Page 43 of Charming Crosschecks

Her mother wrapped her arms around her tightly, the kind of hug that felt like home, grounding her in a way nothing else could. Molly laughed through her tears, and her mom chuckled, too, their mutual joy bubbling over into soft, hiccupping giggles. They clung to each other as though letting go might shatter the moment. Finally, her mom pulled back just enough to look her daughter in the eyes, brushing a tear off Molly’s cheek with her thumb.

But then her mom’s attention shifted, and she cleared her throat, her gaze settling on the tall, blond man standing quietly nearby. Molly straightened, dabbing at her cheeks as a rush of nerves set in. She knew this moment was coming, the introduction she’d been both excited about and slightly terrified of.

“Mom, this is my boyfriend, Gerry,” Molly said, stepping to the side to give her mom a full view of the man who had quietly become her world. Her voice softened as she added with a smile, “Gerry, this is my mom, Sandy, but I guess you kinda already know that.”

“It’s a joy to finally meet you in person, Sandy,” Gerry said warmly, offering his hand to shake, his usual charm tempered by an unmistakable sincerity.

But Sandywasn’t having it. With an amused grin, she ignored his outstretched hand and pulled him into a big, affectionate hug, catching Molly in the embrace, too.

“We hug in this family, Blondie,” Sandy teased, her voice tinged with playful mischief as she squeezed them both tightly. The three of them laughed, the kind of laughter that came easily when hearts were light and full of love.

“Guess I’ll have to add that to my roster of nicknames,” Gerry replied, his grin stretching wide as he caught Molly’s gaze. Her heart gave a little flutter at the way his eyes sparkled, and she smiled back, warmth blooming in her chest.

They settled into their seats once more, the laughter and love from the reunion still lingering in the air. Molly glanced at Gerry as the plane’s engines roared to life, preparing for the next leg of their journey to Vancouver. A nervous excitement coursed through her. Soon, she would be meeting his mother, a thought that filled her with equal parts curiosity and apprehension.

She remembered the stories Gerry had shared—how his mom had called him ‘plump’as a kid, a comment that had left lasting wounds despite the healing they’d managed in recent years. Molly hoped she’d see the sweet side of Gerry’s mother, the side he rarely spoke of but that she knew must exist.

For now, though, she pushed the thought aside and allowed herself to savor this moment. As the plane lifted into the sky, Molly reached over, lacing her fingers with Gerry’s. Together, they leaned back, their hearts full, ready to face whatever came next.

“Seriously?”

Molly blinked as Gerry pulled the rental car into the long, winding driveway. The cityscape had faded into manicured hedges, sprawling lawns, and old-growth trees shading a palatial estate. The house—no, mansion—that loomed ahead looked like it had stepped out of a high-budget period drama, complete with ivy crawling up its stone facade and arched windows gleaming in the late afternoon light. Molly’s breath hitched, her chest tightening with the weight of how completely out of place she felt.

She’d spent the flight trying not to overthink meeting his mother, but this? This was a curveball she hadn’t seen coming.

Gerry parked with practiced ease, popped the trunk, and began unloading their bags as though this was nothing out of the ordinary. He moved with an air of familiarity, navigating the streets with confidence and now the grounds of this estate as if it were just another Tuesday. Meanwhile, Molly stood frozen, clutching the strap of her carry-on, wearing leggings and a Coyotes shirt she’d grabbed in a rush before work earlier.

“Your mom is loaded?” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. The enormity of the house—and what it represented—made her feel like an intruder in her own skin.

“What?” Gerry asked, glancing at her as he hefted the last of their luggage from the trunk.

“She’sloaded,” Molly repeated, gesturing faintly toward the house, her face hot with embarrassment. “If I’d known this was what I was walking into, I’d have worn something nice. Or at leasttriedto look like I fit in.”

“Molly, youdofit in,” he said firmly, giving her a quick but reassuring smile.

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Gerry, we arebothstanding here in rags compared to this palatial place. I look like I just left the gym. You could have warned me.”

He straightened, brushing a hand over her arm as if his touch alone could ease her unease. “Youlook beautiful. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

“No,” she insisted, her voice a mix of panic and humor as she leaned closer to him. “Thehouseis beautiful.Ilook like I got lost on the way to a pick-up game. Be honest—do I have time to find a fairy godmother?”

Gerry’s laugh broke through the tension, warm and genuine. “You’ll be fine,” he said again, but this time, she caught a flicker of something beneath his easy smile—a nervousness he rarely let show.

As he led the way up the wide stone steps, the emptiness of the entry struck her. No one was waiting. No cheerful hellos or warm greetings. Not even the sound of hurried footsteps. It was odd.If this were my family,she thought,Mom would have been flying out the door to hug me by now.

“You grew up here?” she asked, more out of an urge to break the silence than genuine curiosity.

“Not exactly,” Gerry replied. “We moved here when I was seventeen.”

She had nothing. No words, no quick retort to ease the tension curling in her chest. Nothing was going to change her appearance unless the Blue Fairy fromPinocchiomagically appeared with a wand—or, even better, the fairy godmother fromCinderella. But no fairy tale miracles were coming. She was just Molly, walking up the stately stone steps of the house, her mother at her side. The grandeur of the home was almost intimidating, its towering columns and elegant façade exuding an air of old-world opulence.

She glanced at her mom, and they exchanged a look—one part nervousness, one part curiosity. Gerry paused, lifting his hand to knock on the massive wooden door. He knocked on hisownfamily home’s door? That struck her as odd, but before she could dwell on it, the door creaked open.

A man stood there, tall and poised, with the practiced neutrality of someone accustomed to formalities. Molly hesitated, her thoughts snagging.This isn’t Gerry’s dad, right? Gerry never talks about his father. Maybe it’s a stepfather… or someone else entirely.

“Hey, Peter,” Gerry said smoothly, his tone relaxed but his shoulders slightly tense. “These are my guests. Could you let my mother know we’ve arrived? I’ll take them to the library.”

The man, Peter, inclined his head in a dignified nod. “Will you be needing a tray, sir?”

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