Thank you for your continued support, kind words...everything.

Standard disclaimer.

For some reason, I hadn't really thought about the fact that, Sam would be with me, when I go to talk to my parents.

I don't know why, but I guess, it was because, I don't think I ever really went to my parents' house, to discuss anything with a guy tagging along.

Well, I'd brought home a guy once, and that had honestly been by accident.

I was nineteen, and I'd been at their house, just before I went on a date, when I realized, I'd left my wallet and ID on their kitchen table.

After meeting up with the guy, we had to go back and retrieve it.

My entire family seemed to have been in attendance, and the poor dude never made it to another date after that.

I somehow doubted Sam would get the third degree from anyone, though. Knowing my parents, they'd roll out the red carpet for him.

We stopped at my apartment beforehand. And Sam insisted that he enter first, so I waited just inside the door, while he scoped things out.

Returning to where I stood, he said,

"Everything looks good to me. Do you need help getting anything?"

"No, thank you."

Leaving Sam to putter around the living area, I made my way back to my bedroom.

I couldn't suppress the chill that snaked down my spine, when I looked around, my gaze settling on the messy bed, covers thrown to the side during my hasty departure and remaining the way I'd left them.

I started the surprisingly painful process, of gathering up enough clothes and bath items, to get me through a week or so.

A stupid tear snuck free, and I hastily swiped at it.

This was supposed to be a place of comfort and safety for me, not one of fear and paranoia.

When I left the bathroom, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed. He took one look at me and rose smoothly.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Of course." My damn voice cracked.

Doubt crossed his stunning features, but he didn't say anything, as I shoved my travel bag into a suitcase, I'd loaded up with clothes.

Forcing a smile, I zipped up the suitcase.

"That should be all."

He tilted his head to the side.

"Remember what I told you?"

"You tell me a lot of things, Sam. I don't always pay attention," I teased.

A brow rose.

"It's okay to not feel all right about any of this."

"You're such a shrink. You sure you're in the right profession?"

"Don't give me any lip. I'll turn you over my knee." His eyes darkened significantly. "Actually that sounds like a fantastic idea."

Yeah, it kind of did. I wondered, if he'd order me to stay still, when he did and that made me hot.

He groaned, as he stepped forward, curving his hand around my jaw.

"I can read your face like an open book," he said. His voice dropped low and husky. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I closed my eyes, swayed by the deep timbre of his voice.

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe. You would. Just like you liked it in the kitchen."

"What time is it?" I asked. "Because, I think we have time to test out this theory, before we go to my parents' house."

Sam tipped his head back and laughed.

"Babe, the only times I've been in you, have been too fast. The next time I strip you down, I want to take my time with you."

Oh, that hit me right in the lady bits.

He swooped down, kissing me quickly, before grabbing my suitcase.

Sighing, I headed out of the room and grabbed my laptop from the living room. I didn't let myself look back, as I left my apartment.

"Do you know if Stevie got ahold of the guy, who can hook up the security in my place?" I asked, locking the door behind us.

"What? You're done staying with me already?"

I grinned at his light tone.

"Yes."

"My heart. You broke it." Waiting for me to step off the porch, he then started for where his truck was parked. "I don't know, but I'll check in with him today and see about your phone. But your spare is working, right?"

"Yep."

He opened the truck door for me, and took my bags, stacking them neatly, in the space behind the seats.

As he stepped aside, he straightened my glasses and then dipped down, pressing his lips against my cheek.

A huge part of me wanted to giggle like a little girl, because, there was something so cute, about being kissed on the cheek, but I managed to hold it together, as he pulled away and loped around the front of his truck.

Turning around, I glanced in the back and then did a double take.

At first, I didn't believe what I was seeing. But, as I peered into the back, I froze. Tucked behind the seat, carefully stowed away, were my easel, blank canvas, and my paints, all packed up.

I couldn't move, as I stared at the items.

I hadn't even heard him go in and out of the house, let alone into my extra bedroom, but he...he packed up my paints!

Lifting my gaze, I found him behind the wheel, looking at me strangely, and I had no idea what the expression on my face said, but it probably spelled crazy.

"What?" he asked.

"You thought of my paints," I whispered.

He glanced to the back and then at me.

"Yeah. I figured you'd want them. I have room in the guest bedroom for them."

I thought about what he said last night, about me needing him, and I sucked in a shallow breath. I don't even know why I thought about that, but needing him meant, that I had very strong feelings for him again, which also meant, that if I lost him, I'd be in a world of hurting.

And connecting all of that together, felt crazy, with an extra side of crazy sauce.

But he packed up my paints!

Standing outside the truck, all I could do was stare at him like a doofus, until one side of his lips tipped up.

"Baby, are you going to get in this truck or not?"

I gripped the door, feeling my heart expand in my chest. There was a good chance it would burst, from what didn't seem like not a big deal to him...but it was to me.

Sam chuckled that smooth, deep laugh.

"Mercedes?"

"I'm going to get in the truck," I told him.

A brow arched after a moment.

"Anytime this year?"

"I'm taking my time." I flushed, because, I knew I looked stupid. "I don't want to pull a muscle, climbing into this monster. I need a freaking ladder to get into this thing."

Sam chuckled, while I made a face at him. Then, he got out from behind the wheel and helped me into the truck.

Finally, I stopped acting weird and settled in. Just as I was buckling up, he asked,

"Who's that?"

I looked out the window as Kip crossed the front porch of the Victorian, the vestibule door swinging shut behind him.

"Oh, that's Kip. I can't remember his last name, but he's the guy who moved in upstairs."

"Huh."

Kip looked up, and I lifted my hand, giving him a jaunty wave, which was returned with a little less enthusiasm.

Adjusting the seat belt strap, I looked at Sam, as he pulled away from the curb.

His gaze flicked to the rear-view mirror and then over to me.

He winked and I narrowed my eyes at him, which made him laughed, and now my lips were twitching.

Something about the way he smiled and the sound of his laugh, was infectious.

I leaned my head back against the seat, thinking, there was just something about him.

You need me.

The words floated through my thoughts and even though I wanted to ignore them, they didn't offend me and I didn't take them, as a symbol of me being weak.

It wasn't any of that 'a woman needing a man' type of crap. It meant something far deeper than that, something I wasn't sure I was ready to delve into.

"Thank you," I said.

Sam glanced at me quickly.

"For what? The orgasms I gave you last night?"

I laughed.

"Yeah...well, thanks for that, but that wasn't what I was referring to. It's for the paints. That was really thoughtful of you."

"That's me. Mr. Thoughtful."

Shaking my head, I fixed my glasses, as they started to slip.

"You're also, Mr. Arrogant."

"It's called being well rounded."

I let go a very unattractive snort.

"Keep telling yourself that."

By the time we reached my parents' house, I'd almost forgotten why we were going there.

The insults we'd tossed back and forth on the way there, had me thoroughly and happily distracted, but when we pulled in behind my older brother's black Volkswagen sedan, I wanted to crawl under the truck seat.

Of course, it couldn't just be my parents. Oh no, it was Murphy's Law at its finest.

Sam grinned, as he glanced at me.

"Want to make a bet?"

"That by the end of this visit, I'm going to want to toss myself under a train?" I asked, as I unbuckled myself.

Skin crinkling around his eyes, he laughed.

"No. That your mom welcomes me to the family, by the end of the visit."

"God," I groaned, shaking my head. "I am not making the bet, because, she totally will. She'll probably start making booties for the nonexistent baby."

He laughed again, and that right there, made him all kinds of awesome all over again.

Most guys would break about a dozen laws, to get away from a marriage-and baby-obsessed mom. I'd never tell him that though.

Sighing, I forced myself out of the truck and we didn't even make it across, all the flagstones, before the front door flew open and my mom barreled out, her eyes wide, as they darted from me to Sam, to me and back again.

I swallowed a curse.

My mom stopped at the edge of the porch, clapping her hands together. Literally. She actually clapped.

"Honey," she said, smiling so widely, that I thought her face might split into two. "Are you about to make your momma proud?"

"Oh my God," I moaned.

Sam chuckled under his breath, as he stepped around me and climbed the steps.

Before he could say or do anything, my mother enveloped him in a hug, I knew could kind of be painful and dizzying, because, when she hugged excitedly, it involved a lot of squeezing and swaying side to side.

"Mom," I said, sighing. "Sam probably can't breathe."

"Shush it," she replied. "It's not often I get to hug a good-looking young man, that's not my son."

"Oh dear God," I muttered.

Sam's laughing didn't help, but when he was finally able to pull away, he glanced over his shoulder at me and winked. I shot him a look, as I came up the stairs, but he spoke before I could.

"I have a feeling, my girl is about to make you proud."

My mouth dropped open.

"My girl? Oh!" My mom flapped her hands in front of her face, as she called for my dad. "Best news I've heard all..."

"Mom." I was going to hurt them both. "That is not why we came here and..."

"Don't ruin this for me," she said, and turned, as I rolled my eyes.

My dad appeared at the front door, brows raised.

"George, you're not going to believe this! Sam called our baby girl, his girl!"

"Okaaay," Dad drew the word out, then nodded at Sam.

"It's about time, son."

'Seriously!'

As I passed Sam on the steps, I shoved my elbow into his stomach, nice and hard. He grunted, and that gave me a measure of satisfaction.

My mom looked close to tears, as she buzzed around the porch, almost knocking off the colorful purple and orange chrysanthemums.

She stopped, spinning towards Sam.

"I have to call your mom. We need..."

"Oh for the love of God." I threw up my hands. "Someone broke into my apartment in the middle of the night and took a picture of me, while I was sleeping and I'm probably being stalked. That's why I'm here!"

Both of my parents stared at me.

"Nice way to break that to them," Sam said dryly, under his breath.

My dad turned to me, letting the door swing shut, with a slam behind him.

"What?"

I wanted to throw myself down on the porch and flail like a toddler having an epic meltdown.

But Sam placed his hand on my lower back, steadying me.

"Why don't we head inside and talk? We'll tell you guys what's been happening," he said.

And that's what we did, except, before we could get the story out, my brother Gordon and his wife Maxine...who is pregnant, and was in the kitchen making meatballs, assumed that Sam and I were moving in together tomorrow, getting married next week, and popping out a baby, before she was even due.

Maxine was sitting at the oak table and my brother was standing near the island. And I had no idea, how they were working together like that.

Gordon had the meat and she had the eggs and the bread.

And there was a good five feet or so, between the island and the table. Trying to figure it out, made my brain hurt.

My brother was stocky like my dad and he inherited the crappy vision from our mom.

However, his wire-frame glasses, seemed to never slip down his nose like mine.

He grinned in a way that told me, he was about to say something, that was going to embarrass me, so I brace myself.

"Did you know she's had a crush on you since she was fifteen?" he asked Sam.

"Honey," said Maxine, shaking her head.

Sam smiled.

"Oh, I know."

"Everybody knew," Gordon tacked on. "I'm pretty sure, she sketched a picture of you, on the wall in her bedroom, and Dad had to paint..."

"Gordon! Shut up!" I screeched.

Dad entered the kitchen.

"Yeah, Gordon, shut up. Someone has been messing with your baby sister."

Gordon sobered immediately and lifted hamburger-covered hands from the bowl. His look turned serious in a nanosecond.

"What?" he asked.

I plopped down at the table, across from Maxine, figuring, I needed to sit through this conversation.

Between Sam and I, we told them everything. Well...almost everything. I left out the undies in the dishwasher thing, because, seriously, I didn't need to share that with my parents, and I also didn't tell them, about the wild monkey sex for obvious reasons.

As expected, my mom freaked out and then got angry...really angry.

"How dare someone do this to my daughter!" She slammed her fist on the table, rattling the little bowls of food, and then twisted toward Gordon. "You still got that shotgun? Wait!" She held up a hand, glancing at Sam. "Earmuffs, baby. Because, I'm about to suggest some laws be broken."

Sam clamped his mouth shut.

"Mom," I protested weakly.

That went largely ignored.

"You still have that shotgun, right? You go and stay a night at her place and if someone comes in that door, you..."

"Mrs. Jones, I don't think that's a wise idea. I think Gordon wants to be home, for the birth of his first born," Sam interjected wisely. "Mercedes is safe, and right now, that's what matters."

"What matters, is you all catch this sick SOB," my dad said. His arms were tensed, folded across his chest, as Sam explained everything that was being done.

He old them, my cell phone was being searched for prints, my apartment would be wired with an alarm system and I'd be staying with him, until that was done.

It took a while to calm down my parents and brother. Not that I blamed them for their reactions. They loved me and were worried about me, and I didn't want them to be afraid...and I didn't want to be afraid of a nameless, faceless freak, either.

Maybe an hour or so passed, the scent of garlic and meat filling the air, when my mom invited us to join them for their weekly Sunday spaghetti dinner.

When I glanced at Sam, he nodded and I felt that stupid fluttering in my belly, like a nest of butterflies were going to gnaw their way out.

As I got up to help get the plates, I realized we were missing someone.

"Where's Thomas?" I asked, placing the stack of plates on the table.

Dad grabbed a beer out of the fridge and said,

"Oh, he's over at a friend's, worshiping Satan...or whatever it is he's doing."

My brows slowly inched up my forehead, as I met Maxine's gaze.

Grinning, she ducked her chin and said,

"Well, that sounds like fun."

"True." Sam grinned from where he sat. "Nothing like a little satanic worship on a Sunday."

Mom smacked Dad's arm on the way back to the table.

"Thomas is with his girlfriend. And they're studying."

Gordon snorted.

"Now, see what you all made me do," my mother said. She lifted her hands, clad in oven mitts. "I forgot to get the garlic bread."

When she had the plate out, she spun towards me and the bread shifted precariously along the baking sheet.

"Oh! I almost forgot to tell you, since I didn't get over to see you yesterday, which apparently, was a good thing, because, I probably would be like Dog the Bounty Hunter on someone's ass right now."

Dad sighed.

I couldn't keep a straight face and giggled, as I sat down next to Sam.

"I'm picturing you with a blond mullet now," I said.

"I'd make that look good." She scooped the bread into a basket. "I ran into Miss Esposito. Remember her? She's a curator, at one of the museums in the city."

Oh no. I picked up my glass.

"Yes, I remember."

Gordon brought a vat of spaghetti sauce over, while Mom eyed me like a shrew.

"Do you also remember, how I showed her some of your work?"

"How could I forget?"

I glanced at my tea, wishing it had liquor in it. Maybe even some meth at this point.

Wait! Could meth be liquid? I'd have to ask Sam. But not right now, because, he was eyeballing me, as Dad plopped a huge pile of noodles on his plate.

Everyone sat, but Mom was like a pit bull.

"She is still very interested," she said.

"Oh," I murmured, scooping out the biggest meatball I could find. "You make the best meatballs," I told Gordon. "Have I ever told you that before?"

Gordon smiled.

"Interested in what?" Sam asked. I could kick him. And I almost did.

"Nothing," was my immediate response.

Mom shot me a chiding look.

"I showed Miss Esposito several of Mercy's paintings, a couple of months back. She's interested in commissioning pieces. You know..." she said, looking at me. "She would get paid, doing something she loved. But Mercy hasn't taken them up on it, yet."

I made a face, as I twirled my spaghetti and then almost shrieked, as a hand landed on my thigh.

Looking at Sam, I raised my brows and he narrowed his eyes.

"Why haven't you done that?" he asked.

Good question. But no easy answer.

I shrugged.

"I haven't had time. I feel like...I need to give her something new, something great."

"That's why you should drop those damn classes," Dad said, stabbing at his noodles.

"Dad, I'm trying to get an education. Isn't that something every parent wants their kid to get?" I asked.

"Every parent wants their kid to be happy," he corrected. "And you're not going to be happy with some graphic design degree."

I drew in a deep breath.

"I am happy.

No one looked like they believed me, and boy, that was kind of hard to swallow.

I wanted to shout that I was happy...as much as I could be right now. I mean, hello, I had some dude taking pictures of me while I slept, and Patrick was out, running around, a total free man, and Kurt...Kurt wasn't eating again.

Suddenly, I was no longer hungry.

And Sam was watching me closely, way too intently.

"Everything I've seen of yours is great," he said.

"It's true." Maxine smiled. "You did that painting for the baby's room. The one with the teddy bear? Every time I go into the room, I'm blown away by how real it looks."

"Thanks," I murmured, uncomfortable. When I glanced at Sam, I could see the wheels churning in his head.

But I'd rather be talking about the stalker and my undies in the dishwasher.

But then, because, it was my family, the conversation turned even more awkward, as dinner wrapped up.

"How's your father doing?" my dad asked Sam.

I stiffened, as I eyeballed him. But my dad was oblivious.

"He's doing okay. On Divorce Number Five Hundred," Sam said nonchalantly, but I knew his father's inability to be faithful and not lie, was a huge issue for him. Not a hang-up, though. If it was, he wouldn't have gotten over the fact, I had lied. But still bothered him nonetheless.

"Same old same old stuff, basically," he finished.

Dad cleared his throat.

"Well, one of these days, I hope your father finds happiness. Everyone deserves that."

Did they?

I wasn't so sure about that, but my parents were seconds away, from finding a tree and hugging it.

It was when I was helping my mom clean up the table and Sam had disappeared into the den with Dad, my brother, and Maxine, that I was completely cornered by her and the expansion of her grand-mamma dreams.

"Are you two stopping by and seeing his mother before you head back?" she asked, as she loaded up the dishwasher.

Wait. Were we? I hadn't even thought about that. I wasn't sure I could do Round Two.

"I don't know."

She took the plates I handed her, after rinsing them off and a moment passed, before she piped up again.

"What is going on between you two? And don't tell me you don't know. Last time we were chatting about your relationship status, Sam wasn't in the picture, and now he is."

I opened my mouth, but she went on.

"And I know your brother was giving you a hard time." She twisted at the waist, looking me straight in the eye. "But, honey, everyone knows you've been in lo..."

"We're dating," I cut her off before she could finish. "Okay? I guess that's what we're doing. It's nothing serious. I'm not fifteen anymore."

She arched a brow.

And I wasn't drawing sketches of him on my wall. I was painting his face now. Ugh.

Walking away from my mom, I snatched up the rest of the silverware and separated the pieces into their cubbies.

"Honey." Mom touched my arm. "I'm worried about you."

Straightening, I leaned against the sink and kept my voice low.

"Because of Sam?"

She smiled, but it was a pang to the chest, because, it was so sad.

"Yes. Because, I know you've cared strongly for him for years, and he's here, with you. That boy is here, and you're acting like it's nothing?"

"Mom..."

A hand came up, silencing me.

"And you still won't try this museum thing? Now, on top of it, there's some man breaking into your apartment? That has nothing to do with the first two things and it has nothing to do with what I'm about to say to you now. It's time to have a come-to-Jesus conversation."

'Oh no!'

"Just because Kurt is stuck to that bed, doesn't mean you don't get to live your life to the fullest."

I drew back, as if she'd slapped me.

"What?"

"Honey, your father and I know you are carrying a lot of guilt and that you..."

"Mercedes?" Sam came into the kitchen, my father and brother right behind him. And at the murderous look on all three of their faces, my heart immediately sank.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"We need to go back to your place," he said, and as he walked towards me, his eyes never left my face. "Your apartment was broken into."

Stay safe!