Hey there! Hope January has been good to you! Things have been busy around here and this is a shorter chapter, but also a turning point. And just in time—because things are about to speed up. Chapter 10 will bring new faces and a night full of possibilities. As always, thank you so much for the sweet reviews!
XXXXX
The office was filled with unusual energy, the kind that only came with the final days of the year. Conversations happened at a lighter frequency, emails slowed to a trickle, and even the most dedicated employees had a certain looseness to them. Mercedes sat at her desk, tying up the last loose ends before she could finally take her well-earned five-day break.
She glanced at her to-do list—half of it already crossed out—and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms. It had been a demanding year, but a good one. A year of long nights, tight deadlines, and—if she let herself admit it—some of her best work yet.
At 4 p.m., the team gathered in the conference room for an impromptu toast. Someone had pulled together a tray of slightly crushed cookies, and a bottle of champagne appeared, likely from a stash that had been sitting in someone's desk drawer all year.
"To a successful year!" her boss declared, raising his glass. "And to even greater things in the next one."
Mercedes clinked glasses with her coworkers, a small smile playing on her lips. She felt a flicker of pride as she took a sip—professionally, this had been a year of wins. She had led key projects, handled difficult clients with ease, and even caught the attention of some higher-ups. She was exactly where she had wanted to be when she set her career goals the previous December.
The toast ended with murmured well wishes and loose plans to grab drinks in the new year. Mercedes returned to her desk, tidying up for the last time this year, As she shut down her computer and slipped on her coat, she exhaled deeply, her thoughts already drifting to the things that couldn't be measured by performance reviews or promotions.
To the parts of her life she hadn't planned for.
XXXXX
Later that night, Mercedes sat between Kurt and Brittany, her wine glass half-full as the conversation flowed effortlessly around her. Tina's apartment was warm and inviting. The table was set with mismatched plates and glasses, giving the place a cozy, lived-in feel.
"Okay," Kurt said, gesturing dramatically with his fork, "I'm just saying, if Blaine burns one more lasagna, I'm hiring a private chef. My patience is running thin."
Mercedes laughed, shaking her head. "You love him too much to replace him with a chef."
"True," Kurt admitted with a sigh. "But I'll at least make him watch a cooking tutorial."
"Make it a date night," Brittany suggested brightly. "Like a cooking class. I hear those are fun!" She winked at Mercedes, who just rolled her eyes.
Santana smirked. "Or just let him keep burning stuff. Keeps things spicy."
The conversation spiraled into a debate about whether terrible cooking was a relationship dealbreaker. Kurt was still playfully lamenting Blaine's culinary crimes when the topic shifted.
"So, Mercedes," Kurt said, turning to her with a mischievous glint in his eye. "What's this I hear about you spending New Year's Eve with someone special?"
Mercedes rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "I swear, you're worse than a tabloid."
The table went quiet, all eyes on her.
"Yes, I am spending New Year's Eve with Sam and his friends."
The reaction was immediate—claps, dramatic gasps, and even Santana playfully fanning herself.
"This is the real deal," Tina declared. "Mercedes officially belongs to the paired-up group again."
"About time," Kurt added, winking.
"Not yet, but I think things are headed that way." Mercedes laughed, but her next words were a little more contemplative. "But you know, guys, I've been picking up on these little things about him, and I think he might come from money."
Brittany tilted her head. "Like, how much money?"
"Well," Mercedes said, leaning in slightly, "he mentioned his dad is in finance, and he kind of glossed over it, but the way he talks about certain things... I don't know. It's just a feeling."
Santana raised an eyebrow. "So, what if he does? Does that bother you?"
"No, not really," Mercedes shook her head, swirling her wine. "It's just… it's another layer, you know? Another thing to figure out."
"Girl," Kurt said, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. "If he's rich, you figure it out with a joint bank account!"
The table burst into laughter, and Mercedes shook her head. "Kurt!"
"It's true though." Kurt said with a grin.
"And don't forget," Brittany added brightly, "you wouldn't even know him without Kurt and his cavity."
"True," Mercedes said, her smile softening as she turned to the blue-eyed man. "I guess I owe you one."
"Damn right you do!" Kurt said, raising his glass. "To me—the true hero of this love story."
They clinked their glasses, the sound of laughter and silverware filling the space.
After the others left, Mercedes stayed behind to help Tina clean up. The kitchen was quiet except for the sound of running water and the occasional clink of plates.
"Girl, you didn't have to stay and help," Tina said, glancing over her shoulder.
"Please, you know how washing dishes is therapeutic for me." Mercedes replied, rinsing a wine glass. "Besides, it gives me a chance to escape Kurt's endless questions."
Tina chuckled, drying off a dish. "He means well. We all do."
Mercedes nodded, her gaze fixed on the soapy water. "I know. This is very new, and I feel like I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop."
Tina set the towel down and leaned against the counter. "I get it. But, Mercedes, you can't let fear be the thing that holds you back."
Mercedes sighed. "That's easier said than done."
Tina gave her a knowing look. "I know. But look, relationships fail sometimes. There's no guarantee." She smiled, shaking her head. "That's not a bad thing. Every failure teaches you something—about yourself, about what you want, about what you deserve. It makes you stronger, more certain. It's not supposed to make you afraid. Right?"
Mercedes swallowed hard, her chest tightening at the truth in Tina's words. This overthinking thing was getting old. She felt like that was all she'd been doing since Sam came into her life and it felt exhausting.
"I just don't want to waste time," she admitted. "If it doesn't work out…"
"Then it doesn't," Tina interrupted gently. "But what if it does? Let yourself believe it."
XXXXX
Mercedes had started this whole cleaning spree with the idea of reorganizing, but now she was knee-deep in sentimental clutter. She knelt on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by piles of clothes, shoes, and random trinkets that had somehow accumulated over the years. She took an old shoebox from the ground, dust motes swirling in the dim light as she flipped it open, sifting through old birthday cards, concert tickets, and a few forgotten notebooks. Near the bottom, folded neatly, was a sheet of paper she instantly recognized.
"Intentions for the Year."
She exhaled softly as she unfolded it, scanning the lines she had written two years ago. A tradition her father had taught her—writing down what you wanted to call into your life, as if putting it to paper would make it real. He'd always been big on setting goals, saying it was a way to keep yourself accountable—not just to the world, but to yourself.
"You don't have to hit every mark," he'd said. "But writing it down makes it real. It gives you something to aim for."
Her eyes skimmed the list:
Get a promotion.
Save for a trip abroad.
Start a new hobby.
Be more open to love.
Be more open to love.
She swallowed. That one hadn't been as simple.
She had written it during a time when love had felt... foreign. Like something meant for other people. She'd been fresh out of a breakup, her heart bruised and her walls sky-high.
Did I do it? she wondered. Am I actually open to this? Or am I still holding back?
No, she still wasn't sure if she could cross it off. Sam was here and he was... something. But maybe this was an intention she'd have to carry forward, to write down again for the coming year. Not because she hadn't tried, but because some goals took time.
Sam was changing her, yes. He was showing her that this thing didn't have to be painful or complicated. But two months wasn't enough to undo years of fear and doubt. And there were still so many unknowns. His world seemed different from hers, his past was still a mystery.
It was almost absurd, the way he had entered her life so effortlessly, quietly shifting things she hadn't even realized needed shifting. The way her guard softened with every message, every easy laugh.
She thought about the way he made her laugh, how he looked at her like she was the only person in the room. She thought about the way her heart had fluttered when he'd invited her to spend New Year's Eve with him and his friends.
It wasn't just a casual invitation; she knew that. Meeting someone's friends, stepping into their world—that was a big step.
She closed her eyes and exhaled, smoothing the folded letter against her knee. This time, she decided, she'd follow through on her goal.
Sam was great and he was there. And instead of embracing it, she had spent so long questioning, analyzing, preparing for something to go wrong. She had been so afraid of falling that she hadn't realized she was already in free fall.
She wondered what her father would say if he were here. He had always been the one to remind her that risks were part of life—that protecting yourself from pain also meant closing yourself off from possibility.
Yes, this could fail. But she was a grown woman. If it didn't work out, she would handle it, pick herself up, and be okay. She had survived worse.
"Okay, Mercedes," She told herself. "Enough analyzing. Enough questioning."
She placed the letter back into the shoebox, pressing the lid shut with finality. This intention, this promise to herself—she wasn't letting it collect dust this time.
With renewed energy, she pushed herself up from the floor. As if on cue, her phone buzzed beside her. Sam.
"Excited to see you tonight. Hope you're ready to ring in the new year properly."
Mercedes smiled, fingers flying over the keyboard before she could second-guess herself.
"I'm ready!"
And this time, she meant it.