Hey all, thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.

These days, I'm still super busy...working two different jobs mostly, but it's a privilege just to wake up, know that I'm still in my right mind, my boys and family are well and I still have a job(s).

Grateful and Thankful are two amazing words and they both lead to Contentment.

Be happy friends, take it wherever and whenever you can, in these dark, uncertain times. Much love to you all.

I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Chasing Christmas Eve.

Earlier, Mercedes had spent the day happily wandering the city.

She'd written some pages, while sitting with her laptop in the Castro District, loving the rainbow sidewalks and relaxed atmosphere.

She'd bought a pretty LBD and a pair of killer heels in Pacific Heights and was wearing it all now, because she wanted to break in the shoes.

And if she was honest, because, she felt like she looked amazing for the first time in...well, recent memory.

She'd located the roof access to the Pacific Pier Building by accident, but got excited at the prospect of watching the city as the sun went down.

She could hardly believe her luck, when she'd found that the stairwell went all the way to the top.

The sign on the door had given her a second's pause though. It read,

NO TRESPASSING. WE'RE TIRED OF HIDING THE BODIES...

Not that it'd stopped her.

And truth be told, not much did.

She'd been sitting on the roof in the far corner, staring down at the incredible world she was so happy to be a part of for a little while, when Sam stormed through the stairwell door.

His long legs had easily eaten up the space, as he crossed to the far corner away from her and perched...to her near heart failure...on the ledge, his legs over the side, as he stared pensively out into the early evening.

She remained where she was, trying to decide which was better...to remain quiet and give him time to himself...which he clearly seemed to need...or to announce her presence.

In the end, her curiosity won.

She'd just made it to his side and asked him if he had a headache, when from inside her purse, her phone went off with an incoming call.

With a sigh, she gave Sam an apologetic smile, turned away, and dug out her phone, answering to one of her brothers.

"What's for dinner?" David asked.

And she laugh.

"I texted you...yesterday. I also had Jaci text you as well. And you've texted me. Why in the world don't you read my texts? I'm not home."

Home, being the place she'd bought for them all to stay...a place that was meant to be a real home...but instead, felt like a burden, as she'd become the housekeeper, chef, and prison warden all in one.

There was a silence on the line, while her brother clearly and finally, read her texts.

"You're on vacay?" he asked, sounding butthurt. "Without us? That sucks, Mercedes."

"It's not a vacation...exactly. I'm working."

"You said you're on a break."

"Yes," she said. "From New York. And from being in charge of you all. I'll be back on Christmas Eve."

"That's like three weeks away. I'll starve to death."

Mercedes would've laugh again, but he wasn't kidding.

'Remember...tough love,' she told herself. 'You're tough on yourself...it's time to be just as tough, on the people in your life.'

"You're twenty-three, not five," Mercedes said to her brother. "You'll figure it out."

When she disconnected, Sam was watching her.

He pushed his dark sunglasses to the top of his head, revealing his intense green eyes.

He wore jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt that said, I Can Explain It to You but I Can't Understand It for You.

"Husband?" he asked, tilting his head towards her phone. "Boyfriend?"

"Brother. One of two. Twin pains in my ass."

He nodded in understanding, with a small smile on his face.

"How are you doing? Is the apartment okay? Your elbow bothering you?"

"Fine, great, and nope."

"You look amazing," he said.

"Thank you."

She knew she should be feeling, at least a little uneasy, over her impulsive decision to rent the apartment, instead of going to a hotel.

Because, a hotel would have been more anonymous.

And she needed anonymity.

Badly.

But she didn't feel uneasy at all.

The thing was, this building put her right in the thick of things, and she loved it.

When she left New York, she'd hoped that would do it...a few weeks away would fill up the well, unleash her creativity, and unblock her.

One day in and she was already well on her way.

She'd actually written last night...late into the night, in fact, as well as today and it'd all felt great.

The truth was, she really loved this building, the views and the people.

She was having a blast, feeling like a kid on summer break. Not that she really knew what that was like. Her own childhood had been cut way too short.

The only thing she regretted with this trip, was the little layer of guilt beneath it all.

Apparently, that old habit of feeling responsible for her entire world and everyone in it, was harder to shake than her writer's block.

Mercedes looked at Sam, noticing a tenseness to his shoulders.

"And how about you?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

His mouth curved in a small smile.

"Almost always."

"Almost always, huh?" She cocked her head and smiled back. "That's quite the trick. Maybe you could teach it to me sometime."

He snorted.

"You think it's a trick?"

"Yes, because you don't really seem all that okay."

"How would you know?" he asked. "We're strangers, remember?"

"Ha!" she said at him, using her own words against her. "Maybe I don't know you...know you...but I consider myself a good reader of character." She lifted a shoulder. "It's a hobby."

"Because you're a writer."

"Yes," she said, glowing with pleasure that he'd remembered that about her, but also feeling the tiniest bit of dread.

She didn't want to taint this...whatever this was...by getting into who she really was.

It changed everything, every single time.

And she loved being here as herself, Mercedes Jones, and not M.J. Callista, number one, New York Times bestselling author of the Fever Pitched series.

"Why are you on the edge?" she asked.

"I guess it's been a long few days." He paused. "But on a positive note, I haven't needed any bail money and haven't had to hide any bodies yet, so..."

"Actually," Mercedes said on a laugh, "I meant, why are you on the edge, literally. Your feet are hanging over, Sam, which, I've gotta tell you, is making me incredibly nervous."

Sam let out a quiet laugh and shook his head.

"I like this spot. It's where I come to think."

"Think about...your deep, dark secret of a job?" she asked, hopefully. "Or maybe...the woman who damaged your heart so bad, you'll never love again? Or just about what you're having for dinner?"

That won her a grin.

"You think I'm damaged?" he asked.

Mercedes tossed up her hands.

"Aren't we all?"

Sam shrugged.

"And the 'never love again' part?" he asked.

"I thought if I threw that in there, you'd decide to tell me what you do for a living...which would be the easiest response," she admitted.

"Blatant manipulation." He nodded approvingly. "Good strategy. Except for one thing."

"What's that?" she asked.

"I really am much more interested, in talking about what might be for dinner."

She laugh.

"I wouldn't mind cooking something. Cooking is relaxing."

"I accept," he said quickly and smoothly, his stomach growling its own acceptance. Not that this seemed to embarrass him.

Mercedes smiled at the gorgeous man, literally sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Shouldn't you be asking or trying to find out if I can cook?" she asked.

Sam got off the ledge and straightened with an ease of motion, that said he was in even better shape than he looked.

And he looked pretty damn fine, too.

"If you even think you can cook," he said, "Then, you can cook better than me."

He took her hand in his, and, with yet another heart-stopping smile, led her off the roof.

Sam took Mercedes down one flight of stairs to the fifth floor, using his special keycard.

"I thought this floor was just gym and storage," she said, confused.

"No, although most people think that." He studied her for a few long seconds. "I live here."

"In the gym?" she asked.

"Not exactly."

He opened another door and she barely contained a small gasp.

"Holy chicken nuggets!" she exclaimed.

'Now this is an apartment,' she thought.

It was huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows.

The furnishings were simple...almost spartan...but masculine and utilitarian.

There was a huge L-shaped couch, a massive TV, and a glass coffee table that was completely strewn with...well, a wide assortment of electronic parts, tools, and multiple sets of plans.

There was nothing else in the vast room.

What seemed like a football field away, was the kitchen, and beyond that, another room she couldn't see.

"This is your place?" Mercedes asked Sam.

"Yes."

"Are you ruler of the universe? Is that your job?"

He made the sound of a game-show-loser buzzer. And still holding her hand, he led her passed the coffee table, where she caught sight of what she thought might be a trio of...drones?

"Is that...?" she started

"I'm starving," he said, cutting her off, his broad shoulders blocking her view, as he pulled her into the kitchen.

'Okay. So the man was starving,' she thought. And after years of feeding her brothers, she could fix that in her sleep.

Looking around, she found herself completely smitten with Sam's beautiful chef's kitchen, almost forgetting, she was there to find something for dinner. When she turned to him, he gestured for her to help herself.

So she opened the fridge and it was pretty much empty.

"Damn Christian and Puck," he muttered. "Try the cabinets."

She peered in one.

And it was completely bare.

So was the next one.

The third contained two glasses and a pair of mugs, a salt and a pepper shaker, and a stack of takeout menus.

Mercedes looked at Sam.

He was staring at the empty shelves, seemingly just as surprised as her, and she burst out laughing.

"Are you sure you live here?" she asked.

"Pretty sure." He shook his head. "But with me, you never know." He paused. "I get immersed in a project and I forget to come up for air."

He said this, like it was an admission that she wouldn't want to hear. But for her, it meant they were kindred souls and she saw him in a new light.

"I get that," she told him, and when he looked at her doubtfully, she smiled. "No, really, I do. I write for hours and hours at a time and shut out everything else."

"Like what?"

"Like...my family and friends," she admitted. "Everything. I'm not easy to be with."

"Maybe, it's that, other people don't get it."

"You think so?" she asked, and right at that moment, something interesting happened.

His eyes changed.

They softened somehow.

"I know so," he said. "You're just focused, that's all. There's nothing wrong with that, Mercedes."

And this time when he smiled, it went all the way to his green eyes and practically changed the temperature in the room...it certainly changed her temperature.

Half an hour later, Mercedes was sitting at Sam's kitchen island, eating a feast that she'd put together for the two of them, with the things she'd run downstairs to her own apartment for.

It hadn't been all that difficult, at least not for her, as she'd long ago learned to make do with what she had.

She'd made turkey burgers and salad, and Sam shook his head in marvel as he finished up.

"I don't know what's more impressive," he said. "The fact that you conjured all of this out of almost nothing, or that you've got me eating a salad with beets and blueberries and..." He lifted his fork and stared at the glistening leaf. "I've got nothing."

"It's kale," she said.

"Kale," he said with a shudder.

"You don't like beets, blueberries, or kale?"

"I'm not a fan of green stuff but..." He showed her his empty bowl. "Either you have great skills or your distraction skills are amazing."

"I think it was probably the salad itself," she said.

"I think it was you and that husky laugh of yours," he said. "Or maybe, it's your amazing eyes. They're beautiful." He waited until she met his gaze in surprise. "You're really good in the kitchen, Mercedes."

Unused to compliments, Mercedes looked away and shrugged.

"Survivor skills," she said.

"Were you on your own from young?" he asked.

Mercedes bought herself a minute by carrying their dishes to the sink, but Sam grabbed their glasses and came to the sink as well, meeting her gaze.

"My mom was pregnant with twins, when my dad walked off his job, because his boss was a hard-ass," she said. "He spent a year on the couch with his booze, feeling sorry for himself, before he went out for a six-pack and never came back."

"Sounds rough."

"Sounds like a country song," she corrected.

Sam gave a low laugh.

"Or that," he said.

Mercedes' mom had rallied a few times, eternally in love with love, but she'd still managed to self-destruct every single relationship she'd had since.

A tendency Mercedes herself, had tried really hard not to inherit.

Wanting to make a very long, boring story as short as she possibly could, she said,

"My mom worked all the time. She had to. So as the oldest kid, I took care of everything else."

"Including the cooking."

"Yes."

That'd been the easy part...when they'd had money for groceries, that is. But raising hell-bent-on-trouble twin boys, had been the hard part.

"How old were you when your dad left?" Sam asked.

"Six," Mercedes said and turned on the water to rinse their dishes. "The twins had just turned one."

"Jesus, Mercedes..." Reaching passed her, he turned off the water. "I don't know how it works at home, but here, the cook never does the dishes. Especially since, I imagine you've done more than your fair share over the years."

"Hey, without those years, I wouldn't have been able to make you this amazing five-course, first-class meal."

He smiled, as she'd intended for him to, and if he felt sorry for her, he was smart enough to hide it.

"You still close to your mom and brothers?" he asked.

Mercedes felt her own smile slip a little.

"Sure."

She turned the water on again.

And Sam turned it off. Again.

"It's funny," he said, "How, sometimes when you talk, your mouth says one thing, but your eyes tell me another story entirely."

"Such as?" she asked, not liking where this conversation was going.

"Such as..." Not even a little scared off by her 'back off' voice, Sam stepped in closer and cupped her jaw, holding her face up to his as he searched her gaze. "You like to put a good spin on everything."

"Well, I am a pretty good spinner," she said.

"I bet." His mouth quirked on one side and it was disarmingly sexy. "I'm not. But I'm actually a pretty good listener when I'm focused."

Her breath caught a little bit.

Or a lot.

"And you're...focused now?" she asked.

"Very."

His stare rooted her to the spot, as she tried to read the level of his seriousness, while something warm and dangerous slid into her belly and headed south.

"You joked about running away from home," he said. "But it doesn't feel funny."

Mercedes gave a slow shake of her head.

"That's because it isn't."

They were standing very close in front of the sink.

She had one hand gripping the counter because she needed the balance...actually, she needed an anchor, in a suddenly spinning world.

"Talk to me," Sam said and put his hand over hers.

She let go of her grip on the granite, turning her hand over, so their fingers could entwine.

Talk to him?

She didn't know where to start. Or if she even wanted to.

However, she made a start.

"There's a lot going on back home," she said quietly, meeting his gaze, which was a mistake, because, one look into those curious green eyes and it all just came tumbling out of her mouth.

"There are so many pieces to the whole puzzle," Mercedes said, "And they all depend on me, keeping them in place. Personal and work."

She closed her eyes.

"It's always all on me, you know? Always. And I just felt overwhelmed and...tired. And that killed my muse," she added.

She opened her eyes again, knowing he'd be able to see the pain swimming in them, but unable to hide it.

"I need to find my muse, and to do that, I needed a change of scenery. A break. Even just for a little while. So I got on a plane. I wanted to go to a deserted Caribbean island beach, but there was a big hurricane..." Mercedes said, trailing off.

"I never thought I'd find a reason to thank a hurricane," Sam said, making her smile. "Your mom and brothers depend on you financially?"

'And emotionally,' she thought.

"Yes. Davis and David are twenty-three. The Peter Pan years, as it turns out. But they don't want to grow up. It's a syndrome that's been ramped up, since their twenty-first birthday."

"I remember being twenty-one," Sam said. "I'd just graduated Caltech with my master's degree in mechanical engineering. I had enough debt to sink an entire country and about twenty bucks to my name."

'A mechanical engineer. Hmm...that fit's him. Perfectly.'

"But you made something of yourself," Mercedes said, gesturing around her. "David always says, he'd be more inclined to grow up, if he saw that it actually worked out for anyone."

Sam smiled.

"I just got lucky," he said.

"I think I call BS on that. You worked your ass off doing..." She raised a brow "...mechanical engineering? Whatever that is?"

He smiled again.

"Still curious, huh?"

"Yes! Of course I am!"

He tugged a loose strand of her hair.

"I ran a startup with Christian, my business partner. And we created some technical back-end apps that Google found useful and when it suited us, we sold to them. That's when I bought this building."

Mercedes sucked in a breath.

"Did you just kind of tell me what you do for a living?"

"It was never really a secret. I just liked hearing your guesses," Sam said.

And she laughed.

"It's actually a relief to know. My next guess was going to be either a spy or a supervillain."

Then his words sank in and she felt her eyes bug out of her head.

"You own this whole building?" she asked.

Something shifted in his eyes.

He wasn't comfortable telling her all this, but he nodded and she felt something shift inside her too...but in a good way.

Because, she realized, that he too, knew exactly what it was like to go from having nothing, to extreme success.

She'd felt alone in this for so long, she almost didn't recognize the emotion tumbling through her.

Relief. Plain and simple.

Stay safe!