Thank you for your responses and your continued support. I appreciate it.

I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own It Had To Be You.

Mercedes was up at the crack of dawn the next morning and was off and running for work, not allowing herself to let her mind wander.

She couldn't afford to, or she'd get mired down, in the fact that the money still hadn't been found. And that she was still the only viable suspect at this point.

And of course, the biggie...that she'd slept with Sam.

Well, to be honest, there hadn't been any sleeping involved. Which meant, that every single minute of it, was imprinted on her brain...and it was the best collection of minutes in her entire life.

A while later, she hit the flower market in Seattle for her weekly supply run. And while she was there, she took an extra few minutes to drop off a bag of donuts and coffee for her mom and sister...which, given the decibel of happy squeals they let out, made their day.

Then she hightailed it back to town, to unload the week's supplies for Kurt's shop.

There was a low wind howling through the quiet rooms, echoing the unsettled feeling in her gut.

And it was still quite early when she opened for business and got to work, on the pre-ordered arrangements that were due that day.

Of course, Kurt didn't show up to help, but Mercedes knew he wouldn't show up, until well after noon. And like always, when he did, he'd be out of sorts and unhappy, as he had been, from the day Blaine moved to Vegas without him.

Ever since their breakup, he kept talking about the shop's lack of profit, and how he wanted to close up. But Mercedes still believed the place had something to offer the town.

And if only he would give her some of the reins that she'd been begging for, she'd show him just how much.

To be honest, when he took over the business, he hadn't put much, if anything, into developing it, although he had a base of fairly steady customers.

But, he still hasn't shown any particular interest in catering to them. And, he's yet to put any effort into attracting new customers or cultivating more business.

Mercedes, on the other hand, had all sorts of ideas, but no power. She wanted to create a website, where people could order online from the convenience of their own home or work.

But Kurt wasn't interested. He didn't want to be bothered with computer work, no matter that she had offered to do all of it.

Stymied there, she'd toyed with some changes, incorporating live plants, ceramics, and other local artists' work too, but again, Kurt had been frustratingly resistant.

Determined to show him, she spent some time now clearing space to make some displays.

She worked hard at it and was proud and breathless, when he finally showed up.

Kurt went straight to his office without a word, not even noticing that Mercedes had rearranged the shop.

"Hey," she said, following him back, "You okay?"

"I talked to Blaine last night," he said, turning to her with a light in his eyes, that she hadn't seen in a while. "He said he was sorry for being such a crazy, possessive bitch, can you believe it? A man who can admit he was wrong."

"That's sweet," Mercedes said.

"I know. And he thinks we should make up." He plugged his cell phone into the wall. "My battery died, and I'd left my charger here. I want to see if he called or texted."

"I hope he did," Mercedes said. "Um...about the shop...I rearranged some of the front. I wanted to show you..."

"Be a doll and get me some coffee?" Kurt asked, eyes on his phone.

"Sure."

"And see if Marley has any pastries. Get a dozen assorted shipped to Blaine, but make sure there are palmiers. He loves palmiers."

"Okay," Mercedes said. "And speaking of Marley, I was thinking it might be cool to offer a same-day delivery special. Flowers and pastries. We could do themed baskets, like birthdays and..."

"O-M-G!" Kurt squealed.

"You like it?" Mercedes asked, relieved. "I'm so glad because..."

"No, Blaine texted! He bought me a ticket to Vegas for next weekend!"

"But..." Mercedes' mind whirled for a reason, not to close the shop again. "You'll miss the big ground-breaking ceremony for the new rec center."

"Let's see..." Kurt started, as he held out both hands, miming weighing something between them. "Getting laid...or watching a bunch of pretentious town council members slap themselves on the back and pretend to shovel some dirt around..." He grinned and rose to his feet, swept Mercedes off hers and kissed her soundly. "Long weekend alert ahead, Doll!"

Later that afternoon, after a long day on her feet, Mercedes was sitting on the back-office work counter with Marley, who had come over with the leftover custard puffs for the day.

The two of them were inhaling them like they were going out of style, as per their daily tradition.

"Can't believe how busy we were today," Mercedes said, thinking about their afternoon at the shop. It had been wonderfully successful for a change.

"It's you," Marley said, also on the counter with her mouth full.

"Yeah?" Mercedes asked. "You think it's the way I rearranged the shop floor and displayed ceramics as well?"

"No. Well, yes. But, as you know, the police are getting really close to an arrest, so I also think people are coming in to appease their curiosity. They want to see if you're looking guilty. Or wearing twenty-dollar bills."

Mercedes blew out a breath and eyed the last puff.

After what Marley had just said...reminding her how close she was to jail...she suddenly needed that last puff, more than her next breath.

"Go ahead, have it," Marley said. "You probably need the strength to keep boinking Sam."

Right at that moment, Mercedes, who'd just taken an unfortunately big sip of tea, choked, causing Marley to hop off the counter and pat her on the back.

"You didn't blink at the idea of wearing twenty-dollar bills," she said, "But you nearly asphyxiate yourself on the thought of boinking Sam?"

"Stop saying that!" Mercedes demanded.

"Which part?" Marley asked innocently. "The wearing twenty-dollar bills, or the boinking Sam?"

"You know what part!"

Marley smiled.

"The boinking then. Which means, I should've probably mentioned, that my custard puffs are aphrodisiacs. So really, it's not your fault."

Mercedes grimaced.

"That's not what we did. Boinking." She paused. "Not exactly."

Marley looked at her for a long moment, before her smile slowly faded.

"Uh-oh."

"No." Mercedes shook her head. "No uh-oh."

"Oh, there's definitely an uh-oh," Marley said. "If you can't joke around about the boinking, then there's a huge uh-oh."

"And why is that?" Mercedes asked.

"Because, that means it's not just boinking."

"Okay, you have got to stop using that word," Mercedes said.

"I mean, who could blame you," Marley mused. Sam's hot as hell. But..."

When she trailed off, Mercedes looked at her.

"But what?"

"He's..."

Immediately, Mercedes' stomach tightened uncomfortably. And she hoped, it most likely due to the four custard puffs she'd just consumed...and not panic.

"Too good for me?" she asked.

"What? No," Marley almost shouted, as she leaned in and gripped her hand hard. "Hell, no! If anything, you're too good for every man on the planet. It's just that, Sam is not exactly diamonds and heartstrings, you know? And you are."

"No, I'm not."

Diamonds and heartstrings implied being a keeper, and she wasn't sure she was cut out for that. But Marley gave her a long look, and she sighed.

"Okay, so I dream of that eventually, but..."

"No buts," Marley said firmly. "Look, Sam is tough and hard and a bad-ass, and everything else that makes up the fantasy, you know? But you need the reality, Merce. You deserve the reality."

On Monday, Mercedes was behind the counter, putting together a happy birthday bouquet of roses for a customer, when Andrea walked into the flower shop wearing a perfect dress, perfect high-heeled sandals, and perfect, smooth, straight blonde hair.

Mercedes hadn't seen her since Brody had dropped his little I'm-also-doing-Andrea bomb, and frankly, she could have gone a lot longer without seeing her.

Instead, she tightened her grip on the roses and accidentally stuck herself with a thorn.

"Ouch!" She put pressure on the wound with a napkin and glared at Andrea.

"Don't look at me like that," Andrea said. She held out a brown bag. "Here."

"What's that?" Mercedes asked.

Andrea sighed.

"Brody told me he told you. So I guess, it's an I'm sorry present."

Mercedes came around the counter and peered into the bag. It was a tube of hair anti-frizz.

"It's the stuff I use," Andrea said. She ran a hand over her hair. "It costs nearly a million dollars, but I figured I owed you."

"Since you slept with Brody, you mean."

She winced.

"Okay, yes. I slept with him. But in all fairness, he did tell me that you and he weren't a thing. I never would've slept with him otherwise. I can promise you that."

"No?"

"Hell, no!" Andrea said, looking pissed off. "I actually thought I had a shot with him. With his heart, I mean." Disgusted, she leaned on the counter. "He was always so sweet and kind and warm and funny. And charming! I mean, I really thought..."

She sighed and shook her head.

"Look, for what it's worth, I asked about you. He said he was moving out. But then after the auction, everything came out about you and Mandy, and I felt so stupid. I really thought I had been his one and only. But I wasn't even his number two and only," she said tightly.

Mercedes set down the napkin and studied Andrea more carefully.

"So you didn't know about Mandy either?" she asked.

"No," Andrea said. "When I found out, I dumped him. I even threw his phone at him. Broke it too." She winced. "Apparently, I have a temper."

"Enough to steal the money?" Mercedes asked hopefully, but already knowing the answer. Andrea might be too pretty, but she wasn't a thief.

"No. I didn't steal the money," Andrea said, eyes narrowed. "Hell no!"

"Just checking."

"And for what it's worth," she said, "I don't think you did either. Or Mandy."

"So who does that leave?"

Andrea shrugged.

"Half the town?"

'Okay. Great,' Mercedes thought.

"So we're still…friends?" Andrea asked.

"We weren't ever really friends," Mercedes admitted. "I'm too jealous of your hair."

At that, Andrea pointed to the anti-frizz.

"That solved my problem."

After Andrea left, Mercedes went into the bathroom and flipped on the light.

She took out the anti-frizz, wondering if it was going to work on her hair.

After reading the directions, she squeezed out a dime-sized dollop, smoothed it on her hair, and like magic, the frizz vanished.

It didn't end up quite as smooth and shiny as Andrea's, but she was satisfied, as she stared, entranced by her own hair.

"Best breakup ever!" she announced to her reflection. "Lost a man. And gained a 'maybe' friend."

'And the best hair product I've ever had.'

Mercedes locked up the shop and called Artie, filling him in about Andrea.

"I just talked to Sam," he said. "He ran a financial search on everyone involved."

"Can he do that?"

"No," Artie said. "But you tell him that, because he's one bound and determined man to save your cute hide. Anyway, no one's made any suspicious deposits...including Andrea."

"Wait!" Mercedes shook her head. "You and Sam are working together?"

"Only for you, babe."

Mercedes drove to the beach house on autopilot. Hungry, she headed into the kitchen and went straight to the refrigerator.

"Stop!" Sam said. "Seriously, you've got to stop."

At the low, authoritative voice, Mercedes automatically went still, before realizing, he not only wasn't in the kitchen, he also wasn't talking to her.

She went to the window and found him on the deck with his grandfather, Gary Winters.

"You can't bribe me with food," Sam said to his grandfather.

"Everyone can be bribed with food." Mr. Winters lifted the foil on the plate he held.

"Pastries," Sam said reverently.

And Mercedes found herself wanting to smile.

Sam had been busy, either holed up on his computer or working outside, replacing the wood siding, that had rotted out over the past few years.

During these small renovation projects, Mercedes had found, that she could stare at him in a tool belt, for just about as long as she could stare at him in his swim trunks.

She'd wondered if he was avoiding her to be alone or because he didn't want to be tempted by her, because, she already missed him. Not that it mattered.

"Not just any pastries," Mr. Winters said, wafting the plate beneath Sam's nose. "Marley's cream puffs."

Sam inhaled deeply.

"There's brushed sugar on top of the whipped-cream puffs," he stated.

"Uh-huh, and they're loaded with butter too. They'll corrode your arteries, but you'll die happy."

"Living's overrated," Sam said, and took one. "You know you haven't spoken directly to me in years."

"You haven't spoken to me in years, either."

"It's a two-way street," Sam said, his mouth full, but still managing to sound unimpressed. "We going to talk about it?"

His grandfather popped a pastry into his mouth.

And Sam nodded.

"So, we're going to keep ignoring it then. Sticking with something we're good at."

Mercedes thought about what it'd be like, to go years without speaking to her mom or Heather and felt her chest tighten.

It would hurt, badly.

She imagined, that's what she heard, barely masked in Sam's voice now.

Hurt.

Wanting to help, she moved to the back door, if for no other reason, than to alert them of her presence, but then, Mr. Winters spoke again.

"Stacie says you're doing good," he said.

Mercedes hesitated, because, they were almost actually talking, and if she butted in now, they'd stop.

"You didn't bring these pastries over here, to tell me that you know I'm good," Sam said.

"Okay, fine. I brought them, so that you'd think about continuing to help Mercedes."

Sam stared at him.

"Let me give you some advice," he finally said, "Stick to what you do best, which is butting out of the stuff that matters."

Mercedes sucked in a breath.

'Walk away, Mercedes. Just leave them to this,' she thought.

But she couldn't.

She ached for them and wanted to somehow fix it.

Again, she reached for the door, but Sam sighed, his voice softer, when he spoke again.

"And for your information, I'm going to keep helping Mercedes. Jesus. You think I wouldn't? But...I'm leaving soon, you know that, right?"

"When?"

"If my commander had his way, I'd already be gone."

"Then you need to hurry up," his grandfather said. "Figure this shit out now. You getting anywhere?"

"Yes, but too slowly," Sam said, sounding frustrated. "This town, for all the rumors, likes its secrets."

"Positive thinking, boy-o. It's all about positive thinking."

"Yeah? Since when?" Sam asked.

"Things change," Mr. Winters said, so quietly, that Mercedes almost missed it. "People change. It's never too late to get to the bottom of all the secrets."

"You sound like a fortune cookie," Sam said.

"This isn't a game, Sam. This is every bit as important, as any of your big, fancy city cases."

"Hell, I know that. How could you think I don't know that?"

"Because, you're taking your sweet-ass time getting to the bottom of it. You're the hotshot. Make it look like Mr. Fancy Town Clerk gave her that money."

There was a stunned beat of silence. And then,

"She didn't steal the money," Sam finally said.

Mercedes didn't know which shocked her more, the fact that Mr. Winters thought she'd stolen the money...or that he would suggest, Sam frame Brody.

"Okay," Mr. Winters said, "Of course not." He paused. "But seriously, if you go with the angle that Wesson gave it to her..."

"How about, the angle that she's innocent," Sam said.

"Well, sure, but that's going to be a challenge, isn't it? I mean, she was caught red-handed with that money band in the pot."

"She was framed."

All of a sudden, Mercedes couldn't breathe.

She simply couldn't drag air into her chest.

She brought her hand up and pressed it against her side, but it didn't help.

"You think she was framed," Mr. Winters said.

"Yes," Sam replied.

"You think she's innocent."

"Yes."

Gary Winters' voice was suddenly filled with relief.

"Good. Then you'll help her. And even after you leave, you won't be able to stop yourself. It's what you do."

"You haven't read the papers lately, I take it," Sam said dryly.

"It's what you do," his grandfather repeated firmly. "Stop reading your own press. And also, Jerry Pellosi needs your help. He thinks his guys are stealing from the till at the bowling alley."

"So why doesn't he fire them?"

"Because they're his nephews, and his wife will kick his ass. He wants you to catch them at it and then kick their asses for him, so he can stay married."

Sam bit into yet another pastry and let out a heartfelt moan...a sound that did something unspeakable to Mercedes' woman parts.

"So good," Sam said, licking sugar off his lower lip. "Pastries should always be for dinner."

"Might want to slow down a little," his grand-dad said. "That's your fifth or sixth one."

"So?"

"I used to be able to eat like that," he said wistfully. "The night of the auction I ate a ton, and next day, I sat on the pot the entire day because of it."

Sam went still.

"You were at the auction?" he asked.

"Everyone was at the auction. I drove the seniors, who were like a bunch of drunken sailors on a four-day leave. I'm telling you, when you get old, suddenly you can't hold your liquor anymore. Or your bladder."

"You were at the auction," Sam repeated.

"Just said so, didn't I?"

"There's been some problem with the surveillance cameras on the building," Sam said. "Apparently, they've been down for several weeks, but it's not in the budget to fix until next quarter. You see anyone come out with a big bag?"

"Like a purse?" his grandfather asked. "Only every woman in the place."

"No, this would've been bigger than a regular evening bag," Sam said. "Something the size of a large briefcase or duffel bag."

"I see where you're going with this," Mr. Winters said, "But I wasn't looking. I was playing Angry Birds on my cell phone, while the crowd dispersed. What about the gas station across the street from Town Hall? Maybe their cameras caught some action."

"I'll check with Luke. Thanks."

"I gotta go take my pill." Mr. Winters started to walk away and then stopped. "As for you, get to it already. And by get to it, I don't mean get to it. Not with Mercedes. She's too sweet for you."

Sam frowned.

"Why do people keep telling me that?"

"Because it's true."

Mr. Winters walked away, around the side of the house and out of sight.

And Mercedes had to hustle to look busy.

With her ears burning, she began making breakfast for dinner.

Don't get to it...

'Too late,' she could have told Mr. Winters. And anyway, sleeping with Sam...again...was the last thing on her mind.

Except it wasn't.

Not even close.

Right now, it was the only thing on her mind.

He might have honed his instincts, by being a detective on the hard, tough streets, but he knew how to apply them to making love.

He could read her body and know what she needed, before she knew.

He loved to touch.

He loved to kiss, and loved to taste.

He was magic.

But that was beside the point.

The point was, her life was out of control.

And his life? Also out of control.

Around Mercedes the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Had Sam left too?

Gone out on the water on his paddle-board?

Begun another renovation project?

Gone around the front to come in and then gone to bed?

If she'd eaten an entire plate of pastries for dinner, she'd need to go to sleep too, she thought.

She turned back to the stove, and when the phone rang a minute later, she jumped, then answered breathlessly.

"Hello."

"I'm looking for Sam Evans," a cool female voice said.

'Another reporter.'

"How are you people getting this number?" Mercedes asked.

"This is Michelle Mandeville from the Chronicle. Tell him I'll give him a fair interview, facts only. Tell him..."

Mercedes hung up, but the phone immediately rang again, and she snatched it up, getting angry.

"Stop calling here or I'll..."

"He needs to give this interview," the reporter said, in a firm tone. "If he doesn't, his career's going to be in the toilet. If he wants to save it, he needs to..."

Mercedes hung up again, and then on second thought, pulled the phone from the wall.

And even though, she was expecting Sam to walk in any minute, she still nearly leapt out of her skin, when he came up behind her.

Sam crowded her, so that she could feel the heat of him at her back. And her eyes drifted shut to better savor the experience.

"Protecting my honor?" he asked, voice low enough, that she couldn't gauge his mood.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "And it's turning into a full-time job."

"Except for when you're eavesdropping," he said.

'Well, crap!'

She turned to face him and winced.

"Okay, yes, I was eavesdropping. Some people turn to alcohol or chocolate. I eavesdrop." Her face was heated. "It used to be the only way I could learn stuff from my mom, not that it's any kind of excuse. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said quietly and something in his voice made her chest tighten. "You don't have to eavesdrop with me, Mercedes. I'll tell you whatever you want to know...always."

Mercedes searched Sam's gaze for a clue to his thoughts, but got nothing.

"I wanted to tell you I was there, but you two were talking, and I didn't want to interrupt. Are you going to help Mr. Pellosi?"

"Yeah. His nephews are idiots, but not completely moronic. They know where their bread's buttered. I'll clunk their heads together, and that'll be it."

He looked over her shoulder into the pan.

"Smells great," he said.

What smelled great was him.

And it was all she could do, not to turn her head and bury her face in the crook of his neck and inhale him.

"I'm guessing, that omelets are your specialty," Sam said, sounding a little amused.

"Yep." She flipped the omelet, but then had to admit the truth. "Actually...omelets are the only thing I can cook."

He tipped his head back and laughed, and the sight was so innately sexy, he took her breath away.

"Do you really think the gas station might have footage of the thief walking out of Town Hall with the money?" she asked.

He stole a slice of cheese and popped it in his mouth.

"So, you did hear everything."

"Including the part, where your grandpa thought I stole the money? Yeah."

She tried to sound neutral, but was pretty sure she failed.

Sam let out a breath and reached around her to turn off the burners.

"If you were listening, then you heard exactly how much he cares about you."

She didn't say anything to that.

She couldn't.

There'd been a lot of people in her life who'd claimed to care about her. But it didn't always mean much.

"He tried to bribe you with pastries to help me."

"I can't be bribed," Sam said. He met her gaze. "You know, I never do anything I don't want to do."

Mercedes' heart gave a little treacherous leap.

He was in board shorts again, a pretty green like his eyes, with a drawstring that was loose.

'One little tug,' she thought.

His muscles were taut, and his skin damp, which meant he'd been paddle-boarding.

And she had no idea why the sight of him, a little wet and a lot hot, made her both of those things as well.

"I don't either..." she whispered, "...do things I don't want to do, I mean."

"Liar!"

He stroked a finger along her cheekbone and then tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, lingering at the sensitive skin there.

Mercedes shivered, and his eyes heated.

"You're a pleaser," he said.

"Was," she corrected. "Was a people pleaser. No more. I've turned over a new leaf. I only please myself now."

A very small smile curved Sam's mouth, and he lowered his head, so that they shared their next breath.

"There's an image," he murmured. "You pleasing yourself."

Mercedes let out a low, nervous laugh, and he bent to nip her lower lip.

"I'd want to watch," he said.

'Oh, Lord!'

"I think we're getting off the subject here," she just managed.

With his eyes on hers, Sam slowly ran his hands up her arms and then back to grip her hips.

'Okay, the hell with getting off subject,' she thought, as his mouth brushed hers, with just the lightest pressure.

She heard a moan...hers...and at the sound, Sam got more serious about the kiss, taking it deep and hot, until she swayed towards him.

A long, delicious moment later, he pulled back a fraction and looked down at her. And she realized, her fingers were curled into his biceps, and that she was actually trying to tug him closer.

But he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and pulled her hands away, taking them down to her sides.

"We said we weren't going to do this," he said.

Aroused from head to toe, Mercedes nodded.

"Right." She shook her head. "Why is that again? Is it because the first time was so awful, or because people keep telling you not to sleep with me?"

"If I can't be bribed, I sure as hell don't give a shit what people think."

His voice was low and incredibly sexy, and he tightened his grip on her wrists, still restraining her from touching him.

Which was suddenly all she wanted to do.

"As for it being awful," Sam said, "We both know it was the polar opposite of awful."

"So...?"

"So, we said we weren't going there," he repeated, and Mercedes wasn't sure if it was disappointment or relief, when he let her go and turned away.

"Actually," she said to his back. His bare, tanned, sleek, ripped with strength back. "You said that we weren't going to go there. Because, even though you're leaving and it was so awful, I still want to. Go there, that is."

With a half laugh, half groan, Sam faced her again.

"Mercedes...we can't."

"I know," she said.

His board shorts were low, revealing gorgeous abs, cut obliques, and a most impressive erection. And at the direction of her gaze, he let out another tortured-sounding laugh and then walked out of the kitchen, vanishing into the depths of the house.

A few seconds later, Mercedes heard a shower go on.

And it was several minutes before she could breathe or swallow.

Still shaky, she divided the omelet, leaving half on a plate for him.

Then she ate, listening to the water run, noting that he stayed in there a long time, during which, she did her best not to imagine what he was doing.

Or how she'd rather be doing it for him.

Stay safe!