after yourself, cast or no cast, as we both know. We just have mothers who like to interfere.”

He always knew the exact right thing to say.

“I’m not as green as she thinks I am.”

“Having kissed you, I would agree with that.”

Before I could ask him what he meant, he dropped my hand and turned me to the left. A patchwork of picnic blankets had been lain on the ground and large, jewel-colored, poufy cushions were strewn around a central, low table. Over a white cloth, plates and dishes and glasses and jugs in gorgeous colors and patterns beckoned us to explore the delicacies they held. “It looks like something out of a photoshoot.”

He chuckled. “Funny that. I did have some help from a prop-stylist friend of mine.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, seeing something new every time I looked. Was that a cake stand under that muslin cloth? “No man is going to do something like this for me.”

“A man already has,” he said, taking a seat on one of the cushions and pulling me down next to him. “Champagne?”

I nodded, still confused about what we were doing here. “What made you think of this?” I asked. “It’s so pretty and thoughtful and honestly, Joshua, I’m not sure how you don’t have a girlfriend. You’re absolutely killing the romantic gesture game.” This was the kind of thing boyfriends did. Not neighbors. Not friends. I might not date much, but I knew that. I also knew that if he wanted us to be something more, he needed to say. Joshua wasn’t shy. He didn’t get to have the business and lifestyle he had by being coy. If he wanted this to be real, he would tell me. And if he didn’t, I’d read the entire situation wrong somehow.

He handed me a glass but didn’t let go. He looked at me for a long moment before finally releasing his fingers. “I thought it would make you smile. And it’s my way of saying thank you.”

“What do you mean? Thank you for what?”

He shrugged. “You bring out a better man in me. You need to know that you make a difference, just by being you.”

I wasn’t sure anyone had ever said anything nicer to me. Ever. I was waiting for a but. I kept waiting. It never came.

“Of course, there’s cake,” Joshua said, pulling the muslin cloth off of the cake stand. “A series of miniatures from the hotel. And then there are strawberries.” He pulled a cloche off a bowl full of strawberries speckled with vibrant sprigs of fresh mint. “And sandwiches of course.” He revealed another cake stand under another cloth.

“Can we live here?” I asked, scanning the table and trying to figure out which of the delectable treats I was going to start with.

“It’s better than Borehamwood.” He grinned and handed me a tea plate.

“My lease starts on Tuesday. Who will you borrow a cup of sugar from when I’m gone?”

He froze, the cake mid-air. “You didn’t tell me you signed for a place already.” He put a selection of mini cakes on our plate and handed me a fork.

“Well, my three months at the residences are up at the end of next week. And this place is nice. It makes sense. Close to the train line.”