“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 anoverstayed her welcomeway, but in acomfortably settled inway. 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 theClosedsign, 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.”
