Page 4 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

Marketing Genius

Theo

I have cleaned this counter four times.

Not because it needs it… oh no, it is already spotless. You could perform surgery on it if you really wanted to. But because I have nothing else to do.

I glance at the clock. 3:42 PM.

It has been eight hours and forty-two minutes since I officially opened The Kaiser’s Mug, and so far, my grand entrance into the Shoreditch coffee scene has been… underwhelming.

Jasper, my younger brother and part-time professional wind-up merchant, is perched on a bar stool at the end of the counter, sipping his second free coffee of the day and scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

He has been here since opening, doing absolutely nothing except watching me have a slow-burn existential crisis.

“Would you stop glaring at the door like it owes you money?” he says, not even looking up.

“I’m not glaring. ”

“You are. You look like a Victorian widow staring out to sea, waiting for her husband’s ship to come home.”

I let out a heavy sigh and toss the cloth into the sink.

I could wipe down the counter a fifth time, but even I have my limits.

Instead, I lean against it and stare at the beautifully arranged pastries in the glass display.

Linzer Torte . Apfelstrudel . Sachertorte .

Each one made fresh at five o’clock this morning by my Austrian pastry chef Klaus, each one tragically uneaten.

Jasper finally puts his phone down. “Theo. It’s day one.”

“Day one should have been busier.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe you should give it more than eight hours before spiralling into a meltdown.”

I groan, running a hand through my hair.

He’s got a point, but still—I spent months planning this place.

I wanted it to be perfect. And it is perfect, objectively speaking.

The café is exactly how I imagined it, all dark wood panelling, velvet seating, and shelves lined with antique coffee tins.

The espresso machine is a thing of beauty, the pastries are flawless, and the coffee? Easily the best in Shoreditch.

And yet.

The door remains firmly shut, the world outside indifferent to my carefully crafted vision. Me and my two waiters got all dressed up in shirt, waistcoat and tie for nothing.

“Maybe the concept is too niche,” I say finally.

Jasper raises an eyebrow. “Theo, you’re acting like you opened a café that only serves soup in wine glasses. It’s a Viennese coffeehouse. It’s not that weird. ”

“No, but maybe people don’t want old-school charm. Maybe they want oat milk matcha lattes and rainbow bagels.”

Jasper sighs, setting down his cup. “Listen. People in London will queue for two hours to eat a pancake the size of a two-pi coin if the place looks good on Instagram. You just need time. And marketing. Have you actually done any?”

I shift slightly. “I made an Instagram account.”

He waits.

“I posted a photo of a coffee cup this morning.”

His eyes narrow. “And?”

“…That’s it.”

He groans. “Theo.”

“What? It was a very nice coffee cup.”

Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is why Geoff and I are silent partners.”

I sigh, drumming my fingers on the counter.

Geoff, our eldest brother, is only involved in this café in the sense that he transferred me money, told me to “go live my dream,” and then promptly disappeared to whichever glamorous location he’s currently photographing impossibly beautiful people.

Last I heard, he was in the Maldives, shooting a Vogue spread with a supermodel.

He doesn’t exactly relate to my struggle.

Jasper, on the other hand, made a fortune developing some computer component that now exists in nearly every machine on the planet. He could be running a tech empire, but instead, he’s semi-retired and spends his time floating between expensive hobbies and annoying me.

“If it makes you feel better,” Jasper says, “Mum just texted me to say she’s proud of you. ”

I snort. “Did she say proud, or did she say, ‘worried but supportive’?”

“…Both.”

Sounds about right.

Before I can respond, the door swings open. My heart leaps at the sight of the elderly couple peering inside. They exchange a glance, nod approvingly, and step in.

I straighten immediately. “Welcome!”

The woman smiles. “Oh, what a lovely space.”

I beam, ready to launch into my rehearsed speech about authentic Viennese coffeehouse culture, but she continues before I can start.

“Do you do English Breakfast tea?”

I hesitate. “…Yes?”

“Oh, wonderful,” she says. “Two teas, please.”

I shoot Jasper a look as I prepare the order. He bites his lip, visibly trying not to laugh.

Tea. My first real customers, and they’ve come to The Kaiser’s Mug, an Austrian coffeehouse, for a bog-standard cuppa.

But hey, at least it’s a start. I try to make it the best tea on the planet before sliding it across the counter for Pavel, one of my waiters, to carry it with all the right drama to the customers.

The bell above the door jingles again, and I brace myself, hoping for a customer who actually cares about coffee rather than just asking for tea like it’s a roadside café off the M25.

Instead, two women stroll in, completely oblivious to their surroundings, deep in conversation. Well—one is talking at high speed while the other nods along, making noises of agreement .

“…And I’m just saying, it was a bad idea from the start,” the blonde one insists, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she walks right past the pastry display without even glancing at it. “Honestly, Christa, I should’ve seen it coming.”

The other woman—shorter, darker, wearing enough eyeliner to qualify for a punk rock band—snorts. “I did see it coming. I literally told you it was a bad idea, and you waved me off.”

“Yes, well.” The blonde sighs dramatically. “I was being optimistic.”

Christa—at least I assume that’s her name—gives her a look. “You were being delusional.”

“I was being hopeful.”

“Oh, hopeful. Is that what we’re calling it now?” Christa smirks. “Because I’d call it throwing yourself into a foursome like a human buffet for some knobheads and then acting surprised when half the party left for football.”

I blink.

Foursome?

My head snaps up properly now, eyes narrowing slightly as I take a look at them.

The blonde is curvy, with wild waves of hair that have a mind of their own, bright eyes, and a naturally expressive face that seems to shift emotions at an alarming rate.

She’s wearing a navy-blue dress and boots, and her body language suggests she’s telling the greatest tragedy of all time, despite the fact that her friend looks like she’s enjoying her pain a little too much.

The other one, Christa, is the complete opposite.

Shorter, leaner, dressed in ripped jeans and an oversized leather jacket, with a collection of rings that look like they could double as weapons.

She has that effortless cool-girl look—like she either plays in a band or at least used to date the lead singer of one.

Neither of them is paying attention to where they are.

Neither of them has even looked at me.

And yet, I am completely hooked on this conversation.

I grab the cloth and wipe down the counter again, pretending I’m not blatantly eavesdropping.

The blonde—still completely unaware of my existence—lets out a long sigh. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore, because as of today, I am on a dating ban.”

Her friend snorts. “A what?”

“A dating ban,” she repeats, more firmly this time. “Three months. No dates, no flings, no relationships, nothing.”

Christa cackles. “You? Not dating for three months? That’s like me giving up sarcasm—it’s physically impossible.”

“I can do it,” the blonde insists, sounding both defensive and deeply unconvinced.

“Sure,” her friend says. “And I can win The Great British Bake Off .”

The blonde rolls her eyes. “Look, Pee-Pee says it’s a good idea—” Who or what is that Pee-Pee?

“Oh, well, if Pee-Pee says so, then obviously it’s the law.”

The blonde groans. “It’s not about the rule, it’s about… I don’t know. Me.” She gestures vaguely, as if that explains anything at all. “Figuring out what I actually like, who I am when I’m not trying to impress someone, you know?”

I am so focused on listening—so invested in whatever this dating ban nonsense is—that I absentmindedly shift a mug a little too hard, sending it skidding across the counter .

It clatters loudly, nearly tipping over.

Both women finally look up at me.

I freeze, cloth still in hand, caught like a deer in headlights.

The blonde’s eyes narrow slightly. “Were you listening to us?”

I clear my throat, wiping the counter one last time for dramatic effect. “No,” I lie. “Not at all.”

I regain my composure and straighten up, offering them my best customer service smile.

“Welcome to The Kaiser’s Mug,” I say, as if I haven’t just been caught listening in on their conversation. “If you take a seat, I’ll bring you the menu and—"

The blonde leans against the counter. “I’ll have a venti , soy, hazelnut latte with extra foam and half cold milk.”

I freeze unsure how to manage this situation diplomatically.

Jasper snorts quietly from his stool, no doubt waiting for my reaction.

I turn back to her, making sure I heard correctly. “You want a… venti , soy, hazelnut latte, extra foam, half cold milk?”

She nods, completely unbothered by the monstrosity she has just ordered.

I exhale slowly, running a hand over my jaw. “Right. So… we don’t do that.”

The blonde frowns. “What do you mean?”

I gesture vaguely to the café around us. “This is a Viennese coffeehouse. We don’t have syrups. Or venti sizes. Or whatever that… situation was.”

Christa smirks. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

The blonde folds her arms. “So, what do you have? ”

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck before slipping back into my well-rehearsed, authentic Austrian experience mode. “I can make you a Wiener Melange . It’s like a cappuccino but with a bit more milk and a fluffy, foamy top.”

She blinks. “That sounds… nice?”

“It is nice.”

She hesitates, clearly uncertain about trusting me with her caffeine needs, but then gives a slow nod. “Alright. Fine. I’ll have one of those.”

Her friend grins. “Make it two.”

I nod, relieved that we’ve managed to land on something that doesn’t involve cold milk and unnecessary sugar.

“Take a seat, we’ll bring it over,” I smile.

That also seems to be a new concept to them because the coffee chains they clearly frequent normally don’t offer that service.

The blond gives me a side eye before heading to a table in the corner.

As I start preparing their drinks, I steal another glance at her.

She is now tapping on her phone. I’m still not over the dating ban thing.

I mean, who bans themselves from dating?

And why do I care? But then, who am I to talk?

I’m kind of on a self-imposed dating ban, I guess.

Being a single dad and business owner doesn’t really leave a lot of time.

I shake off the thought and focus on making the coffee. Once both cups are ready, I carry them to their table and, without really thinking it through, decide to take my marketing strategy for a test run.

“These are on the house,” I say, maybe a bit too quickly.

Both of them look up in surprise .

“Wait, really?” the blonde asks, narrowing her eyes slightly like she’s waiting for the catch.

I clear my throat. “Yes. Uh, you know. First-time customers. And, um…” I shift awkwardly, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “If you happened to post about it on Instagram, that wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Silence.

The blonde stares at me, then slowly blinks. Her friend looks like she’s physically restraining herself from laughing.

I hear a soft, muffled choking noise. I glance to the side. Jasper has his head in his hands.

…Was it that bad?

I clear my throat again, suddenly feeling hot under my collar. “Uh, yeah. You know. If you want. Just, uh… take a picture. Or—” I make an awkward, vague hand gesture, like I’m holding an invisible phone. “Or whatever people do. Hashtag it?”

Oh God, why did I say hashtag it?

The blonde bites her lip, eyes sparkling with what I desperately hope is amusement and not second-hand embarrassment. “Right. Hashtag it. Sure.”

Her friend smirks. “Do you… want us to tag you?”

“Yes! Yes.” I agree way too enthusiastic. “That. Tagging is… good.”

There is a long pause before the blonde nods, still watching me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or not.

Then, in a moment of pure panic, I blurt out, “And you can have free Apfelstrudel too.”

Jasper actually groans .

Both women glance at the pastry display like they hadn’t even considered food before, but now they’re intrigued.

“Alright,” the blonde says slowly, exchanging a look with her friend. “Coffee and free strudel-thingy in exchange for an Instagram post?”

I nod, resisting the urge to look too pleased with myself as I turn back toward the counter. “Great. I’ll get that strudel plated up.”

As I busy myself arranging two slices of Apfelstrudel onto small plates—presentation is key, after all—I glance over at Jasper, who is watching me with the exhausted patience of a man who has just witnessed something truly painful.

I add a dollop of whipped cream before Pavel takes the plates to the two women. I give Jasper a look. A victorious, I just nailed that business transaction kind of look.

“Well?” I ask smugly. “That went well.”

Jasper stares at me. “That was excruciating.”

I scoff. “It was effective.”

“You just bribed two strangers with free food because you don’t understand how Instagram works.”

I fold my arms. “And yet, did they agree to post about it?”

Jasper rubs his temples. “This is painful to watch.”

I smirk, dusting my hands off like I’ve just successfully negotiated a high-stakes business deal. “Marketing, my friend. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jasper sighs, looking up at the ceiling like he’s praying for patience.

I turn back to the blonde and her friend, still feeling rather pleased with myself.

This is definitely going to work.