Yes, I'm alive. Yes, this chapter is finally here. And yes, we're getting that scene—well, the aftermath at least. As always, your reviews give me life. Hope this chapter makes you smile!
XXXXX
Mercedes blinked against the morning light, stretching as a delicious soreness spread through her limbs. When she rolled over, expecting to find Sam still tangled in the covers, she found only empty space. Faint clattering echoed from somewhere downstairs.
With a yawn, she reached for his sweater—the same one he'd draped over her shoulders a few months ago—and slipped it on. It swallowed her frame as she padded barefoot toward the noise.
Descending the staircase, she took in his place in the light of day. It was a striking contrast to the intimate glow of the night before. The industrial-style loft was effortlessly cool—exposed brick, high ceilings, and massive windows. It was lived-in, not messy: vinyl records stacked by the sound system, half-read books on the coffee table, a basketball casually tossed near the couch.
And then, there was him.
Sam stood in the open-concept kitchen, shirtless, grey sweats slung low on his hips. Mercedes paused—just for a second—to appreciate the view. Of course he looks good cooking. Of course.
He was flipping something on the stove, spatula in one hand, phone pressed to his ear with the other.
"I'm telling you, Granny, they turned out better this time," he laughed softly. "Yeah, I used less butter—see? I'm learning."
Mercedes tilted her head, amused. So this was Sam in the morning. She liked it. And judging by the smell filling the loft, she was about to like whatever he was making too.
"Should I be concerned that you're just standing there watching me?" he said, his voice teasing, not even turning around. She hadn't noticed he'd ended the call.
"Kinda hard not to," she replied. "But would it make you feel better if I said I was admiring your cooking skills?"
"Mmhm." Amusement flickered in his expression as he glanced over his shoulder. "Good morning, sleepyhead. Thought you'd sleep all day after last night."
Mercedes rolled her eyes as she reached the kitchen. "Yeah, you say that like you weren't the one keeping me up."
Sam huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, we're doing this? Alright." He set the spatula down, turning to face her, arms folded across his chest. His yes flickered appreciatively to his sweater on her body, then back to her face "I seem to recall someone whispering 'just a little more' at least three times."
Mercedes opened her mouth—then closed it. Okay, fair.
Sam smirked. "That's what I thought."
She gave him a playful shove, but he caught her wrist, tugging her in.
"C'mere."
She let herself be pulled close. The heat of his skin seeped into her, grounding and electric all at once. The kiss was slow and easy, like they had all the time in the world. When they finally pulled apart, she blinked up at him.
"So… what exactly are you trying to bribe me with?"
"Pancakes," he said, stealing one last kiss at the corner of her mouth. "But I could probably be convinced to offer more."
"I'll decide after I taste them."
He laughed, and she smiled as she slid onto one of the barstools, eyes trailing over the strong lines of his back as he moved around the kitchen. It was almost unfair how good he looked.
And as the scent of fresh coffee curled through the loft, Mercedes let herself slip into the memory of how they'd ended up here in the first place.
The night before had unraveled in fragments—skin against skin, laughter melting into gasps.
It hadn't just been curiosity—it had been a slow build, a magnetic pull that had grown with every glance, every kiss. She had wondered—not with doubt, but with restless anticipation. Would he be slow and deliberate? A tease? Or would he move like he'd been waiting just as long?
She got her answer the second the elevator doors closed.
Sam had her pinned against the wall, kissing her like he couldn't wait another second. His hands mapped her body—sure, exploring, like he was learning something he didn't want to forget.
She barely saw the space around her. Just the look in his eyes—the way he paused, like he was savoring the moment before everything began. And then, the slow undoing started.
He was all of it. Patient and intense. Focused and playful. The kind of lover who paid attention, who listened with his hands, who read every shift of her breath. One hand grounding her, the other coaxing.
There were still moments—his forehead pressed to hers, a quiet question answered in silence.
At some point, the urgency turned tender. His hands stopped playing and started worshipping. Her own touch softened, memorizing the way he breathed her in, the way he whispered her name like it belonged to him.
There were pauses, held breaths, fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing skin. And then, bursts of urgency again —when she clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
And when everything quieted, he stayed. He wrapped her in his arms like it was instinct—like this wasn't just a night. It was something.
She felt his breath at her temple, the press of a kiss, and smiled, just before sleep claimed them.
XXXXX
After a long breakfast, they eventually made their way back to bed, and if Mercedes had her way, she'd stay like this all day. Tangled in Sam's sheets. The city murmured faintly outside, but in here, it was just them.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling her from the haze. She grabbed it, already smirking as the group chat exploded on the screen.
Santana: meeting the friends, doing the deed, and spending the morning in bed? What's next, a wedding invite?
Kurt: Oh please. She's living the dream. Proud of you, queen.
Brittany: Don't let him gaslight you into not signing a prenup, babe.
Santana: I expect a full debrief. Timestamps included.
Tina: Let her LIVE, damn.
Kurt: Correction: let her LIVE and SPILL.
Mercedes groaned, letting her head fall back against the pillow.
Sam shifted beside her. "Your friends?"
"It's nothing," she said quickly, locking her phone and tucking it beneath the pillow.
"I think I should be offended by how invested they are," he teased, reaching over to gently pluck the phone from her hand and set it back on the nightstand.
Mercedes snorted. "They're not invested. They're nosy."
Sam laughed as his fingers drifted lazily down the curve of her spine, his voice light but edged with curiosity. "What did you tell them about me?"
Mercedes smirked, propping herself on one elbow. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I really would." Sam tugged her down with a grin, rolling them effortlessly so he hovered over her.
Maybe she really could stay here all day.
But just as his lips skimmed her shoulder, a thought crept in—quiet, but sharp.
Quinn's words. The careful warning still echoing from the party.
Mercedes exhaled, trying to shake it off. "I liked Quinn. She's cool."
"She is. And she liked you."
Mercedes swallowed, her fingers threading lazily through Sam's hair. "So," she began, keeping her tone light and careful. "You and your family. Are you close?"
Sam exhaled through his nose, his touch on her back slowing. "Define close."
"You know, talk every day, celebrate every holiday together, no deep-rooted tension that might pop up and make my life hell—that kind of close."
Sam chuckled, but something in his expression shifted, like a door creaked open just enough to show the shadows behind it.
"We're... complicated."
Mercedes tilted her head, watching him. "Quinn kinda hinted at something. I figured it might be related to that."
He groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face. "Quinn loves hinting at things."
"She said I could count on her," Mercedes added, tone still breezy—but there was something beneath it, probing. "Which was nice... but also kinda sounded like a warning?"
Sam's jaw ticked, just slightly. "Quinn just likes to be prepared."
Mercedes arched a brow. "You're not secretly married with three kids, are you?"
Sam laughed, his body shaking against hers. "God, no."
"Good."
There was a beat of quiet before he added, more seriously, "I guess she just meant that there's always... expectations. For everyone."
Mercedes lifted her head a little, her expression softening. "Expectations?"
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face one more time before letting it fall to her hip. "You saw how it was last night. The place. The people. My family's... involved. They care about how things look. What you do. Who you're with. It's all about staying in line."
Mercedes nodded slowly, the memory of the penthouse still vivid.
"Your dad wanted you in finance," she said gently.
Sam glanced down at her, kind of surprised she remembered. "Yeah."
"Did they ever give you a hard time about it?"
"Not outright," he said after a beat. "But you always know when you're not doing what they expected."
She hesitated, then asked, soft but direct, "And what do they expect now?"
Sam went quiet.
There it was again. That almost imperceptible tension. Like something sat between them, not quite spoken.
Finally, he shifted, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I don't know yet."
The answer was noncommittal, but Mercedes let it go. For now.
They lay there in silence for a while, her hand tracing lazy circles on his skin, letting the quiet stretch between them. It wasn't awkward—it was almost peaceful, but the weight of what had just been said still lingered in the air like a held breath.
"So," he murmured against her ear. "If my complicated family isn't a dealbreaker… does that mean you're keeping me?"
Mercedes tilted her chin. "Ask better questions, Evans."
His laugh was the last sound before she silenced him completely.
XXXXX
They'd decided to swing by Sam's clinic after an easy morning—lingering in bed, making breakfast, stealing kisses between sips of coffee. When he mentioned needing to grab something from his office, Mercedes, not quite ready to say goodbye just yet, agreed to tag along. She had nothing to wear but last night's party dress, so he had handed her one of his coats.
As he navigated the post-holiday streets, one hand rested easily on the wheel while the other drifted to Mercedes' thigh—light at first, just the warm weight of his palm over her skin.
She swore it was absentminded. That he wasn't even thinking about it. Just touching her because it felt natural. But she was thinking about it. She shifted slightly, looking out the window, pretending not to notice.
Sam smirked, eyes still on the road. "You good over there?"
Mercedes scoffed. "Obviously."
His fingers flexed once, then skimmed higher—just a little. "Relax."
Relax. As if she wasn't already trying not to combust. As if he wasn't fully aware of what he was doing to her.
She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders dropped despite herself. "I am relaxed," she muttered.
Sam hummed like he didn't believe her for a second. But he didn't push. Just kept driving, the weight of his touch a steady, intoxicating thing.
When they arrived, she took in the sleek, glass-fronted building. The clean lines, polished steel accents—she hadn't registered any of it the first two times she'd been there.
As they approached the entrance, Mercedes spotted the guard behind a marble desk, scrolling through a tablet. Sam didn't bother with keys. He simply pressed his palm to a biometric scanner, and the glass doors slid open with a quiet click. Inside, the building was sleek and quiet.
The guard at the desk looked up with a familiar nod. "Dr. Evans. Didn't expect to see you today."
"Morning, Bob. Just grabbing something real quick," Sam said, already tapping on the access panel.
"Quiet day," the guard added with a chuckle. "Guess I'll be watching security feeds for fun."
"Try not to fall asleep," Sam quipped, then glanced at Mercedes. "Let's not give him a show."
She raised an eyebrow, playful. "Shame. I was planning to cartwheel down the hallway."
Sam hit the elevator button, grinning. "Now that, I'd pay to see."
When they stepped into the hallway, Mercedes took in the rows of nameplates—dermatologists, orthodontists, physical therapists. It clicked.
He didn't just work here.
"You own this building," she said, more statement than question.
Sam, halfway through unlocking his office, glanced back with a casual shrug. "Made sense. Cuts out the landlord."
Mercedes didn't reply, just followed him in, quietly absorbing the details. The office was hushed, a little eerie without the usual buzz. Even the antiseptic smell felt muted.
As Sam grabbed whatever file he needed, she wandered to a shelf lined with photos. One caught her eye—a black-and-white of a couple dancing, his grandparents maybe. Another showed a sunlit beach, young Sam with two other blonde kids, arms slung around their shoulders.
And then the last: a polished family portrait, everyone posed in front of what looked like a vineyard, dressed like they'd stepped out of a lifestyle magazine.
And there it was again. That sense of something just beneath the surface.
When they stepped outside again, the sun had shifted just enough to cast gold across the buildings, everything wrapped in that slow, dreamy hush that made it feel like time was stretching just for them.
When he pulled up in front of her building, he didn't unlock her door right away. Instead, he turned toward her, his gaze lingering like he was trying to take a mental snapshot.
"What?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.
Sam shook his head, voice softer now. "Just thinking... this was a really good way to start the year."
Mercedes leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to his mouth. "Yeah. It really was."
"I'll text you later," he promised.
"You better."
She slipped out of the car, tossing one last glance over her shoulder as he watched her go. Upstairs, her apartment felt unfamiliar, like she'd been away for way longer than a night.
Her phone buzzed with New Year's messages she hadn't answered. She responded to her mom's first, promising a proper call later. Jane had sent her a voice note that she ignored for now. But what made her pause was the Instagram notifications—Sam's friends were requesting to follow her. And Quinn had sent a message.
Just found this in my camera roll. You two are disgustingly cute.
Attached was a candid shot of her and Sam laughing, heads tipped together, completely distracted. Mercedes stared at it. It was such a small moment, but it felt so real.
As if on cue, Sam's name popped up at the top of her screen.
Sam: I miss you already. Is that crazy?
Her stomach did a ridiculous little flip, warmth spreading through her chest. She bit her lip, fingers hovering over the screen.
Mercedes: A little.
A pause. Then her screen lit up again.
Sam: Good. Because I don't think I can wait until Friday to see you again.
A quiet laugh escaped her as she dropped the phone onto the couch, covering her face with both hands.
He was trouble. The best kind. And she loved it.