Page 22 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

Lost, Soaked, Frozen, or Eaten by Foxes

Theo

T he espresso machine hisses as I rinse the steam wand, filling the café with the scent of dark roast and warm milk. It’s the slow stretch before closing, that quiet pocket of time when the rush is over, and all that’s left are the regulars lingering over their last sips.

Then the door swings open, and Ivy stumbles in, drowning in shopping bags.

She makes it to the counter whilst huffing and puffing, dumping herself onto a stool at the far end.

One of the bags slips from her grip, toppling onto the floor, and out clatters a whisk.

A big, professional-grade one, the kind you’d expect in a restaurant kitchen rather than a home.

It rolls a little before coming to a stop against the leg of a near-by table.

I raise an eyebrow. “Expecting to whisk an entire vat of something? ”

She exhales dramatically, pushing damp hair off her forehead. “If you value my life, Theo, you’ll make me something caffeinated. Strong enough to bring me back from the abyss.”

I glance at the whisk, then at her. “So… not a Wiener Melange then?”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Will it fix my life?”

I smirk, reaching for a portafilter. “It’s basically a Viennese take on a cappuccino, so it might help. But given your current state, I’m thinking something stronger. Doppio mit Schlag ?”

She leans forward, suspicious. “And what exactly is that?”

“A double espresso with whipped cream.”

She lets out a long breath. “Now that I can get behind.”

Once done, I slide the coffee across the counter, watching as Ivy wraps her fingers around it like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth. She takes a sip, lets out a small, almost indecent sigh of satisfaction, then finally lifts her head enough to meet my gaze.

“So,” I say, nodding at the mountain of shopping bags, “are you stocking up for the apocalypse, or is there another questionable hobby I should prepare myself for?”

She blows on her coffee. “Baking.”

“Baking?” I can’t help but snort.

“Baking,” she confirms, taking another sip.

I glance at the whisk still lying on the floor like an abandoned weapon. “As in, making food people willingly eat?”

“Yes, Theo. That is the general concept.”

I fold my arms, leaning on the counter. “And you’ve chosen to do this… voluntarily? The person who burns water, if I may quote? ”

She huffs. “Look, I’m perfectly aware that I’m no Mary Berry, but I can follow a recipe.”

“Can you, though?”

She gasps, mock-offended. “Excuse you! I am a highly intelligent woman.”

“I don’t doubt that.” I say, amused. “But intelligence and baking are two very different skill sets. One requires precision, patience, and an ability to follow instructions.”

She waves a hand. “Alright, calm down, Paul Hollywood.”

I smirk. “Do you even own a measuring scale?”

Her lips press into a line.

“A set of mixing bowls?”

A beat.

I tap the counter. “Ivy.”

She exhales through her nose. “I may have also panic-bought those today.”

I fight back a laugh. “That inspires a lot of confidence.”

She sits up straighter, lifting her chin. “I have to do this, okay? It’s for a Macmillan coffee morning at work.”

I prop myself against the counter, arms crossed. “You do know you can just buy a cake at the coffee morning, right? That’s kind of the point. You show up, eat cake, donate some money, feel like a good person, and leave.”

Ivy scoffs. “Yes, obviously. But that’s not the issue.”

I lift a brow. “Oh? And what is the issue?”

She exhales through her nose. “Caroline.”

I frown. “Who’s Caroline?”

Ivy rolls her eyes like I should already know. “A colleague. Smug. Bakes effortlessly. Probably has a tin with secret family recipes.”

I smirk. “Sounds like a menace. ”

“She is a menace,” Ivy says, pointing at me for emphasis. “She made jabs, Theo. Jabs about how I probably can’t bake because I’m not a mum.”

“Okay, she is a bit of bitch, I get it. That mum comment was entirely unnecessary.” Actually it was fucking ridiculous. My mother can’t bake even if you pay her, yet she is an amazing, if also crazy, mum. “But at the risk of drawing your wrath on me, you can’t bake.”

“That’s not the point.” She flaps a hand. “The point is, I refuse to give her the satisfaction of being right. I am a fully functional adult. I can make a sodding cake.”

I nod solemnly. “I admire your determination. Misguided as it is.”

Ivy ignores my comment entirely, her eyes suddenly lighting up with something suspiciously close to excitement. She leans forward, gripping the edge of the counter. “Do you want to know what else I bought?”

I sip my coffee, studying her. “Considering the sheer volume of those bags, I’m almost afraid to ask.”

She grins, practically vibrating with energy now. “A tent.”

“A tent?” I cough. No, no, no, not a good idea.

“And a backpack!” She gestures at the largest bag beside her, the one that looks like it could fit an entire kitchen inside. “That’s why the bags are so huge. I’m going camping.”

I stare at her. “You?”

“Yes, me,” she says, lifting her chin like she’s just announced she’s scaling Everest.

I glance at the bags again. Then back at her. Then at the bags.

“You’re going camping. ”

“Yes.”

“At the risk of repeating myself… voluntarily?”

She scoffs. “Obviously.”

I rub my jaw, trying to picture Ivy surviving in the wild.

I lean against the counter, smirking. “Are you sure you don’t just want to go back to making more clay gnomes? That seemed less… life-threatening.”

Ivy sticks her tongue out at me. “My gnome work is thriving, thank you for asking”

I raise an eyebrow. “Thriving?”

She nods solemnly. “I may or may not have steadily added to my army. They are currently gathering on my windowsill, awaiting further orders.”

I shake my head, “Remind me to stay on their good side.”

She grins, but then her expression hardens. “But no, Theo. This time, I am serious. I am going camping.”

I watch as she folds her arms, her shoulders squaring like she’s expecting me to challenge her.

I sigh. “Ivy, if I’ve learned one thing about you, it’s that when you put your mind to something, you will do it. No matter how ridiculous or ill-advised it may be.”

She props her chin up on her hands and looks at me from under her eyelashes. “But?”

I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck. “But… unlike baking or yoga or—God help us all—the gnome factory, if something goes wrong with this, you could be in serious trouble.”

Her eyes narrow. “You think I can’t do it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you meant. ”

I exhale. How do I tell her that I just want to keep her safe with every fibre of my being without sounding like a bloody creep or, even worse, anything more than a friend? “I mean that you’re going into the middle of nowhere, in a tent, alone.”

Her chin juts out defiantly. “Plenty of people do that.”

“Yes, but plenty of people also end up lost, soaked, frozen, or eaten by foxes.”

She snorts. “I think I can handle a fox, Theo. I live in London... plenty of foxes around here.”

I drag a hand down my face. “That’s not the point.

Look, I get it—you want to prove something, and I know you can do this.

But camping isn’t just a hobby you can abandon if it goes wrong.

If you mess up a cake, fine, you bin it.

If you fall out of tree pose in yoga, no one dies.

But if you get stranded in the middle of nowhere with no phone signal and a tent that won’t go up…

” I shudder thinking of everything that could happen to her.

All the nutters that could hide behind the bushes and— Theo now you are losing it!

One look at her tells me I won’t win this argument. I have to admire her determination even if it scares me more than I care to admit.

“I’ll be fine,” she grins and chugs back the rest of her espresso.

I nod slowly, biting back everything else I want to say. I cross my arms, watching as Ivy absentmindedly traces the rim of her coffee cup, her expression shifting between confidence and the realisation that she might not have thought this through .

“Alright,” I say, nodding at the mountain of gear beside her. “When and where is this grand expedition happening?”

She hesitates. “Uh… sometime in the next few weeks?”

“That’s vague.”

She shrugs. “I need to do some research.”

I smirk. “Right. And do you at least have a general idea of where you’re planning to go, or are you just going to pitch a tent in Hyde Park and hope for the best?”

She swats my arm. “I was thinking Cornwall. Or maybe the Lake District. Or Kent?”

“So… you have absolutely no clue.”

“Not no clue,” she argues, licking a last drop of coffee from the rim of her cup. “Just… flexible options.”

I glance at her bags again, the sheer volume of them taking up all the floor area around her stool. She’s planning a full-scale outdoor adventure, and yet, she hasn’t even settled on a location.

An idea takes shape. I tap my fingers on the counter. “What about Dorset?”

She tilts her head. “Dorset?”

I nod. “Yeah. Lucy and I are heading there in two weeks for a holiday. We’re staying in a cottage, but there are plenty of campsites in the area. You could book one of those.”

She considers this, her brows drawing together. “That… actually makes sense.”

I almost punch the air with my fist when I detect victory. “I know.”

She exhales, glancing at her bags. “It would make things easier.”

“Much easier,” I confirm. “I mean, unless you want to lug all of this—” I gesture at the camping haul, “—from a train station to a campsite, which, knowing your luck, will be at the top of a very steep hill.”

She pulls a face. “That does sound miserable.”

“Exactly. And setting up a tent after that?” I shake my head. “Not ideal.” Come on, Ivy, say yes, say yes to an option that gives me a vague feeling of safety.

Her lips press together, and I can see the gears turning in her head, realising how impractical her original plan was.

“And,” I add, keeping my tone casual, “if you camp somewhere near us, at least I’ll be close enough to help if anything goes wrong.”

She pauses at that, looking up at me properly now. “That’s actually… not a bad idea.”

I grin. “I’m known for them.”

She huffs a laugh and leans back. “Alright, Dorset it is.”

I glance at the bags again. “You are going to practice putting up that tent before you go, right?”

“Obviously,” she says, waving a hand. Then, after a beat, she adds, “I’ll do it in my flat.”

I snort. “You’re going to set up a full-size tent in your living room?”

“I need to know how it works!” she argues. “Better to struggle indoors than in a field with the wind trying to murder me.”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “Please send me a picture when you inevitably get tangled in the tent poles.”

She smirks. “You wish you had my level of preparedness.”

I take a sip of my coffee, watching her, still not sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned. But whatever adventures she gets up to, at least I’ll be nearby to make sure nothing happens to her.