Hey guys! Hope you are enjoying your New Year. Here is an update for you. Enjoy!
Mercedes Jones was in the zone. Her worktable, bathed in the soft glow of her desk lamp, was covered with swatches of fabric, half-finished sketches, and a tangle of measuring tape. Her mind buzzed with ideas for her new fashion line—a collection that would debut at Fashion Week in just six months. This wasn't just another showcase; it was the showcase, the pinnacle of her career. Her line would walk the runway in front of the biggest names in the industry, and she was determined to make it unforgettable.
The stakes had never been higher, and Mercedes was consumed by the drive to get everything perfect. Every sketch had to be flawless, every fabric swatch carefully chosen. She wanted this line to redefine her brand and solidify her place among the greats.
The house was eerily quiet. The twins, Jamie and Anna, were at Mary and Dwight's for the weekend, and Mercedes planned to use every second of the peace to catch up on work. Even her phone was set to silent—knowing she was only three minutes away from the girls gave her the freedom to lock the world outside temporarily.
But that didn't mean the pressure wasn't mounting. The anticipation of Fashion Week had Mercedes second-guessing every design, every detail. She couldn't afford a single misstep. Her mind raced with ideas, her pen darting across the page as she brought her visions to life.
Then, she heard the knock.
It was soft but insistent, pulling her out of her creative bubble. She frowned, glancing at the clock. It was well past eight. With a sigh, she pushed her chair back, stretched her legs, and made her way to the door, wondering who could need her attention right now.
When she opened it, Sam stood there with a sheepish grin and a large paper bag in his hands.
"Hey," he said, his voice warm and familiar. "I thought you might be hungry."
Mercedes blinked in surprise, her hand still on the doorknob. "Sam? What are you doing here?"
He lifted the bag slightly, his grin widening as if that explained everything. "I brought dinner. Your favorite—Thai from that little place downtown."
Her lips parted, caught somewhere between surprise and exasperation. She hadn't mentioned how swamped she was, but somehow, Sam had picked up on it. It was thoughtful, but…
"Sam, I appreciate it, but I'm in the middle of working," she said, stepping aside to let him in. "I have so much to do before Monday. Fashion Week is around the corner, and I'm way behind."
"I know," he replied, setting the bag down on the coffee table with care as though not to upset her further. "I thought maybe I could help. You've been going nonstop lately."
Mercedes gave him a skeptical look, crossing her arms. "Help how? You're not exactly a fashion designer, Sam."
He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Fair point. But I can keep you fed and hydrated, maybe even make you laugh. You're allowed to take a break, you know."
Despite the knot of stress in her chest, the corner of her mouth twitched. "You're impossible."
"I've been called worse," he quipped with a wink.
Sam was already moving before she could stop him, pulling out containers of steaming food and arranging them on the table like it was some romantic picnic.
"That's nice, and it is appreciated Sam, but I really don't have time for this," she started to say, but her words trailed off as she noticed him heading for her worktable.
Her heart leaped in panic. "Wait—Sam, don't touch that!" she nearly yelled, rushing toward him.
Sam froze mid-reach, a roll of measuring tape dangling from one hand and a pile of fabric swatches in the other. His expression shifted to confusion. "What? I was just clearing off some space for you to eat. You need room to breathe."
"I don't need room, Sam," she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She hurried to snatch the items from his hands, her movements quick and agitated. "I have everything exactly where I need it. If you move things, I'll lose my place."
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to mess anything up," he said quickly, backing away with his hands raised like he'd triggered a tripwire. "I was just trying to help."
Mercedes sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know. But this isn't something you can help with. I need to focus."
Sam stepped back, looking slightly wounded but determined not to let it show. "Got it. No touching the sacred workspace."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. A moment later, a familiar melody filled the room.
Mercedes froze, her heart skipping a beat as the first notes of You and I by John Legend played. It had been their song once—back when things were simpler before trust had been shattered.
"Sam…" Her voice was a whisper.
He looked at her, his eyes soft and filled with something she couldn't quite name. "Remember this?"
"Of course, I remember," she said, her voice tight. "But why would you play it now?"
"I thought it might… I don't know, lighten the mood. It always worked before when you were stressed,"
Mercedes stared at him, emotions swirling in her chest. Anger. Sadness. Longing.
"Sam, I can't do this," she said, stepping away. "Not tonight. I need to work, and you're making it… complicated."
His expression shifted, the vulnerability in his eyes replaced by hurt. "Complicated? Mercedes, I'm just trying to make you smile. You've been working so hard, and I thought—"
"That's the problem!" she interrupted, her voice rising. "You thought. You didn't ask. You just showed up and decided I needed rescuing or whatever this is. But I don't need that, Sam. I need you to respect my space."
Sam's jaw tightened. He took a deep breath, then nodded. "You're right. I should've asked."
The apology caught her off guard. She hadn't expected him to back down so quickly.
"I'm sorry," he continued. "I just… I hate seeing you so stressed. I wanted to help. But I see now I've only made things worse."
Her emotions were now on full display as everything started to bubble to the surface. "Don't do that. Please don't make me the bad guy when you're not helping. You're distracting me," she said, her tone edged with frustration.
Sam hesitated, his easy confidence faltering. "Mercedes, you've been cooped up in here all day. You barely ate yesterday; I didn't think I had to ask to take care of you." he shot back, his own voice rising slightly, though still laced with hurt. "You're running yourself into the ground, and I—"
"Sam, I have deadlines! Big ones! Ones that could make or break everything I've worked for!" she said, her voice breaking under the weight of her stress.
"And you think I don't get that?" he said, stepping closer, his frustration evident now. "I do get it, Mercedes. But killing yourself over it isn't the answer. I just want to make things a little easier for you."
She shook her head, her curls bouncing with the motion. "Easier? Do you know what would make things easier? Letting me focus instead of barging in here with takeout like this is a date night! News Flash Sam, we are not dating! We aren't married, and I don't need you to take care of me! I have been doing fine on my own!"
Sam's jaw tightened. "Fine. You don't want my help? Message received loud and clear." He grabbed his coat, his movements stiff. "I'll leave you to it."
"Fine," she shot back, turning her back on him and going back to work.
Sam stared at her for a moment before he slammed the door.
Mercedes jumped at the slam, staring at the fabric in her hands, her heart heavy. She wanted to chase after him, to tell him she appreciated his effort even if it had gone sideways. But she didn't move.
Instead, she returned to her desk, trying to lose herself in her work. But the sketches didn't hold the same magic they had an hour ago. All she could think about was Sam and the way he'd looked at her—as if she was still the most important person in his world and wondered why that bothered her so much.
The Evans family den buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of poker chips. The long table was surrounded by a mix of old friends and family, all gathered for their regular poker night. Sam sat near the end of the table, nursing a glass of whiskey and shuffling his chips absentmindedly.
Hunter leaned back in his chair, tossing a chip into the center pile. He eyed Sam with a teasing smirk. "You're awfully quiet tonight, Evans. Lose your voice or just your nerve?"
Sitting across from Sam, Stevie immediately jumped in, his grin wicked. "Nah, he's quiet 'cause Mercedes handed him his ass yesterday."
Laughter rippled through the table, and Sam groaned, running a hand down his face. "Can we not?"
Gregory, Mercedes' father, raised an eyebrow as he dealt the next hand. "What's this about Mercedes? What happened?"
"Sam came home sulking like a teenager, mumbling and all upset." Dwight chimed in, leaning back in his chair with an amused shake of his head. "Brought Mercedes dinner, and she didn't take it well."
Gregory glanced at Sam, his brow furrowed. "You brought her dinner, and she got upset? That doesn't sound like my baby girl."
Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair as he tossed his cards onto the table. "I don't get it either. I was trying to be nice, you know? Do what I used to do when she'd get in her creative zones—bring her food, make her take a break."
JJ, Mercedes' youngest brother, snorted as he looked up from his cards. "Well, that was dumb."
The table fell silent for a moment, all eyes shifting to JJ.
"Excuse me?" Sam asked, his tone half offended, half confused.
JJ shrugged, folding his cards. "Mercedes isn't who she used to be, man. She's been doing everything independently for the last five years—raising the girls, building her career, managing life. She doesn't need anyone coming in and acting like she can't handle herself."
Zack nodded in agreement, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. "JJ's right. You're trying to do things the way you used to, but that's not who she is anymore. Mercedes has worked hard to be independent. Coming in and trying to take care of her like she's the same person she was five years ago is just gonna piss her off."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. "Yeah, well, I definitely found that out the hard way."
Hunter chuckled, tossing his cards into the pile. "Man, you're lucky she didn't throw you out on your ass."
"Not helping, Hunt," Sam muttered, shooting him a glare.
"Not trying to help Sammy, boy." Hunter laughed.
Gregory leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. "Sam, as you know, Mercedes has always been strong, but you have to remember that strength didn't come easy. She's had to rebuild her life and trust herself in ways she didn't before. If you're serious about fixing things with her, you need to meet her where she is now, not where she was back then."
Dwight nodded in agreement, his expression serious now. "Your mother and I love Mercedes like she's one of our own, and you are my boy, but Greg's right. If you're going to win her trust back, you can't just show up with takeout and expect it to fix everything. You've got to listen, really listen, to what she needs. You have to realize that she needs to figure out if she wants to start over with you or not."
Stevie smirked, dealing the next round of cards. "So, big bro, you ready to take some advice from the dads' club, or are you gonna keep stepping on landmines?"
Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I don't have much of a choice. Any pointers on how not to screw it up again?"
JJ smirked. "Start by not barging in when she's in the middle of something. And maybe—just maybe—ask her what she actually needs instead of guessing."
Hunter raised his glass in a mock toast. "You've already started by getting here; you just have to follow through. To Sam, on his long and perilous journey of figuring out women. May he survive."
Laughter erupted again as Sam shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Despite the ribbing, he felt a flicker of hope, wondering if he was going to get this right.
Monday mornings were Sam's favorite, and he found solace in the drive to drop Jamie and Anna off at Mercedes' house. It gave him an excuse to see her, even for a moment.
The twins bounded out of the car, their laughter heard by all through the crisp morning air. Sam trailed behind, his head low and eyes fixed on his shoes as the girls barreled into Mercedes' open arms.
"Mommy!" they squealed in unison, wrapping their little arms around her legs before darting inside, telling her all about what happened at their grandparents' house.
Sam lingered in the doorway, unsure of his welcome. When Mercedes turned to him, her expression was calm but cautious.
"Hey," he said softly. "Can we… talk?"
Mercedes hesitated, her hand gripping the edge of the door. For a moment, he thought she might say no, but then she nodded. "Let me get the girls set up."
Sam waited in the kitchen, sitting on the island as he listened to Mercedes settling the twins in the den. The familiar strains of Moana floated through the house, along with the sound of tiny hands rustling snack bags.
Mercedes walked back into the kitchen, her steps measured. She paused across from him, exhaling as she tapped the counter with her fingers. She'd spent the weekend thinking about how she'd spoken to him. While she didn't think she was wrong, guilt had crept in.
"I—" she started, but Sam raised his hand, cutting her off.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice heavy with sincerity. "I didn't mean to hurt you or make you think I was trying to take over. I wasn't trying to say you can't take care of yourself or that you need me. I know how hard you've worked to build this life."
Mercedes blinked, surprised by his words. "Sam, I know you meant well. I could see that. And it did mean a lot to me. But…" She sighed, searching for the right way to say it. "We're not the same people we were back then. We're not the same couple. We're not… together. And I don't want to lead you on. Especially when I don't know..."
Her words hung in the air, and Sam's shoulders sagged slightly. He looked up at her, his green eyes filled with a vulnerability that made her chest tighten.
"Do I even have a chance to win your heart again?" he asked quietly. "Or is it a lost cause?"
Mercedes opened her mouth to respond, her emotions swirling. But a knock sounded at the door before she could find the words.
Startled, she glanced toward the hallway. "Hold that thought," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She left the kitchen, her heart pounding as she approached the door.
Mercedes opened the door to reveal Christian Myers, Sebastian's partner and one of her lawyers, a key player in managing her fashion line's legal affairs.
Dressed impeccably in a tailored navy suit accentuating his broad shoulders, Christian offered her a warm smile, his blue eyes sparkling.
"Christian," Mercedes greeted, surprised but pleased. "What are you doing here?"
"Thought I'd save you the trouble of coming into the office. I had some updates and figured I'd drop by to grab those files you mentioned," he said, holding up his phone to show an email thread they'd exchanged earlier.
"Come in," Mercedes said, stepping aside. She gestured toward the kitchen where Sam sat, a faint tension creeping into her voice. "You remember Sam, right? The girls' father."
Christian's smile tightened ever so slightly as he entered. "Of course. Nice to see you again, Sam."
Sam, who had straightened in his seat, offered a curt nod. "You too."
Mercedes glanced between them, sensing the undercurrent but brushing it off. "I'll go grab the files. Make yourselves comfortable." With that, she disappeared down the hallway toward her office.
The moment Mercedes was out of earshot, Christian turned to Sam, his demeanor shifting. His gaze swept over Sam, appraising him in a way that made it clear this wasn't just casual small talk.
"So," Christian began, leaning casually against the counter. "Mercedes didn't mention you were here."
Sam leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "I was dropping off the girls. Figured I'd talk to her while I was at it."
Christian smirked his tone light but pointed. "Good timing on my part, not yours."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Because."
"Well, because I am not going to miss this chance."
"Chance for what?" Sam asked, his tone guarded.
"To let you know that I have every intention of asking Mercedes out," Christian said matter-of-factly, his confidence unshakable. "She is beautiful and talented, and I would be a fool if I didn't at least shoot my shot.."
Sam blinked, caught off guard before a laugh escaped him. "That's ambitious. But Mercedes was my wife. Will be my wife if I have anything to say about it. She hasn't even dated since we broke up."
Christian's smirk faded, his expression hardening. "You say that like it's something to be proud of. Like breaking her heart so badly that she doesn't trust anyone else is an achievement."
Sam's smile faltered. "That's not what I meant."
"Maybe not, but it's the truth," Christian said, his voice sharp. "You left her to pick up the pieces of a life you both built. And now you're back, expecting what? That she'll just forget all of that and fall back into your arms?"
Sam's jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter. "I don't expect anything. But I'm not walking away, either."
Christian shrugged, his confidence unwavering. "Suit yourself. Just get used to seeing me around because I'll be here. And when she's ready to move forward, it won't be with the guy who broke her. It'll be with someone who knows how to cherish her."
Before Sam could respond, they both heard Mercedes' footsteps approaching.
She reentered the kitchen, holding a thick folder. "Here you go," she said, handing it to Christian.
"Thanks," Christian said, his tone softening as he turned to her. His smile returned warm and disarming. "So, when are you going to grab that drink with me? You promised."
Mercedes sighed, glancing briefly at Sam, who watched the exchange with thinly veiled irritation. "I can't, Christian. Not right now. I have a lot going on."
Christian leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "No problem. You know my number."
Mercedes blinked in surprise as Christian straightened, offering her one last smile before turning and heading for the door. "Take care, Mercedes. Sam," he added, giving a pointed nod before he left.
The door shut behind him, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
Sam stared at Mercedes, his expression unreadable. "He's bold," he said finally.
Mercedes rolled her eyes, walking over to tidy up the counter. "Don't start."
Sam's jaw worked as if he wanted to say more, but he held back, the tension in the room palpable.
Sam leaned against the counter, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he studied her. "Mercedes, if you want to date Christian, you should."
Mercedes frowned, her brow furrowing as she glanced up from where she was organizing papers. "What? I don't—Christian doesn't like me like that."
Sam's lips pressed into a thin line. "Mercedes, he literally just asked you out in front of me. That's not exactly subtle."
She shook her head, clearly unconvinced. "No, he didn't. He was just being polite. We work together, Sam. He's not interested in me like that."
Sam frowned, leaning forward slightly. "Why do you always do that? Brush off when someone's into you?"
"I don't—" she started but stopped, the defensive edge in her voice making her pause.
"Why haven't you dated since we split?" Sam asked, his tone softer now, but the question hung heavy between them.
Mercedes busied herself, arranging the papers on the counter, her shoulders tensing. "It's not important."
"It is," Sam pressed gently. "You're beautiful, smart, successful—any guy would be lucky to have you. So why not?"
Her movements stilled, and she laughed hollow before finally meeting his eyes. "Why? So another man can do what you did?"
The words hit Sam like a physical blow, his breath catching as guilt clawed at his chest. "Mercedes, I—"
"No, Sam," she interrupted, shaking her head. "You want to know why I haven't dated? Because I don't trust anyone not to leave me when things get hard. I trusted you—with everything—and you..." Her voice broke slightly, and she exhaled deeply, steadying herself. "You broke me."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, his expression stricken. "I know I don't deserve you. I know that. And if you don't want me, I'll live with that. But, Mercedes, you can't shut yourself off from love. You deserve to be loved."
Her eyes glistened as she looked at him, her emotions swirling beneath the surface. "How can I feel love? How can I want to be loved when the man I trusted with my heart ripped it out?"
Sam's heart ached at the raw pain in her voice. Without thinking, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. At first, she stiffened, but then she let herself relax against him, her cheek resting against his chest.
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could go back and change everything. I wish I hadn't hurt you. I still love you, Mercedes. I've never stopped."
Mercedes stepped back, her hands resting lightly on his chest as she looked up at him. "I love you too," she admitted quietly. "And I'm sorry."
Sam held her gaze, his hands still on her shoulders. "You need to date," he said firmly.
Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flashing across her face. "What?"
"You need to date," he repeated, his voice steady. "You need to move on—whether that's with me or not. The only way you'll know if you can forgive me or even want me is to see what else is out there."
Mercedes shook her head. "Sam—"
"No," he said, cutting her off gently. "I'm not saying this because I don't love you. I'm saying it because I do. I'm saying this because I want you. And if we get back together, it needs to be the right choice. You need to know you're not settling. That I'm not just...comfortable. You deserve more than that."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, nodding slowly. "And if I don't want to move on?"
"Then I'll be right here," Sam said, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. "But you deserve the chance to figure that out for yourself."
Mercedes stared at him, her heart pounding as the weight of his words settled over her.