Page 41 of Charming Crosschecks

“I can’t just get on some plane!” she interrupted, her words rushing out like a flood. Her hands gestured helplessly. “I mean, I’d need to pack… I don’t even have my toothbrush or?—”

“Handled,” Gerry interrupted, his grin so smug it bordered on boyish mischief.

Molly blinked at him, floundering. “I need to stop the mail, water my plants, let the neighbors know—I mean—wait. How long are we going to be gone? Where are we even going?”

“You’re getting on a plane with me,” Gerry said gently, his tone low and calming. “And trusting me to take care of everything else.”

She stared at him, processing his words. Could she do that? Just… let go and trust? He’d thought of everything and anticipated every excuse she might throw at him. Her heart thudded in her chest, a mix of nerves and thrill. And then Gerry slipped out of the car, walking around to her side before she could form a coherent objection. When he opened her door, his expression was so earnest, so filled with a quiet kind of nervous hope, that it stopped her breath.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she murmured, the wonder in her voice making Gerry’s grin soften.

“You know,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her gently to her feet, “surprising you might just be my favorite thing on the planet.”

Molly laughed, her voice light and free. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and kissed him, her hands resting on his chest. “Okay,secondfavorite,” he teased when they pulled apart, his smile lighting up his entire face.

Still holding her hand, he reached into the backseat and grabbed a bag she hadn’t even noticed was there. “Come on,” he said, tugging her gently toward the sleek, white jet waiting just a few yards away, its engines humming softly.

Her steps faltered. “Does coach know you’re using the plane?”

“Yup. Can you believe the man charged me for fuel?”

“I think he has to?—”

“I’m kidding,” Gerry said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s the owner’s jet, and I had to get special permission.”

“Specialpermission for what, exactly?” she pressed, her gaze darting to the pilot standing at the base of the jet’s staircase, waiting for them.

“You’ll find out,” he said, his tone maddeningly cryptic. “Ladies first.” He gestured toward the stairs.

Molly hesitated, her nerves bubbling up again, but the way Gerry looked at her—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—pushed her forward. Climbing aboard, she stepped into a cabin of understated luxury: plush leather seats, gleaming wood accents, and the faint scent of leather and something citrusy. She settled into one of the chairs, and Gerry took the seat directly opposite, close enough that their knees brushed.

“Go ahead and buckle up,” he said, leaning back with an easy confidence that only made her more curious. “It’s just us on this flight.”

The pilot appeared in the cabin doorway, nodding at them. “Are we ready, Mr. Thierry?”

“Ready,” Gerry confirmed.

“Welcome aboard, Molly,” the pilot added with a warm smile. “We’ll be airborne in five minutes.”

She barely registered the words, her mind spinning. Where could they be going? Home to visit one of their families? Some spur-of-the-moment vacation? Before she could ask, Gerry reached into a side compartment and pulled out two crystal glasses and a tiny bottle of champagne.

“You think you’re so charming,” she said, narrowing her eyes but unable to suppress her smile.

“It’s a good thing you like flying,” he countered, pouring the bubbly and handing her a glass.

“True,” she admitted, taking a sip. “But now that you’ve got a captive audience, do you want to tell me where we’re going?”

“Maybe we should make it a game,” he suggested, his grin impish.

“Or,” she countered, leaning forward, “you could just tell me.”

Gerry chuckled but stayed maddeningly silent, his sly smiles doing nothing to ease her curiosity. As the plane lifted off, the hum of the engines filled the cabin, and he finally spoke. “We’re stopping in Denver for fuel.”

Her heart stuttered.

“Denver?” she asked, her voice soft. Denver was home—or it had been. Her mother still lived there, and the thought of seeing her filled Molly with a bittersweet ache. “Gerry, are we?—”

“Picking up your mother,” he finished, his smile gentle. “Yes. Before we head to Vancouver.”

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