Page 26 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

Peanut Butter Laundry Fraud

Ivy

T heo opens the door and greets me with a smile. “Hey, Ivy. Come in.”

I step inside and follow him down the corridor. As we approach the living room, I notice Lucy sitting on a small chair in the hallway, facing the wall, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She looks entirely unamused, her little body stiff with defiance.

I lean closer to Theo and whisper, “What’s she doing?”

Before he can reply, Lucy’s voice rings out, sharp and stubborn. “Daddy’s unfair!”

Theo sighs, sounding a mix of exasperation and fondness. “Lucy,” he gently warns her.

She doesn’t respond, just continues to glare at the wall in protest.

Theo looks back at me. “She got a bit too excited about hanging out with you. When I asked her to tidy away her crayons, she told me to do it myself, so I gave her a five-minute timeout.”

I glance back at Lucy, who’s still frozen in her little timeout stance. “And how long has she been like this?”

Theo winces. “Two minutes left.”

Lucy stays where she is, her back to us, and I hear a small sniffle escape her. It’s barely audible, but it’s enough to make my heart crack a little. I want to scoop her up and hug her but I don’t think Theo will thank me if I’ll do that.

He glances down at her, then sighs softly, leading me away from the hallway toward the living room. “Sometimes,” he says quietly, “I feel like I’m not sure what I’m doing as a dad.”

I look over at him as I place my tote bags with cake and clay for the gnomes on the counter.

I’m surprised by the vulnerability in his voice.

He’s usually so confident when it comes to Lucy, but I can see that this moment has shaken him.

I give him a reassuring smile. “Theo, you’re doing fine.

She’s just testing boundaries, like all kids do. You’re a great dad.”

He gives a small, almost reluctant nod but doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m too forgiving with her because she doesn’t have a mum. Maybe I’m not strict enough with her.”

I give his upper arm a gentle, reassuring stroke. “Nonsense, she is a great kid. Every child plays up every so often. I was a wild child when I was little.”

I wonder if he’s questioning more than just his role as a dad, but I don’t push. Not now.

The quiet stretches, until finally, the silence is broken by a soft, unmistakable sound—a very clear ping from the oven timer.

Theo clears his throat softly, calling out to Lucy, “Alright, time’s up, Lucy. If you’re ready to apologise, you can come in.”

There’s a pause, then a small shuffle from the hallway. Lucy slowly steps into the living room, her head down, looking slightly embarrassed. She’s tugging at her sleeves, a sign of her discomfort.

She whispers, barely audible, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Theo doesn’t hesitate. He kneels down to her level, his expression softening. Lucy immediately launches herself into his arms, and he holds her tight. For a moment, they just stay there, wrapped up in each other, a quiet comfort between them.

Theo pulls back slightly and says gently, “Okay, Ladybug, now can you tidy your crayons away like I asked?”

Lucy sniffles, her face still flushed, and with a small, embarrassed sigh, she nods. “Okay, Daddy. Love you.”

“Love you too, Lu.”

I study Theo for a moment as he watches Lucy, and a quiet pride settles on his face. It’s not a big showy thing, but it’s there—the satisfaction of knowing he’s doing something right.

I grin and nudge him gently, my voice playful. “See? First-class dad right here.”

"Thanks," he murmurs, his gaze soft. He’s grateful, though he doesn’t say it directly. And somehow, that makes it mean more.

I wait until Lucy’s crayons are safely back in their little plastic tub—with some creative interpretation of “tidy”—before clearing my throat with exaggerated ceremony .

“Right,” I announce, picking up the cake tin I smuggled in like contraband, “I come bearing baked goods and a serious question.”

Theo raises an eyebrow. Lucy perks up immediately, her time-out gloom already starting to lift.

I flip the lid off with a flourish.

“Behold! Exhibit A: the Austrian cup cake made by yours truly, with only minor flour-based disasters. Exhibit B...” I pull out a second container with theatrical reluctance “...is Caroline’s Victoria sponge. Office legend. Looks like it was made by angels with access to precision tools.”

Theo smirks. “You stole Caroline’s cake?”

“I rescued it,” I say. “For research purposes.”

Lucy bounces over like a tiny judge at a dessert tribunal. “Are we allowed to eat both?”

“Absolutely. But you must be brutally honest . This is a highly scientific taste test.”

She gives a solemn nod and clambers up onto the sofa like she’s taking her place on the judging panel of Junior Bake Off: Petty Edition . I hand her small slices of each, then pass a plate to Theo, who takes it with a slightly amused shake of his head.

Lucy tries Caroline’s first, giving her best Paul Hollywood impression. “It’s nice,” she says, “but it’s kind of... fluffy. Not exciting.”

“Noted,” I say, scribbling nothing down on an imaginary clipboard.

She tastes mine next. Her eyes widen slightly. “Yours is... like pudding and cake had a baby.”

“That’s exactly the vibe I was going for. ”

Theo takes a bite of mine, then glances sideways at me. “Yours actually tastes like something. Caroline’s is... polite.”

I beam. “So, what I’m hearing is, I’ve won the informal, slightly biased home judging round.”

Lucy frowns as she shovels another bite into her mouth, then points her fork at me. “It’s not fair you didn’t win. Yours is pure goodness.”

“Pure goodness?” I giggle.

She nods with conviction. “It tastes like hugs and happy things and maybe a bit of magic.” Then, without another word, she hops off the sofa and bolts out of the room at full speed, her socks skidding slightly on the floorboards.

Theo and I exchange a look.

“Should I be worried?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Always.”

A few seconds later, she returns, triumphant, holding a slightly bent cardboard medal strung on what looks suspiciously like a shoelace. It’s covered in flower stickers, glitter glue, and the vague whiff of Pritt Stick.

She hands it to me with both hands, like it’s the crown jewels.

“You can have this one. I made it for Uncle Jasper but I can make him another one,” she says, absolutely serious. “This is yours now. It’s a special prize. For best cake that didn’t win.”

I stare at the little cardboard medal. My throat tightens in that stupid, unexpected way, like there’s something stuck that’s not cake.

“Oh, Lu,” I say, my voice catching a bit too early. I blink quickly, looking up at the ceiling like it might help keep the tears from tipping over .

She watches me, slightly puzzled. “Don’t you like it?”

“Are you joking?” I manage, voice wobbly. “I love it.”

I reach out and pull her into a hug, holding her tightly, because she just made my day. This little munchkin has a way to get into your heart that just catches you off guard every time. She must have that talent from her dad.

Lucy hugs me back just as fiercely. “You’re the best baker, Ivy.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far and your daddy helped me,” I mumble into her hair, trying not to sniffle like I’ve just watched a puppy reunion video. “But I’ll take it.”

Theo says nothing, but when our eyes meet, my stomach does a flip.

He smiles, soft and crooked. “Told you. You’ve got fans.”

I nod, still holding Lucy and trying to discreetly dab my eye on my sleeve. “Yeah. Think I might just frame this.”

And honestly? I mean it.

A little later, after Theo’s left for work with a quick kiss to Lucy’s head and a lopsided smile in my direction, Lu and I settle at the kitchen table for a highly important morning activity: clay gnomes.

We’ve covered the surface in newspaper, rolled out a slab of air-dry clay, and are now wrapping it round one of the wonky Styrofoam cones like we’re dressing a tiny, lumpy wizard.

I’m showing Lucy how to smooth the edges with a bit of water when she speaks—completely casual, like she’s commenting on the weather.

“Yasmin from yoga doesn’t have a daddy,” she says, pressing her little fingers into the base of her gnome. “So I told her she can share mine.”

I pause, fingers halfway through smoothing a seam, but I don’t look up just yet. “That’s very kind of you,” I say gently, keeping my tone light.

Lucy nods, still focused. “She said she didn’t know you could do that. But I said, 'It’s fine. I know what it’s like not to have a mummy.' So, it’s fair.”

I look at her then. Her expression is calm, matter-of-fact, like she’s just explained the rules of a very reasonable swap system. Her hands are covered in grey clay and glitter from the craft box. There’s a streak of it on her cheek too.

I feel something lodge itself in my chest—tight and warm and achingly soft.

“That’s a lovely thing to do,” I say, my voice quieter now. “You’ve got a big heart, you know.”

She shrugs, then leans over to inspect my gnome. “Yours has a wonky hat,” she informs me.

I grin, blinking away the sting behind my eyes. “He’s whimsical. It’s his thing.”

She giggles and goes back to working on her own. I sit there for a moment longer, looking at her little hands, the way she frowns in concentration, and I wonder how someone so small can carry so much understanding.

Then she glances up, grinning. “Can we give them beards?”

“Obviously,” I say. “No gnome is complete without a dramatic beard.”

We start rolling out little sausage-shaped pieces of clay, and I’m halfway through sticking a particularly curly one onto my gnome’s chin when Lucy says, casually, “Sometimes I wish I had a mum.”

The air shifts, just slightly. Like the room’s holding its breath.

I keep my fingers busy with the clay, not wanting to make a big deal of it, not wanting her to feel examined.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, gently. “That makes sense. But you’ve got your dad, and he’s... well, he’s brilliant.”

She nods instantly. “He is. He always hugs me. Even when I’ve been really, really naughty.”

I smile at that. “Sounds like the best kind of dad.”

She smooths down the clay on her gnome’s face. “If I had a mum,” she says, voice softer now, “I’d want her to do stuff with me. Not just say nice things. Like... make gnomes. Or help with the glitter. Or eat cereal for dinner sometimes.”

I laugh, but it catches slightly. My heart feels too big for my chest all of a sudden. Like I might spill over if I move the wrong way.

I half expect her to look up at me, to ask something—something big and terrifying and far too lovely to be safe—but she doesn’t.

She just shrugs and starts shaping a hat for her gnome, like she’s planted a little thought in the middle of the table and that’s enough.

I breathe slowly and say, as lightly as I can manage, “Well, just so you know, as your friend—and fellow gnome enthusiast—if you ever want to talk about something and you don’t want to tell your dad straight away... I’m here. ”

She looks up at me and grins. “Okay.” Then she leans in, conspiratorially. “But you have to promise not to tell him about the peanut butter and the trousers.”

“What peanut butter and which trousers?”

She grabs my hand. “Come and see,” she says, tugging me down the hallway.

In her bedroom, she drops to her knees and wriggles under the bed like she’s done this before.

She pulls something out with both hands—a scrunched-up pair of purple boxer shorts.

And they’re... well, they’re definitely not clean.

There’s a smear of peanut butter across the front like a very unfortunate accident.

I look at her. She looks at me. It’s not clear who’s more horrified.

“I was trying to get a little bit of peanut butter with a spoon,” she says, very fast. “Just a little bit! But I dropped it on the floor and I didn’t want Daddy to see.”

“Right,” I say, slowly. “Understandable.”

“So I grabbed some trousers from the basket and cleaned it up, really quick. Then I heard Daddy coming, so I hid them.”

“Under your bed?”

She nods. “Good hiding, yeah?”

I press my hand to my mouth to stop myself laughing. “Very... creative.”

She shifts from foot to foot. “I didn’t mean to be naughty.”

“I know, Lu,” I say gently. “Let’s sort it, yeah?”

We sneak off to the washing machine like we’re on some top-secret mission. I help her throw the peanut butter boxers in with a couple of jumpers and a tea towel, just to make it look respectable. She pours in enough detergent to clean all the linen at Buckingham Place but I don’t stop her.

“We’ll just tell Daddy we did some washing to help,” she says brightly.

“Exactly,” I nod. “We’re very helpful.”

She presses the start button like she’s launching a spaceship. The machine starts whirring. She beams up at me, proud as anything.

I smile back, because honestly? I’ve just become an accomplice to peanut butter laundry fraud. And weirdly, I don’t mind one bit.