Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
MOLLY
“We’re what?” Molly asked, her voice tinged with disbelief as they pulled up to the chain-link fence enclosing a private airstrip. The car’s engine idled softly, but her mind was racing. She turned toward Gerry, her wide eyes searching his face for answers, her emotions a cocktail of confusion, shock, and incredulous delight.
Their dates had always been a comfortable rhythm—dinners at cozy little spots, quiet nights on the couch, and laughter shared over old sitcoms. It was simple, effortless, and perfect. Work and home had clear boundaries. This? This was something entirely different.
“We’re hopping on a plane and…” Gerry started, his voice steady but laced with excitement.
“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, second favorite,” 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.”
“Special permission 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 w e 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.”
“For?” Her voice wavered, a mix of suspicion and excitement.
“We’re spending the weekend with my mother,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I want her to meet you, and I want to meet your mother.”
Her breath caught. “You… planned all this? For us?”
“For you,” he said, reaching across the space between them to take her hand. “And because I’m crazy about you, Molly.”
Her heart melted at the sincerity in his voice, the deep timbre resonating in a way that made her soul feel seen and cherished. She squeezed his hand, holding onto him like a lifeline as her earlier nerves unraveled into something warmer, softer—something certain.
“This is crazy,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, almost as if speaking louder might shatter the delicate moment they were sharing.
“Crazy in love,” Gerry corrected softly, his lips curving into a tender smile. The words settled between them like a whispered promise, their weight immeasurab le. His green eyes held hers, so full of love, warmth, and unwavering affection that it took her breath away. How could someone look at her like that, like she was the very center of their universe? The intensity in his gaze was staggering, making her heart race in a way she never thought possible.
She never imagined that they would end up here, together, like this. Not after the rocky start they’d had, where every interaction felt like a battle of wills, a clash of personalities. They had gone from enemies to best friends, and now… now this. Whatever this was, it felt monumental, as if the stars had realigned just for them.
He made her laugh like no one else could, made her feel special in ways she hadn’t even known she needed, and filled her heart with a fierce, burning love. His stubborn streak, his goofy antics, the way he went out of his way to make her smile—it was all so quintessentially Gerry, and she adored every piece of him.
Before she could gather her thoughts or find the words to match the depth of what she was feeling, he tipped his glass against hers, the delicate chime of crystal ringing softly through the air. It was such a simple sound, yet it seemed to echo with a world of meaning.
“To us,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “To getting to know our pasts a little better, enjoying the present, and deciding on a future… together.”
Her breath hitched, and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision so she could focus on him—this beautiful, flawed, wonderful man who had just laid his heart bare without actually saying the words I love you. But she heard them. Oh, she heard them loud and clear in every syllable he spoke, in every ounce of care he poured into this moment.
“That’s so beautiful,” she managed to say, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. “And I’m so lucky to be a part of your world.”
“I’m thinking that I’m the lucky one, sweetheart,” he replied, his expression softening in a way that made her want to fall into his arms and never leave.
“To us… and decisions made together,” she echoed, lifting her glass again to sip the tart champagne. The bubbles tickled her tongue, a fizzy burst of joy that almost mirrored the way her heart was fluttering uncontrollably in her chest. She couldn’t believe he’d gone to such lengths to arrange all of this—this intimate, perfect celebration of them .
Then, a single thought struck her like a bolt of lightning.
Oh my gosh, is he gonna pop the question?
The notion sent a jolt of panic and excitement surging through her, so much so that she nearly choked as the champagne went down the wrong pipe. She coughed violently, her eyes watering as she tried to catch her breath, one hand flying to her chest while the other gripped the table.
“Are you okay?” Gerry’s voice was sharp with concern as he leaned closer, his brow furrowing in worry.
“Wrong pipe,” she croaked out, her face flushing as she glanced at him—and then down, scanning him quickly for any telltale bulge of a ring box in his pocket. Her mind raced. Was this it? Meeting his mother was awfully sweet and exciting, but she had always envisioned a proposal as something grand, something straight out of a fairytale. Not that she needed the pomp and circumstance, but still… this felt so casual . What if he proposed and things changed? What if they went back to being at odds like they had been in the beginning? Could she risk it? Did she even want that risk?
“What are you thinking?” Gerry’s soft voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “You look lost in thought—and you’re frowning awfully hard over there.”
“The cha mpagne,” she blurted out, her voice a little too loud. “It’s tickling my nose.”
He tilted his head, studying her with a mix of amusement and concern. “I thought it might help you relax so we could celebrate. Do you want something else?”
“Oh no, it’s fine! I mean, whee! Look at us celebrating!” she said, her voice taking on an exaggeratedly cheerful tone that even she cringed at. She hesitated, her heart pounding. “Are we… celebrating? And if so, what exactly?”
“Can’t we just celebrate… us ?” he asked, his tone gentle but pointed.
Her pulse skyrocketed. Oh gosh, he is gonna freakin’ propose!
“Sure! Celebration mode activated,” she chirped, forcing a bright smile as she took another sip of champagne, her eyes darting anywhere but at him. Inside, though, she was a swirling mess of nerves, excitement, and a touch of panic. Whatever happened next, she wasn’t sure she’d survive it without combusting.
A s the plane touched down in Denver, Molly felt her heart leap into her throat. The moment the jet came to a stop, and the door opened, she was out of her seat in a flash, her hands trembling with anticipation. Outside, the winter sun glinted off the runway, but all Molly could focus on was the silhouette of her mother standing just beyond the door of the private plane. Her mother, her rock, her anchor, was here. The moment she had been longing for was finally unfolding.
Molly's chest tightened as her gaze met her mom’s warm smile, a beacon of love and comfort she hadn’t realized she’d been craving so desperately. She hadn’t been home in what felt like forever and hadn’t shared a quiet laugh or a heartfelt chat with her mother in months. It just wa sn’t the same as the conversations they’d had over the phone. The overdue embrace was so near she could almost feel it. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat, her voice barely steady as she whispered, “Mama.”
“Mama,” she said again, louder this time, her voice trembling as she all but ran across the small cabin, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. The moment she reached her mother, she nearly collapsed into her arms, the overwhelming wave of emotion breaking through her like a dam bursting. The scent of her mom’s familiar perfume hit her, a soothing balm for her soul.
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 Sandy wasn’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.
“ S eriously?”
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’s loaded, ” 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 least tried to look like I fit in.”
“Molly, you do fit in,” he said firmly, giving her a quick but reassuring smile.
She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Gerry, we are both standing 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. “You look beautiful. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
“No,” she insisted, her voice a mix of panic and humor as she leaned closer to him. “The house is beautiful. I look 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 from Pinocchio magically appeared with a wand—or, even better, the fairy godmother from Cinderella . 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 facade 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 his own family 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 formal ities. 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?”
Gerry turned toward Molly, his voice almost casual. “Do you want some hot tea?”
The question was so normal, so at odds with the grandeur surrounding them, that she felt momentarily thrown. She caught a flicker of something in his eyes—was it nerves? “Uh, sure,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended. This entire situation felt like stepping into an episode of Downton Abbey .
The butler? He has a butler?
Peter walked away, his movements smooth and deliberate, leaving Molly to gape silently before Gerry clasped her hand. His touch was steady but warm, grounding her as he guided them toward an elegant set of double doors. He pushed them open to reveal a library that stole her breath. Towering shelves crammed with books stretched to the ceiling, lit by the golden glow of antique sconces. It was the kind of room that would make Belle from Beauty and the Beast dissolve into happy tears.
Her moment of awe was abruptly cut short by the sound of the doors clicking shut behind them. Gerry turned to face her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Molly,” he began softly, his tone careful, “before my mom gets here, I need to apologize. My mom’s… sharp. She’s really smart, and she doesn’t waste time sugarcoating anything. She can come off as tough, but I promise she’s not unkind. Just… different.”
Molly coul d see the vulnerability flickering behind his words. He was nervous, and that was rare for Gerry. His confidence usually seemed unshakable. “I think you’ll both get along great with her,” he continued, glancing at Sandy as if searching for reassurance. “I just don’t want anyone walking into this with the wrong expectations.”
Sandy stepped in, her voice smooth and comforting. “It’s your mother,” she said easily, brushing off the tension as though it were a minor detail. “Family is family, no matter what. Relax. We’ll have a wonderful weekend getting to know her.”
Molly nodded, her voice stronger now. “Exactly. It’s going to be fine, Gerry. And honestly, how could it not be when you’re so amazing?”
Her words seemed to catch him off guard, a faint blush creeping to his cheeks as he smiled sheepishly. But before the warmth of the moment could settle, the double doors swung open behind him with a deliberate flourish, commanding their attention.
A woman stepped into the room with an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. She was tall and striking, her silver-streaked hair swept into a sleek chignon. Her pristine white dress slacks and linen blouse, adorned with an elegant bow at the neckline, looked effortlessly expensive. She didn’t just walk into the room—she arrived as if she were gracing them with her presence.
“Gerard,” she said, her tone crisp and cool.
“Hello, Mom,” Gerry replied, his voice tinged with unease. “This is Molly and her mother, Sandy.” He paused for a fraction of a second, then gestured toward the imposing woman. “Molly, this is my mother, Aldonard.”
Molly hesitated, caught in a fleeting moment of uncertainty. Should she extend her hand, a gesture of polite introduction, or curtsy, though she’d never actually curtsied in her life? The indecision made her feel out of place in the vast, imposing space around her, with its polished floors and gilded accents. But before she could act, her gaze snagged on the faint curve of Aldonard’s lips. It wasn’t a warm smile, not one that invited familiarity, but neither was it cold. Instead, it held a knowing edge, the expression of someone acutely aware of their power over a room and unashamed to wield it.
“It’s French, and people struggle with the pronunciation,” Aldonard said, her tone even, controlled, as if she had perfected this explanation over years of repetition. “You may call me Toni or Addie. Gerard, why don’t you show our guests to their rooms? We’ll have tea shortly. I caught Peter in the kitchen, and he’s making sandwiches—just in case anyone is hungry after the trip. That will give us a moment to speak.”
Her voice was smooth, almost too smooth, leaving Molly feeling scrutinized, measured, and subtly dismissed all at once. This woman did not, could not, look like a “Toni.” The name felt too playful, too casual for someone who stood with such commanding poise. Aldonard had a sharpness to her presence, a kind of elegant austerity that belonged in stories about duchesses or queens. Her face, framed by impeccably styled hair, seemed sculpted for judgment. If anyone embodied the phrase stiff upper lip, it was her.
“Of course, Mom,” Gerry replied, his tone dutiful but relaxed, as if accustomed to her clipped commands. He turned to Molly and her mother. “I’ll be back momentarily. Molly? Sandy?”
Molly’s mother gave her a pointed look as they followed Gerry into the cavernous hallway, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. Molly winced at the sound of her sneakers squeaking against the pristine surface, feeling the contrast between her casual attire and the grandeur surrounding her.
They ascended a sweeping staircase, its banister curving gracefully like something out of a histori cal drama. Molly glanced at Gerry, wanting to ask why his mother had insisted on speaking to him alone, but she held back. Now wasn’t the time for questions. This was just the start of the weekend—first impressions were always tough, weren’t they? Maybe this was what Gerry had tried to warn her about earlier.
“Sandy, this is your room,” Gerry said easily, his voice breaking through her thoughts as her mother stepped into the room with her bag. He turned to Molly, gesturing to the next door. “And this one’s yours.”
“Which one is yours?” Molly asked, still feeling a lingering unease.
“Next door,” Gerry replied, pausing briefly before adding with a small sigh, “Mom wants to talk. Probably about the arrangements, my clothing, the fact that I rented a car instead of having us picked up, or…”
“Gerry,” Molly interrupted, her voice filled with disbelief. “What is going on? How did you grow up so… normal?”
Gerry’s lips quirked in a rueful smile. “Mom’s normal—well, she was —but she has an image to maintain now. She’s running for governor of the city.”
Molly’s jaw dropped.
“You. Are. Kidding. Me.”
“Look,” Gerry hesitated, his gaze softening. “I didn’t grow up in the best places or the best homes. Mom had to fight for every scrap while she was taking classes and working toward her degree. But she kept at it, and eventually, things turned around. Life got easier.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” Molly asked, arching an eyebrow.
Gerry exhaled, his voice quieter now. “But she’s still the same mom who raised me,” he said, a tender smile touching his lips. “She likes her coffee, her beer, and hockey—even if she’s wearing business suits these days.”
Molly stud ied his expression, her earlier frustration softening. He loved his mother deeply; that much was clear. Gerry was all about bonds—whether it was with his team, his mom, or her. She’d wanted to be part of his world, to share his inner circle, and now she was here. There was no point in complaining.
“Things will be fine,” Gerry said, his voice sweet and reassuring as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. His touch was tender, his eyes meeting hers with an unspoken vulnerability. For a brief moment, she glimpsed the boy he once was—the one who just wanted to be accepted.
Molly placed her hand on his cheek, offering a soft smile. “I can’t wait to get to know Aldonard,” she said gently.
“Thank you,” Gerry murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “This means a lot to me.”
“And you mean a lot to me,” she replied, her tone just as soft. “Besides, it’s just some casual hellos and dinner with family, right? We can talk privately later?”
“Absolutely,” he chuckled, the sound light and affectionate as his gaze lingered on her. “I see a pajama party behind closed doors later with my favorite girl. We’ll sneak around, steal a few kisses, and plot out our weekend.”
“Sounds good,” Molly said, feeling a little more grounded.
“Let me go check in with Mom,” Gerry said almost apologetically. “I’ll be back up soon. Remind me to show you the solarium. I love the flowers she keeps in there, and…”
“Solarium? Seriously?” Molly muttered, the word feeling as foreign as everything else in this house.
Gerry’s laugh rang out, warm and unguarded, easing the weight of her lingering apprehension. She couldn’t help but smile. No matter how overwhelming this place—or his family—felt, Gerry made it all seem manageable.