Hi, new story and so not mine, just the Samcedes love. Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.

The original title is 'It Had To be You' and it's by Jill Shalvis. As usual, most of the work is the author's.

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


Some things were set in stone...the sun would rise every morning, the tide would come in and out without fail, and a girl needed to check herself out in the mirror before a date, no matter the obstacles.

To that end, Mercedes Jones climbed onto the toilet seat to get a full view of herself, in the tiny bathroom mirror of the flower shop where she worked.

Ducking, so that she didn't hit her head on the low ceiling, she took in her reflection.

'Not bad from the front,' she decided, and carefully spun around to catch the hind view of herself in her vintage...aka thrift store...little black dress.

'Also not bad.'

She'd closed up Fresh Florals thirty minutes ago, to get ready for the town's big fundraiser tonight, where they were hopefully going to raise the last of the money for the new community center.

Earlier, she'd spent several hours delivering flowers and decorating Town Hall with huge floral arrangements from the shop, as well as setting up a display of her pottery for the auction.

She was excited about the night ahead, but her date Brody was late.

Nothing unusual there.

He was her boyfriend of four months, and was perpetually late, but such a charmer, it never seemed to matter.

He was the town clerk, and on top of being widely beloved by just about everyone who'd ever met him, he was also a very busy guy.

He'd been in charge of the funding for the new community center, a huge undertaking, so most likely, he'd just forgotten that he'd promised to pick her up.

At least she hoped so.


Still precariously balanced on the toilet seat, Mercedes eyed herself again, just as a sudden knock sounded on the bathroom door.

Jerking upright in surprise, she hit her head on the ceiling and nearly toppled to the floor.

Hissing in a breath, she gripped her head and carefully stepped down.

Managing that without killing herself, she opened the door to her boss, Kurt, the proprietor of Fresh Florals.

Kurt was in his mid-twenties and fashionably thin, with well groomed brown hair.

He stood about eight inches, just above her own, almost-but-not-quite, five foot five, curvy figure.

He was wearing red skinny pants and a tucked–in red-and-white checkered polo shirt. These were his favorite golf clothes, though he didn't golf, because, he objected to sweating.

He was holding a ceramic pot filled with an artful array of flowers in each hand.

Mercedes took in the two arrangements, both colorful and cheerful, and if she said so herself...every bit as pretty as the pots, which were hers too.

"What's wrong with this picture?" Kurt asked.

Mercedes let go of the top of her head.

"Um, they're all kinds of awesome?"

"Correct," he said with an answering smile. "But they're also all kinds of waste. No one ordered these, Mercedes."

"Yes, but they'll look fantastic in the window display."

This was an age-old argument.

"They'll draw people in," she said, "And then someone will order them."

Kurt sighed with dramatic flair.

The flower shop had been his step mom's until two years ago, when he'd bought it from her, so that she could move to Los Angeles with her new boyfriend.

"Sweetkins, I pay you to make floral arrangements, because no one in this town does it better. I love your ceramic-ware and think you're a creative genius. I also think, that genius is completely wasted on the volunteer classes you give at the senior center, but that's another matter entirely. You already know that I think you give too much of yourself to others. Regardless of that big, warm heart of yours, you make the arrangements. I run the business."

Mercedes bit her tongue, so she wouldn't say what she wanted to. If he would listen to her ideas, they'd increase business. She was sure of it.


"And speaking of the shop," he went on, "We need to talk sometime soon. Um, you might want to fix your hair."

She turned her neck and glanced in the mirror. Her wildly wavy hair needed taming. So she quickly worked on that.

"Better?" she asked.

"Some," Kurt said with a smile, and put the flowers down to fix her hair himself. "Where's your cutie-pie, live-in boyfriend?"

Two months ago, her apartment building had been scheduled for lengthy renovations, and she had needed a place to stay.

Brody had generously offered to share his place. He was like that, open and warm and generous. And fun.

And there hadn't been a lot of that in her life. And then there was the pride of being in a real, adult relationship.

So she'd happily moved into his rental beach house, and suddenly, everything she'd ever dreamed of growing up...safety, security, and stability...was right there.

Her three favorite S's.


"Brody's late," she said. "I'll just meet him there."

Kurt peered at her over the top of his square, black-rimmed glasses.

"Don't tell me that Hot Stuff stood you up again."

"Okay, I won't tell you."

"Dammit!" He sighed. "The sexy ones are all such unreliable bitches." He hugged her. "Forgive me for my complaint about the fabulous arrangements?"

"Of course. What did you want to talk about?"

A shadow passed over his face, but he quickly plastered on a smile.

"It can wait. Come on, I'll take you to the auction myself. I want to get there before all the good appetizers are gone."

"How do you know there'll be good appetizers?" she asked.

"Shondra's cooking."

Shondra Walker ran the local Bed and Breakfast, and she was the best chef in the county, so her appetizers were something to look forward to.


Kurt drove them in his Prius.

Their little town was a picturesque little Washington beach town, nestled in a rocky cove. It was a quirky, eclectic mix of the old and new.

A long pier jutted out into the water, and lining the beach was a nice little cafe called The Cozy Cafe, an arcade and an ice cream shop.

People came to Leavenworth looking for something.

Some came to start over and some for the gorgeous scenery of the Cascade Mountain Range and of course, the Pacific Ocean.

Mercedes was one of those looking for a new start.

The locals were hardy, resilient, and, as a rule, stubborn as hell. And she had all three of these characteristics in spades, especially the stubborn as hell part.


They parked at the Town Hall building at the end of the commercial row, and found the place filled to capacity.

"Look at all the finery," Kurt said as they walked in, sounding amused. "For that matter, look at us. We're smoking hot, Cookie."

"That we are."

"Not bad for a pair of trailer park kids, huh?"

Mercedes had grown up in a rough area of White Center, which was west of Seattle. And Kurt had done the same, but in Vegas, though he'd made himself a more-than-decent living in his late teens-early twenties as an Elvis impersonator.

About five years ago, he moved to Leavenworth and immediately felt at home.

Mercedes hadn't actually ever lived in a trailer park, but in a series of falling down, post–WWII cracker-box houses, that were possibly even worse.

This town was a sweet little slice of life, that neither of them had imagined for themselves, and they absolutely loved it.

"Not bad at all," she agreed.


They entered the hall to the tune of laughter and music and the clink of glasses. And Mercedes caught a fleeting glimpse of Brody working the crowd, gorgeous as ever in a suit and good-old-boy smile, which he flashed often.

His light brown hair was slightly sun kissed from weekends golfing, fishing, hiking, and whatever other adventures he chose.

He was extremely active and fit, and he'd try anything that was in the vicinity of fun. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him.

He caught sight of her and smiled, and her heart sighed, just looking at him. She called it the Brody Phenomenon, because it wasn't just her...everyone seemed to respond to him that way.

But then, she realized he was smiling at the pretty server behind her, who then turned and walked right into a wall.

Mercedes shook her head and sipped her champagne. She got it. It was his job...pleasing the public. And he did have a way of making a girl feel like the most beautiful woman in a crowded room.


Mayor Manny Reyes took the stage and tapped on the mic to get everyone's attention.

His real job was a financial advisor, but he'd been mayor for coming up on two years now, having taken over, when the previous mayor, John Masters, had stepped down from the position, to concentrate on his first loves...his family and carpentry.

"Good evening, Leavenworth!" Mayor Reyes called out. "Thanks for coming! Let's all raise our glasses to our very own Brody Wesson, who worked incredibly hard at raising the funds for our new community center."

At that, the crowd whooped and hollered, and Kurt nudged Mercedes.

"You worked hard too. Where's your credit?"

"I don't need credit," she said, and she didn't.

She'd assisted, by running car washes and other donation drives to help Brody behind the scenes...where she was content to stay.


"As you know," the mayor went on, "The town council promised to match the funds raised tonight. So without further ado, we're adding a total of fifty thousand dollars to the pot tonight."

Everyone cheered and Brody hopped up onto the stage with the mayor, hoisting a very large aluminum briefcase.

He'd worked damn hard at getting this rec center built for the town, and it was within his sights now.

Looking right at home, he smiled.

"The build is an official go," he said into the mic.

Then, he opened the briefcase and showed off the fifty thousand, neatly stacked and wrapped in bill bands.

Obviously, it'd come straight from the bank for the reveal, but the crowd ate it up anyway.


After the ceremony, Mercedes went in search of Brody.

She needed a ride home, not to mention, it'd be nice to see her boyfriend and spend a few moments with him.

She circled the large room twice, to no avail, and then, finally headed down the hallway to the offices to check there.

She could see the light under Brody's door, but to her surprise, the door was locked.

Lifting a hand to knock, she went shock still at the low, throaty female moan from within.

'Wait…that couldn't be…'

And then came a deeper, huskier moan.

Brody's.

Mercedes blinked.

'No. No, he wouldn't be with someone else…in his office…'

"Oh, babe, yeah, just like that…" came from within.

It was Brody's sex voice, and Mercedes got really cold, and then really warm. And she realized, she had far bigger problems than finding a ride home.


Mercedes awoke the next morning, alone.

A sympathetic Kurt had driven her home. And in the dark, she'd paced the big house for a while, steam coming out her ears.

When Brody hadn't shown up, she'd called her very soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, twice, but there hadn't been a return call.

But she did, however, now have a waiting text.

Babe, this isn't working. It's not you. It's all me. I just need to be alone right now. FYI, our lease ended on 5/31. So no worries, you're free to leave right away.

Mercedes stared at the words in shock.

She hadn't had caffeine yet, so her brain wasn't exactly kicking in, but she was pretty sure he'd just broken up with her...by text...and he'd also rendered her homeless.

She pulled up the calendar app on her phone.

Yep. Yesterday had been May thirty-first. Flopping back on the bed, she stared up at the ceiling, trying to sort her tumbling emotions.

He'd beaten her to the break up, and after last night, hearing him in the throes of sex and calling someone else 'babe' she'd really needed to be the dumper not the dumpee.

"Damn!" she whispered, and sat up.

You're free to leave right away.

Very magnanimous of him. And also a vivid reminder...that men came and went.

That's how it was for Jones women.

She'd nearly forgotten that it was a lifetime goal of hers to not perpetuate this pattern, that she needed to be more careful.

She'd remember now.

And while she'd like to lie around and plot Brody's slow, painful death, and maybe wallow with a day in front of the TV and a huge bag of popcorn, she had work to do.

She had to get back to Town Hall and take down the floral designs and collect whatever ceramics hadn't sold at the silent auction.

Then, she apparently needed to figure out her living situation.


Still stunned, Mercedes showered and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt for loading up boxes and then headed out.

The rental house she'd shared with Brody was high on the cliffs, on the far north face of the harbor.

It was isolated and not easy to get to, but she didn't mind the narrow road or being off the beaten path.

The house itself was old and more than a little creaky, but full of character. And she loved it and loved the view at the same time.

And after a childhood of city noises, she loved sleeping to the sound of the waves hitting the rocks.


Normally, early mornings were her favorite part of living in Leavenworth.

Outside was cool and crisp, and the sun was just peeking over the rugged mountains, casting the ocean in a glorious kaleidoscope of light.

Beyond the surf, the water was still, a sheet of glass, perfectly reflecting the sky above.

Today brand new beginning. Actually, every single morning was.

Never more so than this morning.


Mercedes parked in front of the Town Hall.

The place was locked, but James the janitor let her in.

Mumbling something about getting back to his work, he vanished, and she began lugging the heavy floral arrangements out of the building, down the steps, and into her truck by herself.

Then, she carefully packed up the pottery that hadn't been sold and took that out as well.

With every pass she made, she had to walk by Brody's office, and each time her emotions...mostly anger...coiled tighter and tighter.

Her mom and sister had the quick fuses in the family, but she had always been more of a slow burn. But today, she'd gone straight to red-hot ticked off.

When she was finally finished, she searched out James again, finding him indeed very busy...kicking back in the staff room watching a ball game on his phone.

In his thirties, around six feet four and big as a tank, he hadn't shaved since sometime last year. Now, he looked like a tough mountain man, who belonged on a History Channel show hauling logs...except for the tiny kitten in his big palm.

"Aw," Mercedes said, softening. "So cute."

At her voice, James startled, and with a little girl–like squeal, fell right out of the chair.

Still carefully cradling the unharmed kitten, he glared at her.

"Christ Almighty, woman, make some noise next time. You scared Sweetheart here half to death."

Sweetheart had her eyes half closed in ecstasy.

"Yes, I can see that," Mercedes said wryly, reaching out to pet the adorable gray ball of fluff. "I can also see, how very hard the two of you are working back here."

She couldn't tell if James blushed behind the thick, black beard, but he did have the good grace to at least look a little bit abashed, as he lumbered to his feet.

"I wanted to help you," he said, "But I had Sweetheart in my pocket, and the boss told me twice already not to bring her here. But she howls when I leave her home, and my roommate said if I didn't take her with me today, she was going to be his Doberman's afternoon snack."

"Sweetheart's secret is safe with me," Mercedes said. "I just need to get into Brody's office for a minute."

James scratched his beard.

"I'm not supposed to let anyone into the offices."

"I know," she said, "And I wouldn't ask, except, I left something in there.

" She'd made Brody a ceramic pot. It was a knotty pine tree trunk that held pens and pencils, and she'd signed it with her initials inside a heart.

There was no way she was leaving it in his possession. He didn't deserve it.


"Please, James? I'll only be a minute."

He sighed.

"Okay, but only because you guys are always real nice to me. Brody knows about Sweetheart, and he didn't rat me out."

He set the sweet little kitten on his shoulder, where she happily perched, and then led the way to Brody's office.

There he pulled out a key ring, located the correct key by some mysterious system, and opened the office door.

"Lock up behind you."

"Will do," Mercedes said, and as James left her, she went straight to Brody's desk.

There was no knotty pine pot with the little heart she'd cut into the bottom, anywhere on his desk.

She turned in a slow circle.

The office was masculine and projected success, and the few times she'd been here, she'd always felt such pride for Brody.

That's not what she was feeling now.

In fact, she sneezed twice in a row at some unseen dust, annoying herself, as she looked for the pot.


Finally, Mercedes located the pot in the credenza behind the desk, shoved in the very bottom, beneath a bunch of crap.

It was the shape of a Silver Pine tree trunk, every last detail lovingly recreated down to the knots and rings around the base.

For a minute, Mercedes stared at the pot she'd been so proud of, shame and embarrassment clogging her throat.

Swallowing both, she grabbed it, locked the door as she'd promised, found and thanked James, then left.


In her truck, she drew in a deep breath and drove off.

It was a Jones' gift, the ability to shove the bad stuff down deep and keep moving.

'Brody isn't even a five on the bad stuff meter,' she told herself.

As always, in this beautiful little town, traffic was light.

At night, strings of white lights would make the place look like something straight from a postcard, but now, in the early light, each storefront's windows glinted in the bright sunlight.

Things stayed the same here. Things could be counted on here.

She thought maybe it was that...the sense of stability, security, and safety...that drew her the most.

Her three S's.

At least until last night.


Mercedes put in her shift at the flower shop, worrying about how light business was.

She brought it up to Kurt at lunch, gently, that she felt she really had something to offer here, the very least of which was a website. But Kurt, equally as gently, rebuked her.

Like his step mom before him, he was a technophobe. Hell, even the books were still done by hand, despite their bookkeeper's urging to update their system.

The local bookkeeper, had given up on changing his mind, but Mercedes was going to bash her head up against his stubbornness, convinced they would make a great partnership.


On her break, she used her smartphone to fill out as many online applications for apartments as she could find.

And by six o'clock, she was back at the beach house, hoping not to run into Brody.

She didn't, which was good for his life expectancy. But even better, the front door key still worked, which was a bonus.

She had a roof over her head, for at least one more night.


In the kitchen, Mercedes tossed her keys into the little bowl she'd set by the back door, to collect Brody's pocket crap.

Out of curiosity, she poked through the stuff there. She found a button, some change...and two ticket stubs, dated a week ago for a show in Seattle.

A show she hadn't gone to.

She stared at the stubs, then set them down and walked away.

Something else niggled at her, as she headed into her bedroom, but she couldn't concentrate on that, because, she was realizing, that Brody had been working 24/7 for weeks.

And before that, he'd been sick and had slept in a spare bedroom. They hadn't actually slept together in...she couldn't even remember.

Which meant that, she had been very late to her own break up.

At this, her heart squeezed a little bit. Not in regret. She tried really hard not to do regrets.

It wasn't mourning either, not for Brody, not after hearing him cheat on her.

It was the realization that she'd really loved the idea of what they'd had, more than the actual reality of it.


She stripped down to her panties and bra, before it occurred to her what the niggling feeling from before was.

Reversing her tracks, she ran barefoot back to the large living room.

The house had come fully furnished, but Brody had always made the place his own, thanks to the messy, disorganized way he had of leaving everything spread around.

There were always running shoes hastily kicked off by the front door, suit jackets slung over the back of the couch, ties hanging askance from a lamp, his laptop, e-reader, tablet, smartphone, and other toys plugged into electrical outlets, and when they weren't, the cords hung lifeless, waiting to be needed.

Not now.

Now, it was all gone, even his fancy, highfalutin micro-brews from the fridge.

Everything was gone, including her iPad.

How she'd missed that this morning, she had no idea, but facts were facts...Brody had moved out on her like a thief in the night.


Detective Lieutenant Sam Evans, had been away from the San Francisco Police Department for exactly one day of his three-week leave and already he'd lost his edge, walking into his grandma's beach house, to find a breaking and entering perp standing in the kitchen.

She sure as hell was the prettiest petty thief he'd ever come across...at least from the back, since she was wearing nothing but a white lace bra and matching white lace panties.

"You have some nerve you...you rat fink bastard," she said furiously into her cell phone, waving her free hand for emphasis, her long, wildly wavy hair flying around her head as she moved.

And that wasn't all that moved.

She was a bombshell, all of her sweet, womanly curves barely contained in her undies.

'Dear God...what an ass,' he thought, licking his lips, his green eyes glued to her behind.


"I want you to know," the woman went on, still not seeing Sam, "There's no way in hell I'm accepting your breakup message. You hear me, Brody? I'm not accepting it, because I'm breaking up with you. And while we're at it, who even does that? Who breaks up with someone by text? I'll tell you who, Brody Wesson, a real jerk, that's who...hello? Dammit!"

Pulling the phone from her ear, she stared at the screen and then hit a number before whipping it back up to her ear.

"Your voice mail cut me off," she snapped. "You having sex in your office while I was in the building? Totally cliché. But not telling me that you weren't planning to re-sign the lease? That's just rotten to the core, Brody. And don't bother calling me back on this. Oh, wait, that's right, you don't call...you text!"

Seemingly hitting the end button, she tossed the phone to the counter. Then, she placed her hands on hips, steam coming out her ears, as she stood there a moment.

Then, with a sigh, she knocked her forehead against the refrigerator a few times, before pressing it to the cool, steel door.

Had she knocked herself out? Sam thought, a little ridiculously, seeing as she was still standing.

"It's just one bad day," she whispered, while standing in the perfect position for him to pat her down for weapons.

Not that she was carrying...well, except for that lethal bod...and that glorious ass.

"Just one really rotten, bad-ass day," she repeated softly, and Sam had to disagree.

"Not from where I'm standing," he said.


Stay safe!