Page 45 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

Nervous Bugs in my Tummy

Epilogue

Theo

I t’s a quiet evening, the kind that settles in so naturally it feels like it’s always been this way.

I’m stretched out on the sofa, a book open in my hands, but I haven’t turned a page in the last five minutes. Because instead of reading, I’m watching them.

Ivy and Lucy are sitting on the floor, surrounded by a rainbow explosion of coloured pencils, markers, and glitter glue. Ivy is carefully shading in a section of Lucy’s drawing, while Lucy chatters away, waving her crayon like a conductor’s baton.

Tomorrow is her sixth birthday, and she’s creating a very detailed picture of all the things she hopes to get.

So far, there’s a scooter, a mountain of presents, a suspiciously large cake, and—

I squint. “Is that a pony?”

Lucy looks up at me, all wide-eyed innocence. “Yes.”

I raise a brow. “And where, exactly, are we keeping this pony?”

Lucy beams. “In Uncle Jasper’s garden, of course. ”

I blink. “Oh. Of course.”

Ivy snorts, trying (and failing) to cover her laugh with a cough.

“Lucy,” I say, leaning forward, trying to find the gentlest way to break this to her, “I don’t think Uncle Jasper wants a pony in his garden.”

Lucy frowns like I’ve just suggested something outrageous. “But he has loads of space! And he doesn’t use the garden.”

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’m not sure that’s how it works, Ladybug.”

Lucy crosses her arms. “I bet if Ivy asked, he’d say yes.”

I whip my head toward Ivy, who is suddenly very invested in shading a flower, her lips twitching.

“Oh no,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

Ivy finally looks up, all sweetness and innocence. “I mean… I could ask.”

“No.”

She grins. “But imagine how fun it would be.”

I groan. “Why are you like this?”

Lucy brightens. “So that’s a maybe?”

“No, that’s a no.”

Lucy sighs dramatically, adding more glitter glue to the pony’s mane. “Fine. But if I don’t get a pony, I at least want extra cake.”

“Done,” I say quickly, desperate to escape the pony negotiations.

Ivy nudges me playfully, shaking her head. “Caved so fast.”

“You try arguing with her,” I mutter .

Ivy leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “You’re lucky I love you.”

I smirk. “I am.”

I glance at Lucy, who is now back to drawing, happily oblivious. My arm wraps around Ivy’s waist, pulling her closer as she rests her head against my shoulder.

Eight months ago, I told her I loved her.

And since then, she’s been in everything.

She’s in the way Lucy laughs more. The way our home feels warmer. The way my world finally feels complete.

It wasn’t something we rushed.

Ivy and I were careful when we told Lucy that we weren’t just friends anymore—that we were together in a different way now. We sat her down, explained it in simple terms, made sure she understood that nothing was changing in a way that would worry her.

She listened, serious, like she was assessing the situation, her little brow furrowed.

Then, after a moment, she asked, “So Ivy’s your girlfriend now?”

I exchanged a look with Ivy and nodded. “Yeah. She is.”

Lucy considered this for another second before shrugging and saying, “Okay. But can she still be my Ivy too?”

My heart nearly cracked open on the spot.

And from then on, Lucy had thrived in her new dynamic with Ivy.

Mostly because it meant she got to team up against me.

The biggest perk? When Ivy stays over, Lucy gets breakfast in bed.

Which means I am now a sap who delivers two plates of toast, fruit, and juice to them every Saturday while they lounge in my bed, watching cartoons and giggling behind their hands at my tragic fate.

I’m also the weirdo who then attacks the bed with the hoover because I can’t sleep with all the crumbs they leave behind. Once a dork, always a dork.

The worst part?

I love it.

I love waking up to Ivy in my bed, love the way she and Lucy fit together so effortlessly. Love the way Lucy has started insisting that Ivy be there for bedtime stories, for school drop-offs, for lazy Sundays spent in pyjamas.

Love the way my life finally feels whole.

I glance at Ivy, who is back on the floor beside Lucy, helping her colour, their heads close together, whispering about something conspiratorial. Like they’re plotting. Like I’m already doomed. But I wouldn’t change a thing.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you two up to?”

They both snap their heads up like they’ve been caught, but Ivy just grins, far too pleased with herself.

“This moment,” she declares dramatically, “calls for ice cream.”

I open my mouth to protest—because we literally just had dinner—but I never get the chance.

Before I can so much as breathe a word of reason, she’s already gone, sprinting to the kitchen like some sort of dessert-fuelled menace.

I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face.

Lucy giggles. “She’s fast.”

“Definitely when it comes to ice cream,” I laugh.

Lucy just shrugs, clearly unfazed by Ivy’s unstoppable ice cream agenda. Then, without warning, she scrambles onto my lap, settling in like she has done so many times before .

She rests her little hands on my chest, looking up at me with those same big brown eyes she’s had since the day she was born, and suddenly—I know.

I know something big is coming.

I swallow. “What’s up, Ladybug?”

Lucy hesitates, fiddling with the hem of her T-shirt. Then she leans in, her voice a whisper against my ear.

“I’m okay if I don’t get a pony,” she murmurs.

I raise a brow. “Oh?”

She nods. “Or presents. Or even cake.”

I blink. “That’s… unexpected.”

She presses her lips together, gathering her thoughts, and then—quietly, like she’s testing the words—she whispers, “But can Ivy be my mum?”

My breath catches.

I lean back slightly, looking down at her small, serious face. “Why are you asking me that, Lu?”

Lucy shifts in my lap, still twirling the hem of her shirt between her fingers. “Sabrina at school,” she says carefully, “her mummy and daddy sleep in the same bed. And they’re mum and dad.”

I nod slowly. “Right.”

Lucy bites her lip. “Ivy sleeps in your bed, Daddy. And I want a mum too.”

My throat tightens.

She looks up at me with quiet hope. “Can she be my mum?”

There’s something so simple about the way she says it. No big declarations. No confusion. Just the innocent certainty of a six-year-old trying to put her world into order .

I take a deep breath, smoothing a hand over her hair. “We should ask her,” I murmur. “Only she and you can decide that.”

Lucy exhales, like she’s been holding that question inside her for ages.

Then, just as quickly, she straightens, suddenly looking nervous.

“Okay,” she whispers. “But you have to ask her for me.”

“You don’t want to ask her yourself?” I frown.

She shakes her head fiercely. “No. I have nervous bugs in my tummy.”

I chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Alright, I’ll ask her for you.”

Lucy sighs in relief, settling back against my chest, completely at ease now that she’s passed the responsibility onto me.

I tighten my arms around her, my heart filled with something big, something I don’t even know how to name.

And just as Ivy’s voice calls out from the kitchen— “Theo, we’re out of salted caramel! Emergency decision: chocolate or vanilla?”—I realise something. Lucy isn’t the only one with nervous bugs in her tummy.

Because somehow, the most important conversation of my life is about to happen between spoonful of ice cream.

I take a deep breath, pressing one last kiss to the top of Lucy’s head before gently shifting her off my lap.

“Stay here, Ladybug,” I murmur. “I’ll be right back.”

She nods, completely trusting, and picks up her colouring again, oblivious to the fact that she’s just changed everything .

I push myself up and head toward the kitchen, where Ivy is rummaging through the freezer, grumbling under her breath.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters, pulling out two tubs. “Who even runs out of salted caramel? This is a travesty.”

I hover for a second, my chest tight with everything I need to say.

She glances over her shoulder, still completely unaware, completely Ivy. “I’m thinking chocolate, unless you’re about to argue for vanilla, in which case, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

I exhale a quiet laugh, stepping closer. “Ivy.”

She stills at my tone, turning to face me fully. Her brows draw together slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say quickly. “I just—I need to tell you something.”

Her expression softens with concern. She sets the ice cream aside, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Okay. What is it?”

I swallow, my pulse a little too fast. Why am I nervous?

“She—” I clear my throat, shaking my head at myself. “Lucy. She, uh, she just asked me something.”

Ivy blinks, waiting.

I inhale deeply. “She told me she’s okay if she doesn’t get a pony. Or presents. Or even cake.”

Ivy’s lips twitch. “Sounds fake, but alright.”

I huff a small laugh. “Yeah, well. That’s because what she truly wants… is for you to be her mum.”

Ivy freezes.

Completely, utterly still.

Her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted like she can’t quite process what I’ve just said .

“She—she said that?” she whispers.

I nod, my chest tight. “Yeah. She said she knows we’re together now, and she said her friend Sabrina’s parents sleep in the same bed, and they’re ‘mum and dad,’ and she… she wants that too.”

Ivy presses a hand to her mouth, her whole body trembling.

I step closer, my hands resting lightly on her arms. “She didn’t ask you herself because she said she has ‘nervous bugs’ in her tummy.” I smile a little. “So she asked me to do it for her.”

Ivy laughs—a watery, shaky sound—before a choked sob escapes her.

And then the tears come.

She covers her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking, and I barely have a second to react before she’s launching herself at me, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck, pressing her damp face against my chest.

I hold her, my arms locking around her as she buries herself in me, whispering, “Her mum.”