Page 13 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)
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Ivy
B y the time yoga is over, my legs feel like jelly, my arms are somehow sore even though I’m fairly sure we didn’t do that much with them, and Lucy is still full of boundless energy as she skips beside us on the way to the smoothie bar.
Honestly, it’s impressive. Concerning, but impressive.
Theo holds the door open as we step inside, the smell of fresh fruit and something vaguely tropical hitting me instantly. It’s one of those small, overpriced places that makes you feel healthier just by existing in it.
Lucy runs straight to the counter, already deep in decision-making mode as she studies the brightly coloured chalkboard menu. I order a berry smoothie, Theo gets something green (Mr Healthy, of course), and Lucy predictably ends up with the most sugar-packed option available.
We find a table by the window, Lucy happily slurping away at her drink as she watches people walking past the shop. I take a sip of mine, enjoying the rush of cold sweetness, before stretching out my legs with a small sigh.
Theo watches me over the rim of his cup. “You alright there?”
“I’ll live,” I say, rubbing my calf. “Probably.”
He smirks. “So, now that you’re practically a pro, you planning to stick with this?”
I pause, swirling my straw in my cup. “Well, I’m coming to the end of my yoga month in a bit over a week.”
“And then what? You give it up?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I actually… like it. Weirdly enough.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not weird. But surprising, considering how much you complained about it at the start.”
“I stand by my complaints,” I say, pointing my straw at him. “But I also have to admit it’s… good. It does something for me.”
Theo nods like he already knew that answer. “So, what’s next?”
I blink. “Next?”
“For your self-discovery thing. You said you’re coming to the end of yoga, right?”
“Oh. Yeah.” I pause, thinking. “I was looking at trying something with clay.”
His brows lift. “Like a pottery class?”
I shake my head. “No, not like the whole potter’s wheel, Ghost reenactment thing. I’ve seen loads of people on Instagram using air-dry clay, just making stuff at home. It seems fun, and I like the idea of making something with my hands.”
Theo takes a slow sip of his smoothie, considering this. “So you’re saying next month’s mess potential is high. ”
“Oh, extremely high.”
“Well, at least you’re keeping things interesting.”
I smirk, taking another sip of my smoothie. “That’s the goal.”
Lucy looks up from her drink, blinking at us. “What’s air-dry clay?”
“It’s like normal clay, but you don’t have to put it in a super-hot oven,” I explain. “You just shape it, let it sit, and it hardens on its own.”
Lucy’s eyes widen with wonder. “Magic clay?”
Theo chuckles. “Not quite magic, Ladybug.”
Lucy hums thoughtfully before going back to her drink, and I get the feeling she’s already planning something. Probably involving a lot of clay.
He takes another sip of his smoothie, then shifts slightly in his chair. “So, since you’re sticking with yoga, does that mean you’ll keep coming to class with us?”
I pause, running my thumb over the condensation on my cup. “I mean, I was going to find a new class or just do it at home, but…” I trail off, considering.
Theo just watches me, like he already knows where I’m going with this.
Lucy, however, is far less patient. “You have to keep coming with us!” she says, nearly knocking her smoothie over in her enthusiasm. “Mondays are family yoga days!”
I bite my lower lip. Family yoga days.
There’s something tight in my chest again. Theo’s eyes are on me, but he doesn’t say anything. I can’t read his expression and it is unsettling. I don’t want him to think I am pushing my way into his family.
I clear my throat, keeping my voice light. “Well, I don’t want to intrude on your time with your dad. ”
“You won’t!” Lucy insists. “Right, Daddy?”
Theo exhales a small laugh. “You’re welcome anytime.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “If work allows, of course.”
I glance between them, and honestly? The idea of not going next Monday suddenly feels strange.
I exhale, then nod. “Alright. As long as my schedule doesn’t get in the way, I’ll keep coming.”
Lucy beams, completely satisfied with this outcome. “Yay!”
Theo just nods, like this was inevitable. “Good.”
I take another sip of my smoothie, then hesitate for a second before reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone.
“Actually,” I say, unlocking it, “I should probably give you my number. Just in case something comes up and I can’t make it.”
Theo pulls his own phone out as well. “Good idea.”
I type my number into his phone and show it to him before pressing save. He taps something on his screen, and a second later, my phone vibrates in my hand.
I glance down at the incoming call, unknown number flashing on the screen.
“Efficient,” I say, saving his number in my contacts “Now I’ve got yours too.”
“Mutual accountability,” he says with a smirk.
I grin. “Or mutual excuses, depending on how things go.”
Theo chuckles. “Now I have to make sure we never miss a class out of pure spite.”
“Perfect,” I say, lifting my cup in a toast. “Mutually assured yoga. ”
He clinks his smoothie against mine, and Lucy eagerly does the same, even though she probably doesn’t know what we’re agreeing to.
Looks like Monday yoga isn’t ending anytime soon. And that’s all for me. Because I want it.
The intercom buzzes, crackling slightly.
I pause mid-sip of my tea, then set the mug down and shuffle over, pressing the button. “Hello?”
“Delivery for Ivy Gillman,” a gruff voice replies.
Right. That must be the clay.
I press the button again. “Be down in a sec.”
Slipping on my trainers, I grab my keys and make my way out, locking the door behind me.
The entrance is next to the coffee shop, an unremarkable doorway opening up to a narrow staircase leading up to my place.
As I step outside, the delivery guy is waiting on the pavement with a plain cardboard box balanced against his leg.
I sign the handheld scanner, barely paying attention, then reach to take the box… and immediately regret every decision that led me here. The moment the weight shifts into my arms, my back nearly gives out.
“Fuck!” I stumble slightly, shifting my grip, but it’s like someone’s filled the bloody thing with cement. It’s not particularly big, but it’s dense, like I’m holding a collapsed star.
The delivery guy watches, completely unfazed. “You alright, love? ”
I grit my teeth, hoisting the package up with more effort than I’d like to admit. “Yep. All good.”
He gives a half-hearted thumbs-up before heading off down the street, while I try not to drop the box—or myself—right there on the pavement.
By the time I make it upstairs, my arms are burning, and I’ve acquired a deep and personal hatred for whatever is inside this thing. I manage to wrestle it onto my dining table with a loud thud, then stand there, catching my breath.
Right. What the hell did I order?
Grabbing some scissors, I slice through the tape and pull open the flaps. Inside, neatly wrapped in plastic, is clay.
A lot of clay.
I stare at it, confused. This doesn’t look like 2.5 kg.
Frowning, I push back the cardboard flaps and get a better look. There’s no neat stack of smaller packages, no tidy little bundles. Instead, there’s just one massive slab of dirt-brown clay, sealed inside a thick, see-through plastic bag. The label on the front reads:
12.5 kg.
I blink.
That can’t be right. I ordered 2.5 kg, not… this.
I double-check the box, as if smaller packages might be hiding inside, but no. It’s just one huge, solid block. I press a hand against it, feeling the cool, dense slab beneath the plastic.
What the hell am I supposed to do with 12.5 kilograms of clay?
This isn’t some cute little craft kit; this is industrial levels of material. I’d planned to make a few trinkets, maybe a dish or a little sculpture, but this? This is commitment. This is pottery bootcamp .
I grab my phone and check my order confirmation. Yup, I’m the idiot who can’t read and missed the one before the 2.5 kg.
I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. What the hell am I supposed to do with this much of it?