She nods enthusiastically. “Yes. You’re coming.”
It’s not a question.
“Am I,” I say.
“Yes,” she says. “Everyone is.”
I glance at Theo. He gives me a look that sayshelp me.
Lucy points at a chocolate monstrosity covered in sprinkles. “This one is very pretty.”
“It certainly is,” I agree. “Very committed to the occasion.”
She turns back to me suddenly. “Can you come to my party?”
“Of course I can, Lu,” I say.
She beams, then immediately narrows her eyes, businesslike again. “And will you get me a pony?”
Theo chokes. Ivy snorts.
“A pony,” I repeat.
“Yes,” Lucy says patiently. “A small one. For my birthday.”
Theo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ladybug—”
“It doesn’t have to live inside,” Lucy adds, magnanimous.
I crouch slightly to her level. “That’s very thoughtful. But ponies are… quite a big present.”
She considers this. “Okay.”
Theo relaxes.
“Maybe a unicorn,” she says.
Theo groans again.
I grin. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Lucy nods, satisfied, and releases my hand like the matter is settled.
I straighten up, meeting Theo’s gaze. “You’ve got time to prepare.”
He grimaces, then follows Lucy to the cake vitrine where she’s already pressing her nose to the glass. What follows is a very serious discussion about why cake is not a sensible afternoon snack choice, why her birthday is still a few weeks away, and why icing counts as excitement rather than nutrition. Lucy listens with the patience of someone humouring a much less informed adult.
I retreat to the bar and hop back onto my stool. The café buzzes on around us, orders being called, cups clinking, Theo still negotiating with Lu if having cake now is a good idea.
Ivy slides onto the stool beside me like she’s always been there. She gives me a sideways look and pats my arm like she is trying to soothe me.
“You okay?” she asks, low enough that only I can hear.
I nod automatically, then hesitate. She waits because she knows me well enough by now to sense there is more that I am not saying. We Corbins are an open book when it comes to our emotions usually, even if we like to think we are good in hiding them.
“I was wondering,” I say, keeping my eyes on the counter. “That therapist you used to see. The one who helped you through… everything.”
Her mouth twitches. “Pee-Pee.”
