Page 31 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

Exile in the Shower Shed

Ivy

E ight o’clock. It is only eight o’clock.

I stare at the time on my phone, willing the numbers to move faster. No signal. Still. Of course.

I tried the landline on the wall of the shower shed earlier, but naturally, that wasn’t working either. I pressed the receiver to my ear, listened to the deafening silence, and then hung it back up with a thunk that probably conveyed more frustration than necessary.

So, no phone. No internet. No way to check the weather forecast. No way to call the campsite owner and say, Hey, remember me?

The clueless city woman pretending she knows how to camp?

Yeah, well, I’m currently squatting in your shower shed like a cold, damp gremlin, so if you could pop by with a cuppa, that’d be great.

I sigh and push the mobile back into my pocket.

At least my situation has somewhat improved. My tent is no longer a miserable pile of wet fabric; it’s now propped up inside the shower block, where it can dry without the risk of turning into a makeshift kite. My sleeping bag is draped over one of the cubicle doors, hopefully drying out as well.

And, most importantly, I am dry.

Well, mostly.

After stripping off my wet clothes, I’d thrown on dry hiking trousers, thick socks, a fleece jumper, and my jacket—bless my overpacking habits.

For once, my tendency to bring three times the amount of clothes I actually need has worked in my favour.

Theo laughed at me when I told him that I am bringing a fleece jumper in August but who is laughing now?

I sit on a picnic bench I’ve shoved up against the shed wall, my back pressed against the rough wood, bracing myself for a long, cold night.

The wind howls, rattling the wooden beams above me. Every so often, a particularly strong gust sprays a fine mist of rain into my face, because of course it does. I sigh and wipe my cheek with my sleeve, scowling at the weather as if that might convince it to behave.

It does not.

I glance at my torch, which is resting beside me, casting a dim glow over the small space. The battery is still good, but I know I’ll have to be careful with it if I want it to last through the night. The idea of sitting here in total darkness does not appeal.

Another violent gust of wind tears through the trees, sending an eerie creak through the shower shed’s structure. The sound makes my skin prickle.

I cross my arms, tucking my fingers into my armpits to warm them. I am fine. This is fine.

I try to think of something—anything—to distract myself .

Food.

Not a great topic, considering my options are still limited.

I fish out the Jammie Dodgers from my bag and rip the packet open. “Emergency biscuits,” I murmur, remembering Lucy’s solemn little face as she handed them over.

I take a small bite, trying to make them last longer. They’re slightly crushed from being shoved into my bag, but they still taste good. Comforting. A small victory in an otherwise spectacular failure of an evening.

The rain continues to lash down, the wind roaring through the trees. I let my head fall back against the shed wall, chewing slowly, staring up at the rafters.

Tomorrow—sod camping: I’m finding the campsite owner first thing and getting a lift into the next village. There’s bound to be a B&B with a warm bed, hot food, and—if the gods have any mercy—a strong cup of tea.

And honestly? That sounds like a much better way to enjoy the countryside. I can take long walks, breathe in the fresh air, maybe even find some inner peace before heading back to a place with walls, a proper roof, and zero risk of waking up in a puddle.

Yes. That’s the plan. Camping isn’t for everyone, and that’s fine. It’s definitely not for me.

I sigh, nibbling on my biscuit, already feeling relieved at the idea of not spending another night like this.

And then—something moves on my shoulder.

Something large.

I freeze.

A slow, horrible tickling sensation skitters along my upper arm.

I glance down .

It’s a spider. A big one. A horrifyingly large one.

For half a second, I am paralysed, my brain short-circuiting as I process the actual nightmare scenario happening in real-time.

And then—pure, unfiltered panic.

I yelp, flailing so violently that I nearly fall off the bench, my biscuit packet flying out of my hand.

I swipe frantically at my shoulder, sending the spider somewhere (I do not care where as long as it’s not on me).

My heart is hammering, my breathing rapid, my entire body doing that horrible, involuntary full-body shudder that comes from the deep, primal part of the brain that really, really hates spiders.

I stand there for a second, arms still half-raised, heart racing.

Then comes the wave of deep, burning shame.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, brushing aggressively at my jacket, just in case. “It was just a spider, you absolute wimp.”

I take a steadying breath, shake out my arms, and attempt to reclaim some dignity. No one saw that. It didn’t happen.

…Still.

I thoroughly inspect the shed wall, scanning every single crevice, crack, and shadow for any other unwelcome eight-legged visitors. I do not find any, which should be reassuring, but instead just makes me wonder where the first one actually went.

I glance at the rafters.

Nope.

I absolutely do not check the rafters. Because I know there are probably about fifty spiders up there, lurking, waiting, watching. I am not emotionally prepared for that reality.

With a final glance around, I cautiously settle back onto the bench, hugging my arms around myself.

My biscuits are somewhere out in the soggy grass, and I’m not about to get soaked chasing after them.

The wind’s howling, the rain hasn’t let up, and I’ve come to a firm conclusion: camping is not for me. Absolutely not.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll be in a warm, dry room with zero spiders, and this entire evening will just be a ridiculous story to tell later.

The thunder may have passed, but the rain is relentless.

The damp clings to my skin, settling deep in my bones.

I shift on the bench, pulling my extra jumper tighter around my legs in a sad attempt at warmth.

My sleeping bag is still too wet to use, and my body aches from the cold.

This is fine. Just a few more hours, and then I am finding the nearest B&B and reclaiming my humanity.

Then—headlights.

Bright, cutting through the rain, bouncing off the puddles, lighting up the gravel path leading to the shed. A car rolls slowly towards me, its tires crunching over the wet stones before coming to a stop just outside.

I sit up, my heart immediately hammering.

Who the hell—

I grab my torch and flick it on, pointing the beam at the car. The light bounces off the wet windscreen, turning it into a useless, glowing blur. I can’t see anything inside.

My stomach clenches.

The driver’s door opens .

The interior light flicks on, and in an instant, I see her—Lucy, her small face squashed against the back window, eyes wide.

Theo.

A rush of relief floods me so hard that my legs nearly give out.

Theo sprints through the rain, barely pausing before reaching the shelter. He’s soaked in seconds, water dripping from his jacket as he ducks under the patio roof.

He studies me for a second. “What are you doing here?”

I huff out a breath, shoving my damp fringe out of my face. “Oh, you know. Just embracing my new life as a shower-shed gremlin. Thought I’d really lean into the whole outdoor experience.”

Theo raises an eyebrow. “Right.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Long story short? My tent betrayed me. It rained, the inside got wet, my sleeping bag got soggy, and instead of drowning in my own terrible choices, I dragged everything here.” I gesture to the shed dramatically.

“Welcome to Ivy’s Emergency Shelter for the Woefully Unprepared. ”

Theo snorts and shakes his head, sending a few raindrops flying. Then, without a word, he drops onto the bench beside me.

For a moment, we just sit there, listening to the rain pounding around us. Then he tilts his head toward me, smirking.

“So… did you pitch the outer tent properly?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he continues, far too casually. “Because if the inner and outer tent touch, the rain can seep through. So if you didn’t leave enough space—”

I throw my hands in the air. “Oh, fantastic! Where were you with this wisdom before I became a human rain sponge?”

Theo laughs. “I did offer to help.”

I glare at him, but I’m too cold and tired to put real effort into it. Instead, I slump back against the shed wall, pulling my jumper-blanket tighter around me and leaning my head against his shoulder. I just need this tiny bit of human connection in this moment.

“Great. So, not only am I failing at camping, but I’ve also failed at basic tent logic.” I sigh dramatically. “I am never living this down, am I?”

Theo chuckles. “Nope.”

"You want to hear the worst part?"

Theo tilts his head toward me, smirking. "Oh, absolutely."

I exhale dramatically. "I lost my emergency biscuit."

"Your what?"

"My emergency biscuit. The ones you and Lucy got me at the motor services. For, and I quote, ‘if I get hungry or sad.’"

Theo snorts. "And how exactly does one lose an emergency biscuit?"

I glare at him. "A spider attacked me."

That’s it. That’s all it takes. He throws his head back and laughs, a proper, belly-deep laugh.

I scowl. "I’m glad my suffering amuses you."

But then—midway through his laughter—I suddenly sit up straighter, my eyes widening.

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

Theo wipes his eyes, still grinning. "What now? "

I stare at the small, covered space around us. The solid concrete floor. The roof that, despite letting a little spray in, is definitely not flapping around like a soggy disaster.

"I could have used the gas cooker in here."

"You only just realised that?" Theo chuckles.

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "I ate a cold, sad apple and three biscuits while shivering in my misery when I could have made tea."

Theo shakes his head. "Yep. I definitely won’t let you forget this."

I groan again and let my head fall back against the wall with a thud.

After a moment, I turn my head toward him. "Anyway," I say, voice still muffled with regret. "What are you doing here?"

Theo leans back against the shed wall, stretching his legs out in front of him like he’s getting comfortable. “Well,” he says casually, “the queen was very worried about you. And so was I.”

I snort, caught off guard. “The queen?”

He smirks. “Yes. Queen Lucy.”

“Queen… she doesn’t rule over me,” I grin.

“Tell her that.” Theo shrugs. “She runs a tight kingdom. And right now, her royal decree is that you come to the cottage, because—” he gestures toward me, my damp jumper-blanket, and the general misery of my current situation, “—let’s be honest, this is bleak.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re not wrong, but I don’t appreciate how fast you came to that conclusion.”

“We have a spare room. And beef stew waiting. And tea that doesn’t require a gas cooker. ”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, I see. You think, as a knight, it is your duty to rescue a damsel in distress.”

Theo scoffs. “You? A damsel?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” His tone softens. “Look, I know things didn’t go to plan, but you put the tent up. You figured out how to move to safety. You’ve got a plan to dry everything out. You don’t need to put yourself down.”

I glance at him, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

He shrugs. “You’re capable. You don’t need rescuing.” He gives me a small smile. “But as a friend, I’d like to offer you a warm place to stay. If you want it.”

I stare at him for a second, hesitating—not because I don’t want to go, but because, despite everything, some stubborn part of me still feels like I should stick this out. Like I need to prove something to myself.

Then Theo adds, “Oh. And the queen saved you a strawberry cream cake.”

I’m already standing before I realise I’ve moved.

Theo smirks. “That was fast.”

I grab my backpack. “Listen. I have my limits.”

Theo and I gather my things under the shelter, taking a final moment to brace ourselves before making a break for it. The rain is still coming down in thick sheets, but at this point, I’m beyond caring. Dry clothes and hot food are waiting, and that’s all the motivation I need.

“Ready?” Theo asks, gripping the straps of my backpack.

“As I’ll ever be,” I mutter.

“On three. One… two… go!”

We sprint into the downpour, splashing through puddles as we race to the car. Theo yanks open the boot, and we shove my damp belongings inside as fast as humanly possible. I roll my tent in on top of my backpack and slam the boot shut just as another gust of wind sends rain pelting sideways.

“Go, go, go!” Theo shouts, and we both make a run for the doors.

I wrench mine open and slide inside, finally out of the rain.

“Ivy!”

Before I can even get my seatbelt on, Lucy launches herself forward from the backseat, wrapping her arms around my neck in a fierce hug. “You’re here! You’re not in the storm anymore! I saved you a cake!”

I laugh, squeezing her back. “You, my Queen, are a hero.”

She pulls back, beaming. “And Daddy made stew! And we have blankets! And you can stay forever!”

I glance over at Theo, who shakes his head fondly as he reaches for the ignition button.

I smile, settling into the seat. “Tell you what—I’ll take it one night at a time.”

As the car hums to life and the heater starts to kick in, I lean back, already planning to ask Theo for a lift to a B&B in the morning.

But for now? With warmth seeping into my fingers, Lucy practically bouncing in excitement, and the storm safely shut outside?

For now, this is exactly where I want to be.