Page 27 of Charming Crosschecks

“You sure don’t show it,” she retorted, the bitterness in her tone louder than the hurt. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, the action almost protective, as if warding off the vulnerability that came with his words.

“I know – and I’m sorry,” he said contritely, the apology unexpected, and for a moment, it disarmed her. This wasn’t the reaction she’d anticipated. She had expected more defensiveness, maybe an argument. She’d braced herself for him to push back, to deny it, to get even angrier. But this? This was different. He wasn’t fighting. He was admitting fault, admitting that he’d messed up.

“You’re right,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with remorse. He shifted slightly, looking down, his hands now at his sides as though he didn’t know where to put them. “I’ve treated you terribly, made you feel unwelcome, and I wanted all of that to change... but it fell apart today, and I hate that. I ruined it. After the best evening I’ve had in forever.”

She stood there, frozen, unable to speak. His words, so simple, so full of regret, weighed heavily on her. She wanted to respond, to tell him how much it had hurt, how much it still hurt, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She just stood there, feeling the air between them grow thick with emotion.

“Last night was incredible,” he continued, his voice breaking the silence, softer this time, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “I laughed, I smiled, and I had such a wonderful evening just talking with you like we were friends. I want that. I want us to be more than friends, but I know I have a long way to go to earn your trust. But please, Molly, don’t shut me out. Not now.”

Her chest ached as she listened to him, torn between wanting to believe him and wanting to protect herself. He had said all the right things, but could she trust him? Could she let herself believe that he was sincere, that this time would be different?

“You don’t degrade, mock, or be mean to people you want to be friends with,” she said thickly, her voice hoarse with emotion. She shifted her stance, trying to create some distance, some barrier between them. “I don’t need friends like that.”

“I wouldn’t want that either,” Gerry agreed quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. He wasn’t looking away, wasn’t backing down, and she wasn’t sure whether that was comforting or terrifying. “Your note meant the world to me this morning. And I liked us texting each other—please don’t shut me out. I know I’m not perfect, but I want to make this right. I want to show you who I really am.Please let me do that.”

“I saw it this morning,” she said bitterly, the words laced with more hurt than she wanted to admit, and she saw him flinch.

“You did,” he said softly, his hand reaching for hers. He tugged at her fingers gently, trying to pull her hand from her crossed arms, trying to bridge the gap between them, and she reluctantly allowed him to take it. “But if you had stayed, you would have heard the rest of it.”

“Dang it…” Molly muttered, trying not to let her curiosity show but failing miserably. “And what was that?” she said loftily, her attempt at indifference not fooling anyone, least of all herself.

She could feel her resolve cracking, her walls starting to crumble under the weight of his words, but she fought it. She wouldn’t give in so easily. Not yet.

“I told them we needed to be better,” Gerry said, his voice gentle now, almost pleading, as his hand remained wrapped around hers, pulling her closer. “We need to treat people better. I told them that calling someone names or worse wasn’t the person I wanted to be.”

Her throat tightened at his words, the raw honesty of them sinking in. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it almost impossible to speak. She wanted to believe him. So badly. But the trust between them had been so fragile, and he had shattered it so quickly. She felt the weight of it in her chest, the pain of being let down by someone she had started to care about, and it made her hesitate.

“Molly?” he said softly, waiting, giving her space to process.

“You hurt me,” she breathed, her voice small and quiet, finally looking at him before quickly looking away. She hated the vulnerability in her voice, hated thathe could see how much he had affected her. “I don’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” he said, his voice low but sincere. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, a silent plea for understanding.

“How can I trust that you won’t go back to your buddies and start trash-talking me again?” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice trembled slightly, and she felt foolish; like she was asking for something she didn’t think he could give. “I get it. They’re your friends. You all beat on your chests around each other, but...”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. He stepped closer still, gently pulling her from the office, away from the tension, away from the walls they had built between them. “No. I don’t do that. Not anymore.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rising in protest as he pulled her through the building, tugging her toward the breakroom. “Gerry…”

“I’m doing something that I should’ve done before,” he said, his voice low and determined.

“Gerry…” she hesitated again, her heart racing, as he dragged her through the door. The surprise on her face was mirrored by the five sets of eyes that turned toward them, frozen in the act of shoveling donuts and snacks into their mouths. They looked like guilty children, caught red-handed, and for a moment, she almost felt sorry for them.

“The donuts are—” Gerry began, but then stopped, looking bewildered. Molly almost felt bad for him, realizing he had no idea about the stash they had hidden. “Guys, I need to clear the air.”

“Gerry,” Molly protested again, pulling her hand free, but he wasn’t letting go.

“I don’t want to hear Molly referred to as Beetlejuice again,” he said, his voice firm, cutting through the room. “It’s cruel. Things are different now. I’m notusing her to get out of hard work, and I won’t let anyone else do it, either. She has a job to do, and so do we. Her job shouldn’t conflict with ours.”

He paused, glancing at Molly’s surprised face, before continuing, his voice soft but steady. “Work is work. Home is home. And Molly is my girlfriend. So please, keep the teasing to a minimum. She’s important to me.”

There it was.

Gerry’s words hung in the air, bold and unwavering, like a line drawn in the sand, daring anyone to cross it. The room went quiet, the weight of his declaration settling over everyone present. He wasn’t just speaking to his friends, not just protecting her in a casual, off-hand way—this was more. He was laying down the law with an intensity that she hadn’t expected. A quiet confidence that spoke volumes about his feelings. This wasn’t just about stopping the teasing. It was about them—his relationship with her—and making sure the people who mattered to him knew it, understood it, respected it. He was making it clear, not only to his friends but to himself, that this was real. That she was real. That what they had said had mattered. He was willing to stand up for it, even if it meant confronting the playful jabs and teasing of his closest friends.

Her heart fluttered at the raw sincerity in his voice, at the strength in his eyes as he said it—without hesitation, without shame. He didn’t ask for permission. He wasn’t apologizing. He was simply stating a fact. And that made her feel something deep in her chest, something warm and sweet and deeply reassuring. He wasn’t going to let anyone disrespect her or their relationship. He was drawing a line and daring anyone to cross it.

Despite the hurt she still carried from everything that had happened—the whispered doubts, the unanswered questions, the lingering resentment—there was a shift inside her. His words struck a chord she hadn’t known was there. She saw it in the way the team reacted.

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