Thank you for your continued interest. I appreciate it.

I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own It Had to be You.

Please forgive any extreme mistakes. I am tired, plus, the kids and their dad are beside me playing Ludo.

The next morning, Mercedes woke up entangled with a big, warm, hard body...Sam's.

After their garage foray, they'd eaten, and then, he'd taken her to bed...his.

Currently, he was on his back, still deeply asleep, one arm bent, with his hand beneath his head, and the other, gripping her butt like he owned it.

After a few minutes, Mercedes took a good, long last look at him, ignored the ache in her heart, and slid out of the bed.

He mumbled something and rolled over, burying his head beneath his pillow, leaving the rest of him bared to the world.

She took in his strong back, those mile-long legs, the cutest ass she'd ever had the pleasure of viewing on a guy, and with a sigh, she slipped out of his bedroom.

He was leaving today, and her sadness had nothing to do with the distance between San Francisco and North Bend. It was that, there'd been no mention of continuing this...whatever this was...so really, the distance was irrelevant.

But she refused to watch him go.

She drove to the little diner and had their now-famous chocolate chip pancakes.

Millie Jackson was there, along with her posse of old, but certainly not cold women.

She at once spotted Mercedes and came over to give her a hug.

"Heard Detective Lieutenant Stud Muffin is leaving," she said. "Thought you could use some TLC."

"I'm fine."

"Good. Because men don't make the world go around. Although," she said, eying Mr. Sheldon as he entered the café, "They do make it more interesting."

Mercedes sighed.

"I've been meaning to ask you about your ceramics," Millie said. "A little birdie told me that Kurt isn't interested in selling your stuff in his shop."

"A little birdie?" Mercedes asked, her brows arched.

Millie grinned.

"Okay, Marley. And the truth is, I covet your ceramics. I thought you might be interested in having a show at my gallery. If we price things right, you might even be able to pay that fancy attorney of yours."

"You'd do that?" Mercedes asked.

"Of course, baby. You're good."

This made Mercedes smile.

"And if I wasn't?" she asked.

"Well, then, this conversation would have stopped at Detective Lieutenant Stud Muffin."

Just then, Mercedes' phone rang. It was Kurt wanting to see her, so she headed to the flower shop.

It wasn't open.

And it wouldn't ever be open again, at least in this version.

Kurt had boxed everything up and was standing at the front counter, waiting.

He didn't look as sad as Mercedes felt. Actually, he didn't look sad at all. He looked happy.

And she was very happy for him.

And devastated for herself.

Kurt smiled and pulled her in for a hug. Then he handed her...the book.

Mercedes stared down at it.

The thing was ancient and frayed at the edges, with notes and pieces of paper sticking out everywhere.

"Your business?"

"Yep. Fresh Florals is yours...what there is of it. And all you need is a place."

"But I don't have money to pay you," she said.

"Consider it severance."

Mercedes hugged the book, then thrust it back.

"I can't take it, Kurt. It wouldn't be right."

But he didn't take the book.

"Then, pay me when you get the shop open and in the black."

She lifted her gaze to his.

"How do you know I'll get to open a shop?"

"I know," he said, confident. "Of course, you'd have to stay in town for that book to have any value..."

Mercedes looked down the street.

It was still very early.

The strings of white lights were still on, twinkling like Christmas in June, on the pine trees lining the walk.

Until the theft of the money, she'd loved it here. She'd loved the people, and the way it felt like home.

And her three S's were here...stability, security, and safety.

So what if she'd let herself run off with her tail between her legs, when she'd done nothing wrong?

Life was and could be unpredictable. But most of all...it was a succession of lessons, which must be lived, to be understood.

"Yes," Mercedes said quietly. "I'm staying."

Kurt smiled widely and hugged her again.

"Keep in touch," he said.

She nodded, because she would.

And someday soon, although she had no idea how, she would open the flower shop.

Her flower shop.

It was what she wanted, with all her heart.

But there were other things she wanted too.

She wanted the money mystery solved.

She wanted people to know she wasn't a thief.

She wanted her mom and sister to be safe and happy.

She wanted...Sam.

Mercedes drove home.

Home.

She parked and stared at the big, old, beautiful house. Granted, she was a sucker for a place with character, but...home?

This wasn't her home.

It was Sam's.

Yet, there was no denying that she'd fallen for the place...and the man, despite knowing better.

He didn't want her to feel this way, except, that particular message wasn't exactly sticking to her brain.

The thing was, actions spoke far more loudly than words, and Sam's actions were telling her a very different story than his words.

And...his truck was still here.

Mercedes walked through the house towards the kitchen, needing something for her suddenly dry throat.

Scotch was her first choice, but she'd proven incapable of handling that.

So she poured herself a glass of iced tea, and with her gut saying that Sam would be on the water, she stepped out onto the back deck.

Hearing voices, she moved, so that she could see the dock below.

Sam's grand-dad was sitting there with his usual cigar, though she was hoping it was unlit, since she knew his doctor had told him to quit.

And Sam had just pulled himself and his board out of the ocean.

Water sluiced off the body she knew she'd never get tired of looking at.

It'd only been a couple of weeks, but he'd gotten ahold of her heart. Maybe some things took no time at all, but the fact was, he'd proven that he was a man she could believe in.

A man, unlike any other man in her entire life.

She was still thinking about that, when the men's words floated up the stairs to reach her.

"Don't be an asshole," Mr. Winters said. "Not to her. You're living with her, falling for her, letting her think it's okay to fall for you." He jabbed his cigar at Sam. "Are you telling me, when you leave here today, that you're not going to ever look back?"

Sam set his board against the dock and ignored his grandfather.

"You telling me you can just walk away again? Because let me tell you, boy-o, being alone...it's not all it's cracked up to be. Now that I've looked death right in the face..."

Sam snorted.

"You had gas..." he started.

His grandfather jabbed with the cigar again.

"Say it one more time and I swear I'll stroke out on you right here, right now, just to spite you."

It was a distance, but Mercedes was pretty sure, Sam had rolled his eyes as he leaned back on the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

"All I want," Mr. Winters said, "Is for you to learn from other people's mistakes. My mistakes."

"I'm not you," Sam said quietly. "Mercedes and I both know what's going on here, and what isn't."

His grandfather stared at him.

"You want me to believe you're just helping her, that she's just a job to you?"

At that, Mercedes held her breath for the answer, and when the quiet "Yes" came, the blood roared in her ears.

The first time Sam had referred to her as a job, had been to his sister, and he'd had a handy excuse for it then.

This time, the quiet conviction in his voice overrode any excuse.

Looking disgusted, Mr. Winters shook his head, while Mercedes tried to absorb the terrible, painful truth of it all, telling herself, that this was not new information.

But it still knocked her back a step.

And then another.

And then, she whirled and escaped into the house.

She grabbed her purse and shoved a few things inside.

She had to go.

Still, she slowed long enough to leave a note, hastily scrawled on a napkin, because, leaving without a word was rude.

And her mother had taught her better than that.

Taping it to the fridge, she took one last look around, at the kitchen, out the window at the two men on the dock, one who'd been like a surrogate grandfather to her, the other who'd been...everything.

But her eyes were too blurry to see clearly.

However, she snatched the keys out of the ceramic bowl by the door and then stopped and eyed the bowl.

She thought of what had happened to the pencil pot she'd left Brody, how it'd been shoved in a drawer. And she couldn't leave this one to that fate, so she snatched it as well.

She'd have to come back for her other things, of course, but later.

Much later.

Like after Sam was gone.

She opened the front door and then faltered for a beat, but she didn't stop. Because, for the first time in her life, she was going to leave first.

Sam turned from his grandfather and entered the house.

Earlier that morning, he'd woken up alone. And after paddle-boarding and the run-in with his grandfather, he was hoping Mercedes was back.

He needed to get on the road, but he wanted to...

Hell, he didn't want to say goodbye.

But it was Sunday, and he'd pushed his luck as far as he could with his job. The review was in the morning, so he needed to go...or face the consequences.

"Feels quiet in here," Mr. Winters said, entering behind Sam.

And it did.

And like the fantastic detective he was, Sam's gaze snagged on the napkin taped to the fridge.

Immediately, he went for it and read it.

Dear Sam,

Thank you for letting me stay, when you wanted to be alone. For helping me, when you were on a break from doing just that.

And...for saving me.

Mercedes.

Sam stared at Mercedes' words, dread spreading through him like wildfire.

He hadn't saved her.

She'd saved him.

Why would she leave a note like this?

What could've happened, that would make her write it?

His mind raced in reverse, back to a few minutes ago, to what he and his grandpa had been discussing on the dock.

'Shit!'

It wasn't what chased her off...but who.

He was why she'd run.

And his grandfather was right...without her, the house was quiet.

He finally got what he'd wanted...to be alone. Except, that wasn't what he wanted at all.

Whipping around, Sam went in immediate search of his keys. And naturally, he hadn't left them on the counter.

Or anywhere that he could see.

"What the hell are you looking for?" his grandpa asked.

"Keys," he grated out, moving into the living room to look there.

"She's got that key bowl, you know. You should try using it sometime. She made me one. It works like a charm."

The key bowl.

He'd put his keys in the key bowl.

He strode back into the kitchen, but the thing wasn't on the counter.

'Where the hell was it?'

"Now what?" his grandpa asked.

And Sam shook his head.

"I have no idea where the stupid bowl is, but I have to go after her. I...fucked up."

"Well then, why are you still standing here?"

"Because I still can't find my keys."

His grand dad shook his head.

"Your grandma, she used to smack me upside the head whenever I'd lose my keys. Always worked too. I'd always find my keys right after she did it. Come closer, let's try it."

"You were married for like twenty minutes," Sam said. "When did you have time to lose your keys?"

Mr. Winters leaned in and smacked him on the back of the head.

"Ow! Jesus!"

"Two years. We were married for two years. And it would've been a helluva lot longer, if I'd gotten my shit together sooner."

He fished deep in his own pocket and came up with a set of keys.

"Connect the dots, you idiot. Be smarter than me."

Sam stared at the keys.

"Tell me those aren't for the Dial-A-Ride."

"What, you have a problem with it? 'Cuz you can always just walk. Maybe you'll even catch Mercedes too. Sometime next year."

Sam sighed and took the keys.

Mercedes didn't let herself cry on the road to her mom's house.

No, that'd be dangerous and stupid, and she tried really hard, not to do anything dangerous and stupid.

So she did the responsible thing...she pulled over to the side of the road to sob her heart out.

And right in the middle of it, Artie called her.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, obviously hearing the emotion in her voice.

"Nothing...oh my God. You're calling because I crossed the county lines without even thinking about it, right? They called you."

"Who?" he asked.

This stumped her.

"The crossing-the-county-lines police?"

He laughed.

"Relax, no one's going to arrest you for visiting your mom. I got your message about Bethany. Are you sure?"

"Yes, but they haven't found the money."

"Sam will sniff it out. He's not the type to let something he cares about go."

And yet he let her go.

She and Artie hung up, and she went on to what she was exceptionally good at...picking herself up and telling herself things would be okay.

She blew her nose, slid on her dark aviator Oakley knockoffs, and got back on the road.

And arrived in time to sit at her mom's table and chop veggies.

"No one ever eats the veggies," Maxine Jones said, sitting on the counter with a mirror in one hand and her eyeliner in the other. "But it seems classy to have them out, you know? You get the beer?" she yelled to Heather, in the back of the old, tiny, narrow house.

"Mama, this is a damn surprise party," Heather yelled back. "Stop asking questions about it and practice your surprised look!"

Mrs. Jones grinned and practiced in the mirror.

"How about this, honey?" she asked Mercedes. "Do I look surprised?"

"Yes," Mercedes said without looking. Then munched on a piece of celery and wondered if Sam would eat celery.

It was green, which meant, it was probably on his taboo list.

"Did I tell you I'm learning how to do taxes?" Mrs. Jones asked. "It's going to change everything, honey. You'll see."

She was eternally optimistic, in spite of the fact that life had never handed her a single thing, including a break.

But the thing was, she believed wholeheartedly, that everything could change. And up until recently, so had Mercedes.

All along she'd thought, that all she had to do, was leave White Center and that would change everything. That all she had to do, was become the best damn florist in North Bend and that would change everything. And that all she had to do, was love Sam and that would change her life completely.

But if wishes and dreams were sure things, the world would be a whole different ball game.

And deep down, she'd always known that. And, she had a feeling, so did her mother.

But that had never once stopped her mom, from trying to impart hope into both of her daughters' hearts.

Mercedes' chest tightened a little bit.

"I love you, mom," she softly said.

Mrs. Jones looked up, surprised, then smiled softly.

"Aw, baby. I love you too. What time is Sam coming?"

"He isn't."

Her mother set down the mirror, her expression of surprise, a real one this time.

"Why not?"

"Because we're not together. I've been telling you that. Besides, he's probably on his way back to San Francisco by now."

Mercedes closed her eyes and dropped her head to the table.

"And I messed things up," she added.

"Oh, Mercy-mine," her mom said, as she hopped down from the counter and sat next to her, hugging her close. "It happens. Listen, we'll go to the Victoria's Secret outlet store. We'll get you something pretty, and you can make it up to him..."

"No," Mercedes said, her mother's idea squeezing a laugh out of her. "It's not like that. I messed up by falling for him."

"Well how's that messing up?"

"Because he didn't fall back."

"Oh honey. What man wouldn't fall for you? You're strong and smart, and so pretty. Although you should smile more. You've got those nice white teeth..."

Mercedes pushed to her feet.

"I'm going to go see if Heather needs any help outside decorating. You keep working on your surprise expression, okay?"

Two hours later, the party was in full swing.

Mercedes had been sent to the store...twice...and was back in the tiny, cramped, hot kitchen, her mom's cake in one hand, a knife in the other.

She'd come inside to put the cake away, after having had two pieces, but now, she was thinking she needed a third piece.

Problem was, a third piece would put her at about a million calories for the day, so she cut off a bite-sized portion instead, which she ate right off the knife, because everyone knew, that the calories eaten right off the knife, didn't count.

She was leaning over the cake, thinking about stuffing her face, when she heard footsteps behind her.

She turned, and nearly fell over in surprise, at the man standing in the doorway.

"Sam?"

His shoulders nearly brushed the jamb on either side of him, making him look far too big for the place.

He was wearing a T-shirt, faded Levi's, and battered Converse.

The casual wear should have had him fitting right in, but he didn't really. Maybe he had the hard-edge and see-all eyes it took to survive in this neighborhood, but his badassness came from being a cop, not from worrying about having a job and putting food on the table, or whether it was safe to walk to his car.

"What are you doing here?" Mercedes asked, surreptitiously swiping her face, and hoping she didn't have chocolate all over it. "Why aren't you gone?"

"I wanted to see you before I left."

White Center wasn't exactly en route to San Francisco. He'd gone pretty far out of his way to talk, but she needed to protect herself.

And get over him.

Getting over him would be supremely helpful.

"I'm pretty busy here, Sam."

He slid a glance at the cake in her hands, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Yeah, I can see that. Should I give you two a moment alone?"

"No. Yes."

She noted that she sounded peeved, which was good.

It hid the hurt. And she was hurt. So damn hurt, with no one to blame but herself.

He came forward and took the knife out of her hands, setting it far out of her reach. Then, he very gently took the cake as well.

"How did you find me?" she asked. "And why are you even here?"

Mrs. Jones stepped into the kitchen and said in a horrified voice,

"Mercedes Annette Jones, how is that a way to talk to your man?" She put a hand on Sam's arm and smiled up at him. "You made really good time from North Bend, honey."

"I did," he said, and dipped down to kiss her on the cheek. "Happy birthday."

Mrs. Jones fawned over that.

"Oh my, aren't you the charmer." She smiled at her daughter. "Isn't he, baby?"

"Yes," Mercedes agreed tightly. "He's quite the charmer. But he's not my man, mom. We've discussed this."

Her mother sighed, and she braced herself for the lecture. A man is everything, Mercedes. Don't disappointment him, ever. Be what he needs you to be...

But her mother said none of that.

She simply stepped around Sam, cupped her daughter's face, and smiled gently and said,

"Just talk to him, baby."

"Mom..."

"I know you've been let down. And I also know, that's more my fault, than any man's."

Mercedes sighed and brought her hands up to her mom's wrists.

"Oh, mom. That's not true."

Mrs. Jones smiled sadly.

"You always were the sweet one. My little miracle," she said, turning to Sam. "So willing to see only the best in me."

She turned back to Mercedes.

"But honey, maybe you could try to see the best in him too."

Then, she kissed both of her cheeks, patted them gently, and left the two of them alone.

Stay safe!