Page 38 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

The Siege of Vienna

Ivy

W hat is happening?

He’s attractive. Smart. Lovely with Lucy.

Capable of forming full sentences in most situations.

And yet here we are, three minutes into dinner, and he’s delivered a lecture on the Siege of Vienna like this is some sort of historically-themed speed date and I’m about to be tested on key dates and bean filtration methods.

Is it me?

Am I radiating Please talk about early coffee culture at length energy?

I shift in my seat and immediately regret it. The trousers have ridden even further up than before, and I swear if I breathe too deeply, I’ll have to get them surgically removed. My knickers are no longer involved in the evening. They’ve been left behind. Lost in action.

I try to subtly adjust myself. There's no way to do it gracefully. I nudge, twist, clench slightly, then give up and take a sip of water while pretending I’m just terribly, terribly interested in the candle .

Across from me, Theo is staring down at the menu like it’s written in Morse code. He still looks handsome, in that nervous, floppy-haired way. But he also looks like he might bolt at any moment or begin reciting the History of Cutlery in Western Europe .

He wasn’t like this before.

For three months, we’ve been full of banter and cake and the kind of easy chemistry that made me think maybe, just maybe, this could turn into something.

I’ve laughed more with him in the past ninety days than I have in the past two years combined.

He made me feel... seen. Wanted. Like maybe being a bit of a mess with strong opinions and complicated feelings didn’t automatically put me in the 'lovely but not relationship material' box.

But now? Now he’s barely looked at me.

Maybe I pushed this. Maybe I misread everything.

Maybe I was just convenient—a friend, a babysitter, someone who got a bit too comfortable and mistook kindness for something else.

And, of course, I chose tonight to wedge myself into trousers that feel like an emotional support compression garment. I can’t sit properly. I’m terrified to stand. My thighs are trapped in a slow, squeaky death grip. Even my napkin is judging me.

Theo’s still staring at the menu like he’s about to draft legal amendments to it.

I clear my throat and try to sound breezy. “Thinking of suing the chef, or...?”

He blinks up, startled. “What? No. Sorry. I was just—trying to decode the ‘beetroot textures.’ Is that a sauce? A sculpture? A warning? ”

I smile, but it feels tight. I want to ask What’s going on? but instead I say, “You know, if I spontaneously combust, I’d like you to tell people it was the trousers.”

He chuckles softly, but it fades fast. He’s clearly trying, and that almost makes it worse. I can feel the weight of both of us overcompensating—like we’re tiptoeing around something neither of us wants to admit out loud: that this... isn’t working.

Not tonight.

I sip my water. Somewhere behind us, someone’s laughing—actual, carefree laughter—and I want to throw my bread roll at them.

This isn’t what I pictured. I thought our first date would be all spark and banter and knees bumping under the table. But instead, we’re here in this stiff curated restaurant, both choking on nerves and unmet expectations.

The waiter arrives to take our order. Theo panics and points at the tasting menu. I do the same, because it’s easier than deciding whether I want duck or a beef dish I can't even pronounce.

We both smile at the waiter like everything’s fine.

It’s not fine.

I think we’re both realising it at the same time.

Theo clears his throat and says, “Oh… Lucy told me to say hi. She’s having a tea party with Geoff and Jasper. I think Geoff was a fairy princess. Jasper was… unwilling.”

I smile, automatically. “That sounds about right.”

But then the smile doesn’t quite stick.

Because suddenly, my brain’s at it again.

Maybe he brought her up on purpose.

Maybe he thinks that’s why I’m here. Why I’m into him. Because of Lucy. Because I’ve wormed my way into their little unit and now he feels like he has to give me a proper dinner before letting me down gently.

Maybe I’m not a potential girlfriend. Maybe I’m just the convenient, child-friendly woman upstairs who bakes and helps out with his daughter.

My stomach turns, and not from hunger.

I think about Lucy, all glitter and peanut butter crimes and unsolicited honesty. I think about her curling up beside me on the sofa and saying she sometimes wishes she had a mum. And about the tiny, sticky cardboard medal she gave me, like it was a treasure.

And for a terrifying, vivid second, I let my brain run wild. I imagine what it would be like if she was mine. If bedtime stories were my job. If I picked her up from school. If she looked for me in the audience during assembly. If she called me Mummy and meant it.

My throat tightens.

Is that what this is about? I think, panicking. Have I just been using him as a gateway to a life I can’t have on my own?

What if this whole thing is backwards? What if it’s Lucy I’ve fallen for—that version of life, that dream—and Theo’s just the packaging it came in?

And what if he knows that?

What if he’s sitting across from me thinking s he’s sweet, but she doesn’t want me. She wants a family, and I’m the delivery method.

I blink, hard.

And realise the waiter is gone, Theo’s sipping his wine, and there’s a plate of food in front of me—something delicate and green and artistically drizzled with too much olive oil—and I have absolutely no idea how long I’ve been sitting here in total silence .

I glance up.

Theo’s watching me. Not unkindly. Not impatiently. Just... with that same quiet, confused smile.

And all I can think is: Abort mission. Abort mission now.

Dinner lasted approximately six years.

We spent a portion of it discussing beetroot. A solid twenty minutes on whether the warm weather would hold through September. And an inexplicable ten minutes on composting—not in a fun way. In a council bin collection way.

If romance had been invited, it left somewhere around the first course.

By dessert— which was technically a foam—I was actively praying for the fire alarm to go off. Or a blackout. Or a spontaneous sinkhole. Anything with dramatic exit potential.

Now we’re in an Uber again, and I’m pretending to be absorbed in the streetlights.

Theo sits beside me, arms neatly folded, like a man who’s being perfectly polite but would rather be anywhere else. The driver hums along to the radio. I don’t hum. I think about how it’s possible to be so close to someone and still feel like they’re miles away.

When we pull up outside my building, Theo gets out too. He says it’s just to stretch his legs before heading around the corner to his place, but we both know it’s also the proper, gentlemanly thing to do .

Which is very Theo.

I lead us from the curb to my door, and we stop. There’s a soft glow from the stairwell light and the faint smell of someone’s slightly burnt toast from upstairs. It’s a quiet night. The kind of night that might’ve ended with a kiss, if this were a different story.

We both stand there. Not speaking.

I shift awkwardly, and the trousers remind me of their ongoing assault.

Theo scratches the back of his neck.

Then, simultaneously:

“I guess—”“So maybe—”

We stop. Awkward laugh. Silence again.

He tries first. “I mean, maybe it’s just... one of those things.”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, “like, not everything needs to turn into something, right?”

“Exactly,” he says. “Sometimes it’s just—nice to know.”

“To try,” I add. “To rule it out.”

We nod. Too much.

A pause.

Neither of us looks directly at the other.

I want to say This wasn’t what I hoped , but instead I say, “Thanks for dinner.”

He smiles. “Thanks for letting me talk about coffee. And... 17th-century history. And clouds.”

“Very educational evening,” I say, mouth dry.

He chuckles, almost embarrassed. “Yeah. I should... probably go. Let you get out of those trousers.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“I mean—” He grimaces. “That came out wrong.”

I burst out laughing. It’s the first real one I’ve had all night. “Go, Theo. Save yourself.”

He grins, backing away. “Night, Ivy.”

“Night.”

And just like that, he turns and disappears around the corner. No kiss. No lingering look. Just a faint whiff of aftershave and the sound of retreating footsteps.

I unlock the door, step inside, and lean against it once it clicks shut.

Well.

That could’ve gone worse.

Technically.

But in the pit of my stomach, there’s a hollow sort of ache. The quiet, resigned kind. The one that comes when something you really wanted... doesn’t want you back in quite the same way.

And now I’ve got to get out of these trousers before they become part of my skeletal system.