Page 22 of Charming Crosschecks

“Or now,” he breathed, leaning back toward her – only to have one of the waiters walk in with Vinny interrupting the moment. Regretfully, Molly smoothly moved herself away from Gerry and hesitated. She leaned in quickly and snapped a quick photo of the two of them before handing him the phone and moving to take her seat.

“Ahhh, so sweet, eh?” Vinny said theatrically. “Such a beautiful evening forl’amour…”

“I thought you were Italian,” Molly chuckled – and Vinny winked at her, before leaning down to Gerry.

“I like this girl. She’s a smart one, eh?” Vinny grinned. “I grew up in the Bronx, and I’m whatever suits the mood. You want Italian, you get Italian here. My wife is Mexican, and we speak Spanish at home. You two are all cozy together, so you get a bit of French – and on that note, do me a favor, Gerry. You tell Batiste that my accent is better than his.”

“I’m not saying that,” Gerry laughed.

“I will,” Molly grinned, realizing that they were playing around and easy with each other behind the scenes of the restaurant. “You’re okay, Vinny,” she began and winked. “For a New Yorker.”

“Shhh!” he hissed, chuckling and glancing at Gerry. “She’s a feisty little thing, isn’t she.”

“She’s truly a wonder.”

For Molly, the evening felt like stepping into another world, one where indulgence wasn’t just allowed but celebrated. She had never eaten so much food in her life—each bite was a revelation. The flavors were decadent, every dish more exquisite than the last. The coffee? Heavenly, warming her from the inside out. And the desserts?

Sublime.

She and Gerry shared a generous square of tiramisu, its creamy layers melting on her tongue, followed by a cannoli, its crisp shell filled with sweet ricotta and crowned with pistachios. The conversation flowed as freely as the laughter between them. No talk of calories or workouts. No mention of hockey or the grind of the season. Instead, they wandered into the world of television shows, movies, and books. She was astonished to learn he was a devoted fan of Isaac Asimov’s futuristic visions and Louis L’Amour’s rugged tales of the frontier.

By the time the evening drew to a close, Molly wasn’t sure where the hours had gone. They were deep into a spirited debate about the merits of pop music when they pulled into the employee parking garage where her car was parked.

As Gerry navigated to the third floor, she caught the sound of his nervous laugh before he slowed to a stop. Her Nissan Sentra wasn’t just parked—it was decorated.

Balloons bobbed on the door handle, their strings tugging gently in the cool breeze. Across the windshield and side windows, shoe polish scrawled hearts, X’s, and O’s in bold loops. On the rear glass, a cheeky message read:

KISS HER!

Molly blinked, staring in disbelief at the handiwork. It was so over-the-top, so unmistakably the team’s style.

“I’m gonna maim them,” Gerry muttered, though the chuckle in his voice betrayed the absence of any real menace.

Still smiling, he parked beside her car and turned toward her, the warm light of the dashboard casting soft shadows on his face. His eyes lingered on hers, something tender and unspoken flickering in his gaze.

“And I think I’m going to take their advice,” he whispered.

His hand reached out, brushing a strand of her hair back from her face with a gentleness that sent her heart skittering. He was sweet, open, and so refreshingly sincere. But somewhere deep in her chest, a quiet warning surfaced—a memory of the temper she’d seen in him before. A small part of her hesitated.

“You are?” she whispered, already leaning closer despite herself.

Gerry didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that felt like it belonged to another universe—one where everything slowed down, and all that mattered was this moment. His lips were warm, firm, and utterly consuming. He kissed her with a mix of intensity and care; like he was savoring every second, every sensation.

This wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a declaration, a promise wrapped in the softness of his touch. Molly’s pulse thundered in her ears as she felt herself melting under his spell. Yet the kiss deepened, his lips coaxing hers to follow, and a spark of panic ignited somewhere in her chest.

She pulled back, her breath mingling with his as she glanced at him. His lips glistened faintlywith her lip gloss, a telltale sign of their shared moment.

“I should go,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “See you tomorrow at work?”

“I’ll be there,” he promised, his voice steady and sure.

With a small nod, she slipped out of the SUV, her hands trembling as she unlocked her car. The note tucked under the windshield wiper caught her attention, and she yanked it free before sinking into the driver’s seat. Her breath hitched as she unfolded the paper.

It wasn’t a love note.

It was a release form.

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