Page 6 of The Dating Ban (Mind the Corbin Brothers #1)

Attack of the Ladybug

Theo

I am never doing table service again.

It seemed like a great idea at first—authentic Viennese coffeehouse experience, all that nonsense—but now, as I sprint between the counter and the floor, I can confidently say it was the worst business decision I have ever made.

Even with two waiters handling most of the tables and Klaus, my Austrian pastry chef, making sure the vitrine is constantly stocked with fresh Apfelstrudel and Sachertorte , I am completely rushed off my feet.

And to make matters worse, I have a tiny wildcard running loose.

“Daddy!”

I barely have time to register the small blur of movement before my daughter, Lucy, flings herself behind the counter again.

I let out a groan. “Ladybug, we talked about this.”

She grins up at me, completely unbothered. “I’m bored. ”

Of course, she is. I had tried so hard to keep her entertained—set her up at a table near the counter with colouring books, snacks, even my phone—but five-year-olds don’t do patience. Especially my five-year-old.

“Lu, I need you to sit at your table like a big girl,” I say, gently guiding her back toward her designated spot.

“But I wanna help!” she insists, puffing out her tiny chest like she’s about to start taking Melange orders.

I take a deep breath, keeping my voice calm despite the ever-growing pile of tickets on the counter. “Lucy, it’s too busy, and I need you to stay at your table.”

“But I can help!” she argues, hands on her hips now. “I can carry things. I can bring people spoons!”

I glance over at Klaus, who is very pointedly pretending not to hear any of this as he arranges the pastry display with military precision. The two waiters are whizzing between tables, and meanwhile, I’m stuck in a stand-off with a 3 ft 4 in homunculus who thinks she’s ready to run front-of-house.

Before I can come up with a response, someone clears their throat at the counter.

“Hi, excuse me?”

I turn—and of course, it’s her.

Ivy.

The woman who’s name I learned from her Instagram account when she tagged my café.

The woman who then mocked my social media skills on Instagram while still managing to make my coffee sound like a religious experience.

The woman who, apparently, has now decided to show up looking like she rolled straight out of a nap but still somehow makes it work.

And Lucy, of course, immediately takes an interest .

She looks from Ivy to me, then back again. “You have a stain on your sleeve.”

Ivy chokes on absolutely nothing, her cheeks turning pink. “Oh.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Lucy!”

“What?” she says innocently. “You were very angry when I didn’t tell you that you had ice cream on your shirt at nanna’s birthday party.”

I glance at Ivy, expecting her to look horrified or awkward, but instead, she presses her lips together, actively trying not to laugh.

“But we don’t tell strangers that,” I exhale sharply. “Ignore her,” I suggest to Ivy.

“No, no, she is right,” she says, giving Lucy a wink. “Thank you for pointing it out. I’ll pop it in the wash when I get home.”

Lucy beams.

I glare. “You’re not helping.”

Ivy just grins.

And just like that, my day somehow gets even more chaotic.

“Ladybug, I need to take care of this customer .”

Lucy lets out a dramatic huff. “Fine. I’ll go sit.”

She stomps back to her table, flinging herself into the chair like I’ve just ruined her life plans. She starts stabbing her colouring book with a crayon, making it very clear to everyone that she is deeply unimpressed.

I rub my temples, already exhausted, and turn back to Ivy, who is watching the entire interaction like it’s the most entertaining thing she’s seen all day.

“Sorry about her,” I say, trying to regain some level of professionalism. “What can I get you? ”

She taps her chin thoughtfully, eyes twinkling. “Well, what would you recommend for someone who is clearly a mess,” she holds up the arm covered in the stained sleeve, “… and who doesn’t fancy coffee today?”

I consider for a moment before offering, “A Wiener Hei?e Schokolade —that’s a Viennese hot chocolate—and maybe a Zauner Kipferl ?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Okay, the hot chocolate sounds delicious, but the other thing?”

“It’s like an almond croissant but better.”

She hums, clearly weighing her options. “You had me at ‘better’. I’ll take both.”

“Good choice,” I say. She doesn’t reply but instead moves to the table right next to Lucy’s and sits down.

Lucy, still sulking, peeks up from her furious colouring, eyeing Ivy with open curiosity.

Ivy just leans back in her chair, completely at ease. “Nice table you’ve got here,” she says to Lucy.

My ladybug shrugs dramatically, the way only a five-year-old can.

Ivy smirks. “Not much of a talker, huh?”

Another shrug.

I roll my eyes as I return my attention to preparing her order. A few minutes later, I set the hot chocolate and the Zauner Kipferl in front of her.

She eyes them approvingly. “This looks amazing.” Then, without missing a beat, she grins up at me. “I’m surprised your boss lets you bring your kid to work.”

Lucy’s head snaps up. “Daddy is the boss,” she corrects, as if Ivy has just insulted our entire family line.

Ivy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—you own this place? ”

I nod, slightly amused at how surprised she looks. “Yeah. It’s my café.”

Her lips curve in amusement. “And here I thought you were just a very committed barista.”

“I am a very committed barista,” I say dryly. “But also the owner.”

Ivy gives a slow, thoughtful nod. “Well, that explains why you’re running around like a lunatic.”

I sigh, looking at the counter where Pavel is preparing an order. “It’s been one of those days.”

Lucy, having apparently forgiven me for whatever great crime I committed earlier, grins at me. “Agatha is sick.”

I rub my face. “Agatha has the chickenpox, Lucy. Not just sick.”

She waves a hand, unconcerned by the details.

“Agatha is the childminder,” I add for Ivy’s benefit.

She glances between me and Lu, then tilts her head. “Do you want me to sit with her for a bit?”

“What?”

She shrugs. “You look like you’re drowning, and she seems like she’s about two minutes away from staging a coup.”

I exhale a small laugh, glancing at Lucy, who—judging by the way she’s tapping her crayon like a gavel—definitely looks like she’s planning something.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I say, though I would be lying if I said the idea wasn’t tempting.

Ivy just leans back, sipping her hot chocolate. “I know I don’t have to. I’m offering.”

I frown slightly. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

She shakes her head, setting her cup down. “Nope. Just a lonely Saturday. ”

Something in the way she says it makes me pause.

But before I can think too much about it, Lucy has already made the decision for both of us.

“Okay!” she chirps, scooting her chair closer to Ivy’s, completely abandoning her grudge from earlier. “You can colour with me.”

Ivy smirks, grabbing a crayon. “I would be honoured.”

“What’s your name? I’m Lucy and this is Daddy,” Lu introduces us.

“Theo,” I correct her and hold out my hand to Ivy.

“It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Ivy,” she grins and shakes my hand before shaking Lucy’s who is mirroring me.

“I like the name Ivy,” Lu giggles.

I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips.

Well. That was unexpected.

By the time the café closes at five, I am exhausted.

It’s been a full-on day—constant orders, endless running around, and trying to keep my little whirlwind entertained while simultaneously making sure she doesn’t overthrow my entire business.

But somehow, Ivy is still here.

Not in an overstayed her welcome way, but in a comfortably settled in way. She’s been sitting with Lucy for the past hour, helping her colour, listening intently to whatever my daughter has decided to ramble about, and generally making my life a lot easier .

After I lock the front door and flip the Closed sign, I grab three plates from the counter and bring them over to their table.

“Alright,” I say, setting them down. “German sausages and chips, fresh from the kitchen.”

Ivy eyes the food approvingly. “Is this part of the authentic Viennese experience?”

I smirk. “Not exactly. But Klaus had extra, and I figured you earned it after your babysitting shift.”

Lucy, completely ignoring any adult conversation, is already reaching for a chip.

Ivy picks up a fork and gestures toward me. “So, since I’m being paid in food, I think I deserve to know—why a Viennese coffeehouse?”

I exhale, leaning back in my chair. “My grandfather, Franz, was Austrian. He moved to England in the ‘60s, married my grandmother, and never looked back. He loved it here, but the one thing he always missed was the coffee culture from back home.”

Ivy studies me. “What’s so different about it?”

“It’s slower,” I explain. “Less about grabbing a quick caffeine fix, more about sitting down, enjoying the moment, actually taking a break. You can sit in a Viennese café for hours and no one rushes you out. My grandfather loved that.”

She hums thoughtfully, chewing on a chip. “And you decided to bring that to Shoreditch?”

I give a small shrug. “I wanted to do something different. Something that mattered to me.”

She studies me for a second, then asks, “What were you doing before this?”

I hesitate for a beat before answering. “I was a lawyer. ”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You were a lawyer?”

“Yep.” I stab a piece of sausage with my fork. “Corporate law. Contracts, negotiations, all that exciting stuff.”

Ivy gives me a long, sceptical look. “No offence, but you don’t look like a lawyer.”

I smirk. “What does a lawyer look like?”

She waves a hand at me. “I don’t know. Smoother. More sleeze, less... scruffy, rugged coffeehouse owner energy.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, well, I gave it up.”

Her expression shifts slightly—less teasing, more curious. “Why?”

I glance at Lucy, who is now happily dipping a chip into her ketchup, completely oblivious to the conversation.

I sigh. “Four years ago, her mum walked out on us. Just… left. No warning, no big dramatic fight, just—gone.”

Ivy stills, her smile fading. “Oh.”

“I tried to do both for a couple of years—be a single dad and keep up with my job. But I burned out. Badly.” I let out a short breath, shaking my head at the memory. “So I quit. Took a year off to just be with Lucy. I needed to figure out what I actually wanted.”

She’s quiet for a moment, watching me carefully. “And that’s when you started planning this place?”

“Yeah.” I glance around the café, feeling the familiar mix of pride and exhaustion that comes with it. “It wasn’t easy, but I wanted to build something that made sense for our life. Something stable. Something that is ours.”

Ivy smiles softly, her eyes warm. “That’s… really lovely, actually.”

I shrug, trying to downplay it. “It’s something.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but before she can, Lucy suddenly pipes up .

“Daddy, can I have more ketchup, please?”

The moment breaks.

I chuckle, grabbing the bottle from the table. “Yeah, Ladybug, you can have more ketchup.”

As I squirt some on her plate, I catch Ivy watching me again, but this time with something different in her expression—something I can’t quite place.

I suddenly realise how easy it’s been, sitting here, talking to her despite me barely knowing her.

And I don’t know why that unnerves me so much.