Ivy just grins.
And just like that, my day somehow gets even more chaotic.
“Ladybug, I need to take care of thiscustomer.”
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, “AWiener Heiße Schokolade—that’s a Viennese hot chocolate—and maybe aZauner 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 theZauner Kipferlin 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.
