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Standard disclaimer.

Do Not Disturb: Chocolate fantasy in progress.

Mercedes' first thought, at the sight of Mysterious Cute Guy, was...Holy smokes!

The night of the storm, she hadn't gotten a good look at him, but she was getting one now. He was all...edgy expression, dangerous green eyes, long, hard physique, clothed in the elegant, sophisticated packaging, of a dark suit.

He'd managed to pack a wallop while prone and bleeding, but that had been nothing compared to what is happening to her, now that he was upright and conscious.

Before she could speak, a spotlight hit the stage, revealing a microphone.

"That's you," Shelby said, pulling Mercedes out of the chair. "You're introducing the auction, right?"

'Saved by the bell, or by the end of the slide show.'

"Yes, that's me."

"Well?" Shelby said to Cute Guy. "You're her date, aren't you? Escort her up there."

The expression on his face, never changed from that cool, assessing calm. And even though Mercedes had no idea what he did for a living, or even his name, she'd bet the last three dollars in her wallet, that few people, if anyone, ever barked an order at him.

"Oh," she said in a rush to Shelby. "It's okay, he doesn't have to..."

But he was already on his feet, setting his hand at the small of her back, and gesturing for her to go ahead of him.

Craning her neck, she stared up at him.

He stared back, brow arched, mouth only very slightly curved.

Hot, he'd called her. And sure, he'd also called her 'bossy', and he hadn't been in full possession of his faculties at the time, but even now, the memory gave her a tingle in some places, that had no business tingling.

"Mercedes," Shelby said, in that Displeased Queen voice again. "Get on with it."

"Yes, Mercedes," her 'date' said, his voice low and grainy, with just a touch of irony. "Let's get on with it."

She nearly let out a short, half-hysterical laugh, but she slapped her hand over her mouth.

'Later.' She'd die of embarrassment later.

Mercedes forced a smile for anyone looking at them, and everyone was looking at them.

Speaking out of the corner of her mouth for his ears alone, she whispered,

"You don't have to do this...pretend to be on the date you didn't want in the first place."

For the briefest flash, something flickered in Cute Guy's eyes, before he smoothed it out and went back to his impassive blank face.

'Was that confusion?'

She wasn't sure, and it no longer mattered.

Sure, an apology for standing her up would be nice, but beggars couldn't be choosers. For whatever reason, he was willing to play along, and at the moment, with Shelby staring holes in her back, Mercedes was grateful.

She threaded her way through the tables to the stage, managing a smile at everyone who caught her eye.

But she couldn't have come up with a single name to go with those faces. Not when she was so completely aware of that big, warm hand, at the small of her back, to go along with the big, strong, gorgeous guy escorting her.

He was close enough for her to catch his scent.

Which, by the way, was still fantastic, damn him.

As they got to the stage stairs, Mercedes caught the fact that Cute Guy was limping. She glanced down at his leg, wondering what had happened?

She knew he hadn't injured his leg in the storm...at least, she didn't think so.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Later," he said, and nudged her up the stairs to the stage.

With five hundred sets of eyes on her, she let it go and took the mic.

"Good evening, Lucky Harbor," she said.

The crowd hooted and hollered.

And in spite of herself, she felt a genuine smile escape, at their enthusiastic greeting.

She'd grown up in this town...had found her life's passion working as a nurse in this town, and knew, that even if she somehow ended up on the other side of the world, some day, for whatever reason, she'd always smile at the thought of Lucky Harbor.

"Let's make some money for health care tonight, okay?"

More wild applause. Then someone yelled out,

"Who's the hottie with you?"

This was from her sister Tamara, of course, sitting at one of the front tables, her hands curled around her mouth, so that her voice would carry to the stage.

Mercedes ignored her sister's heckling, as best she could and turned to the big screen behind her.

"Okay, everyone, get your bidding paddles ready, because, we have some great stuff for you tonight. Our favorite auctioneer, Charlie Tennessee, is going to come up here, and I expect to see lots of action. I want cat fights, people. Hair-pulling if necessary. Whatever it takes to keep the bidding going. So let the fun begin..."

"We want to meet your date!"

Mercedes let out a breath and looked down at Lucille, sitting at another front table.

Lucille gave her a finger wave, which she also ignored, but it was hard to ignore the,

"Do it, do it, do it!" chanting, now coming from Tamara's table.

Her brother was there too, looking every bit the part, of the mountain biking bum that he was.

Tall and lean, Jace sat with an arm slung around the Latina, he was dating this week.

Mercedes caught movement at her right and glanced over, as her so-called date, strode up the stairs to the stage.

'Oh God! This isn't going to help anything.'

She shook her head vehemently at him to stop, and go back.

Instead, he joined her.

Mercedes shook her head again, and she would've sworn, Cute Guy was laughing at her, without his mouth so much as twitching.

His green eyes were sharp with intelligence, wit, and absolutely no hint of remorse or shame, at standing her up.

She should probably get over that...and quickly...because, the entire audience was now fixated on both of them...the anticipation palpable.

With no choice but to be as gracious as possible, Mercedes shook her head at the crowd.

"Bloodthirsty lot, all of you."

Everyone laughed.

"One of these days," she said. "You're all going to get a life."

Everyone laughed again, but she knew no one was going to move on to the auction, until she did this, until she introduced Mysterious Cute Guy.

"Fine," she said. "But don't try to tell me, you don't know the man standing next to me. I've seen his Facebook stats."

More laughter, and what might have been slight bafflement, from the man himself.

"Everyone," she said. "Meet..."

She trailed off with one thought...'Crap!'

It was hard to believe, that she could possibly have yet, another embarrassing moment in her tonight, but she shouldn't have underestimated herself.

Drawing a deep breath, she had no choice. She turned to him and she knew damn well, he knew what she needed...his name.

Again, the very hint of a smile touched the corner of his lips, as he looked at her, brow quirked.

He was going to make her ask, the big, sexy jerk. Well, that's what she got for wanting Mr. Wrong...Mr. Bad Boy...Mr. Smoking Hot.

He was going to burn her, for sure, and she would lay the blame at the chocoholics' feet.

But she'd yell at Santana and Quinn later.

For now, she had to deal with this. The question was how?

She hadn't a clue.

'Uncle," she finally mouthed to him.

Leaning in close, so that his broad chest bumped her shoulder, Cute Guy wrapped his fingers around hers on the mic.

They were bigger than hers, and work-roughened. And the touch of them made her shiver.

"Mercedes is just being shy," he said to the audience, then slid her a look, that she couldn't begin to decipher.

The man was most excellent at hiding his thoughts.

"I'm Sam Evans. The...date."

Shy her ass.

And she knew damn well, he hadn't known her name either, not until Shelby had said it. And now, he was giving her that bad boy smirk, and she wanted to smack him, but at least she finally knew his name.

Sam Evans.

It suited him. She'd known a Sam once in first grade.

He'd pulled her hair, torn up her homework, and told Mrs. Garland, she'd stolen his. It fueled her temper a little bit, just thinking about it. But she decided to let it go.

"So there you have it," Mercedes said, commandeering the microphone. "Now let's get to the auction, and have a good time."

She quickly introduced the auctioneer and gratefully stepped down off the stage, happy to be out of the spotlight.

She walked quickly through the crowd, even happier to note, that no one was paying her any attention now...they were all glued to the auctioneer.

Except Lucille.

Lucille, in a silver ball gown, that looked like a disco ball, snapped a photo of Mercedes with her phone and then winked.

Mercedes sighed and was bee-lining for her seat, when she was waylaid by her mom, who pulled her down for a hug.

Afterwards, she took a quick glance around, having no idea, where her supposed date had gone. Apparently he'd vanished when she'd left the stage, which worked for her. She did not want to subject him to her mother.

The auction had begun with her bracelet, and Mercedes quickly grabbed an auction paddle from her mother's table, unable to help herself.

No one else was bidding, so she told herself it was a sacrifice for the cause, and raised her paddle.

"Mercedes," her mother admonished. "You can't afford that bracelet."

This was true. Annoying but true.

"I'm thirty, mom. I get to make my own dumb decisions now, remember?"

"Like, going out with a man whose name you didn't even know?" She sounded scandalized. "That's as bad as finding a man on..." She lowered her voice to a horrified whisper, as if she was imparting a state secret. "...the Internet!"

"I'm not looking for a man on the Internet. And it's just a one-night thing with Sam ."

Someone behind them won the bracelet, and the auctioneer went on to the next item.

"Listen to me, honey," her mother said. "Sam Evans is not the kind of man, who's going to marry you and give me grandchildren."

Well, her mom was absolutely right on that one.

"I'm not looking for that, either." 'At least, not right this moment.'

"What are you looking for?" her mother asked.

'Good question.'

"I don't know exactly." She looked around at the social crowd, who were all far more into the party atmosphere, than bidding. "I guess I'm...bored."

Her mother looked, as if she'd just admitted to smoking a crack pipe.

"And I'm restless too," Mercedes added. "And...sad, if you want to know the whole ugly truth."

She hadn't even realized that was true, until it popped out of her mouth without permission, but she couldn't take it back now.

"Oh, honey." Her mother squeezed her hand, her eyes suspiciously damp. "Out of all you kids, you've always been my easy one."

The crowd got louder and her mother did too.

"The good one, and sometimes, I forget to check in and make sure you're okay. Especially after Kamara..."

"I am okay."

And if she wasn't, well, then she could handle it. But dammit, she was tired. Tired of doing what was expected, tired of feeling like she was missing something.

"Mercedes," her mother said softly, concerned. "You've also always been the smart one. I depend on that from you, honey." She paused. "You're not going to do anything stupid tonight, that you'll regret later, right?"

Well, that depended on her mother's definition of stupid. As for regrets, she tried hard to live without them.

"I hope so."

Her mother looked at something over her shoulder and made a funny little noise in her throat.

Mercedes froze, closing her eyes for a beat, before turning to find...of course...Sam.

Looking bigger than life, he stood there holding two glasses of wine. He handed one over to her, while she did her best to stay cool.

Downing half the glass, went a long way towards assuring that.

'Please let him not have heard any of that...' she thought.

"Sam Evans," Nadine Jones said, as if testing out the name. "Is my daughter safe with you?"

"Mom," Mercedes said quickly. "Jesus!"

"Don't swear, honey." But her mother held up a hand in concession. "And fine. I'll reword." She looked at Sam. "Are you going to hurt my daughter?"

Sam looked at Mercedes as he answered.

"She's too smart to let that happen."

'Okay, so he heard every word. Terrific!'

God, she was so far out of her league, she could no longer even see her league.

Her mom had asked, if she was going to do anything stupid. And Mercedes was pretty sure, that the answer was a resounding yes.

As if he could read her thoughts, Sam gave her a sardonic little half toast with his glass, then surprised her by moving away.

Which meant he was smart too.

"Well," Mercedes said. "This has been lots of fun."

"I'm going to assume that was sarcasm," her mom said.

"I always knew I got my smarts from somewhere." She leaned in and kissed her mother's cheek, then went back to her own table, where she'd left her purse.

That's when she realized, that her problems were bigger than her own stupidity issues.

Because, although the room was filled with the sounds of happy, well-fed people, they were really doing, far more socializing than bidding.

When a 'Boating at the Marina' package came up and no one lifted their paddle, Shelby locked her unhappy gaze on Mercedes'.

Mercedes smiled reassuringly, while quivering inside.

'Someone bid, someone please bid,' she thought with desperation, trying to make it happen by sheer will.

Finally, someone did, but it didn't bring in the money she'd expected.

The next item was a big ticket one...an expensive night on the town in Seattle, which included a limo, a fancy dinner, and an orchestra concert.

The bidding began at another low, modest rate, and Mercedes' heart landed in her throat.

They were going to have to do better than this. Much better.

Again, her gaze locked in on Shelby, and her unease grew.

Then, someone sank into the chair next to her and since her nipples got hard, she knew it was Sam.

"Go away," she said, not taking her gaze off the stage.

Sam said nothing, and she glanced over, just as he rose his paddle, bidding two hundred dollars higher, than she could have even thought about offering.

She stared at him.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't even look at her, just eyed the crowd with interest and a smile, she hadn't seen from him before.

It was a killer smile, she admitted to herself. And when someone joined him in the bidding across the room, he flashed it again and raised his paddle to up the bid.

And then the oddest thing happened.

More people joined in.

Unbelievably, the bidding for the 'Night on the Town' continued for five more minutes, until the money offered, was nothing short of dazzling.

Sam won.

Apparently satisfied, he set down his paddle and leaned back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, perfectly at ease, as he watched the proceedings.

Mercedes should have been watching too, but couldn't take her eyes off him, while around them, the night kicked into full gear with a new excitement.

Everyone in the whole place was now bidding on all the items, playfully trying to outdo each other, or in some cases, not so playfully.

It was…wonderful.

But she couldn't get her mind, off the fact that, Sam had spent hundreds of dollars to get it going.

"What are you going to do with that package you just won?" she asked.

"Have a night on the town, apparently," he replied.

There was no way he was an orchestra kind of guy, she thought.

"But..."

"Trouble at three o'clock," he said casually.

She turned to look and found Lucille and another biddy from her blue-haired posse, bidding fiercely for the next auction item...a date with Andrews, the cute owner of the hardware store in town.

"This Andrews guy," Sam said to Mercedes, still watching the old ladies upping the bid with alarming acerbity, "He's ninety, right?"

"No, actually, he's young enough to be their grand-son."

The auctioneer jokingly suggested, the two older women share the date, and the bidding ended peacefully.

Sam winced in clear sympathy for Andrews, who now had to date not one, but two old ladies.

"Don't feel sorry for him," Mercedes said. "He's got it coming to him. He goes after anything with breasts."

Sam slid her a look.

"You have a little bit of a mean streak."

She laughed.

But it was true, even if, not a single soul in Lucky Harbor would believe it. She had no idea what it said about her, that Sam, a perfect stranger, saw more of her, than anyone who actually knew her.

At her smile, Sam leaned in close, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her mouth.

"I like a woman with a mean streak."

Mercedes stared into his eyes, nearly falling into him, before letting out another low laugh, this time at herself.

God, he was good. Really good.

"Save the charm. I'm immune," she said. And look at her, displaying another shockingly bad girl characteristic...lying through her teeth.

"Explain something to me," he said.

"What?"

"Why does everyone think I was your date tonight?"

She stared at him, disbelief masking her features.

"Last weekend, when I pulled you out of that storm, Santana told you about the auction and how I needed a date, remember?"

"No, actually."

She gaped at him.

"Seriously?"

"I remember the storm," he said slowly, as if wracking his brain. "I remember getting hit by the tree. And I remember you."

Mercedes was just wondering, if that was good or bad, when he added,

"Sort of."

'Sort of? He 'sort of' remembered me? What did that mean?'

She reached for her wine, wishing it was something stronger.

"I remember there being a list," Sam said. "A list of...Mr. Wrongs..."

Mercedes nearly choked on her wine.

"...And I definitely remember waking up in the ambulance, with a mother of a headache."

Mercedes remained silent for a shocked beat, while she digested this astonishing fact.

Sam had absolutely no memory, of the fact that, he was supposed to be her date tonight. Well, that certainly explained a lot of things. Like being stood up.

Damn! It was going to be hard to hold that against him, though she was willing to give it a try.

"So, I guess, the next time I make a date with a concussed guy, I should pin a note to his collar so he doesn't forget, right?"

"Good plan."

His hand was next to hers on the table. He let his thumb glide over her fingers, a small, almost casual touch, that sent a shudder through her.

"I'm sorry I forgot our date," he said.

He was so close, she could see every single hue of green in his eyes, and there were many. She could also feel the warmth of his exhale at her temple.

In the crowded Vets' Hall, their nearness was no different, from any other couple in the room, discussing their next bid, or laughing over a joke.

But Mercedes wasn't bidding or laughing. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her throat and there were butterflies going crazy, low in her belly.

"Am I on that list, Mercedes?" Sam asked, low and husky. "Am I a Mr. Wrong?"

Oh God, she was in trouble now, because, she liked the sound of her name on his lips. Too much.

"Don't get too cocky. There are others on the list." She lifted her hand to touch the bruise on his cheek.

But he caught her hand in his.

"Not what I asked."

"Yes," she admitted. "You're on the list. You're at the top of the list."

Stay safe!