2nd generation passion a.., p.1
2nd Generation Passion (A Promise of Passion Book 3), page 1
2nd Generation Passion
M. E. Nesser
Copyright © 2017 M.E. Nesser
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 154109459X
ISBN 13: 9781541094598
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Introduction
“What the fuck are you doing?” I blurted out.
“Oh shit, Dad. What are you doing here?” Sara scurried off my kitchen table, trying to hide her whipped-cream covered body behind a chair, but it was futile. At this moment, for the first time in my life, I was contemplating removing her from the very same world I had brought her into. What the hell was going on here? OK, it was pretty obvious what was going on, but I didn’t have a clue what to do about the scene I was looking at. Dear Lord, please tell me that this is all a terrible nightmare. This was the last thing I’d expected to see as I walked into what I thought was my vacant penthouse apartment in New York City.
“As I remember, I own this place and shouldn’t need permission to come here. Not that it’s any of your business, but I needed some things I left behind,” I said in an exasperated voice as I walked out of the room. I didn’t want to see any more. Fortunately, her partner in crime, my stepson Jackson, still had his clothes on. Seeing my daughter naked and decorated like a dessert was bad enough. Seeing Jackson naked would have taken this horror to a whole other level.
“I’ll be in my office. Please see that everything is, um, cleaned up, Sara,” I gruffly muttered to the younger of my two daughters.
I walked into my office, slammed the door shut, and sat in the chair behind my desk to catch my breath. Holy crap, I cannot believe what I just walked in on. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the image, but it pulsated in my head like a gruesome scene in a horror flick that keeps replaying itself over and over again in your brain. What the fuck were they doing? And on my kitchen table! This couldn’t be happening.
Jackson was the only child of my new wife, Katharine. Katharine had been widowed nearly two years ago. She had married her high-school sweetheart and had a wonderful marriage that was abruptly ended when her husband suffered a massive heart attack. Over Christmas break, her son Jackson had asked for permission to date my daughter. It was very gallant and very respectful. I gave my blessing. What I had just witnessed, however, was the furthest thing from respectful. As I sat in my office chair feeling conflicted and horrified, there was a soft knock on my door.
“Daddy, can I come in?” Sara said cautiously. Her voice was barely audible.
“If there aren’t any signs of…sure, come on in,” I said in a disgruntled tone.
“Oh, Daddy, I’m so, so sorry you had to see that. I never thought in a million years you’d show up here tonight. I texted Katharine earlier to see what your plans were, and she said you were going out to dinner at Pane Vino. I’m so embarrassed, and Jackson is freaking out. Oh, please don’t hate him. I really like him, Daddy. And he loves you. You’ve been such a good dad to him since his dad is dead and all…I know it’s weird since he’s Katharine’s son, but he said you gave us permission to date…Oh my God, I can’t believe you saw that. Daddy, please say you forgive us!”
“It wasn’t your best moment, Sara, but I could never hate Jackson. I just need a minute. How about pouring me some bourbon? A lot of bourbon. Neat.”
I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes again while my daughter scurried off to the bar to make me a drink. It was going to take more than a glass of Maker’s Mark to erase the vision clouding in my brain, but the drink might at least stop my hands from shaking. She came back into my office, set the glass on my desk, kissed my cheek, and told me she loved me. Her obvious embarrassment didn’t make the situation any easier.
“I need a minute, Sara. Why don’t you kids get out of here? I’d rather not see Jackson right now,” I told her quietly. The last thing I wanted to do was make polite conversation with my stepson—or, even worse, listen to him beg for forgiveness.
“You got it, Daddy. I’ll call you tomorrow. And, I really am so sorry. I promise that will never happen again,” she said and ran out of the room.
About halfway through my glass, I looked at the time. It was almost seven o’clock, which was the time I was supposed to meet up with my wife—Jackson’s mother. Oh God, I had to tell Katharine what had just happened. I knew I’d be late meeting her, so I shot her a text: “Ran into a sticky situation, going to be a few minutes late. Would love some calamari and a bottle of wine. See you shortly.”
How the hell was I going to explain this one to my wife? I hoped that the “sticky” reference would be something we could laugh about at a later date. My daughter and her son—I knew there was a possibility they were dating, but it would have been decent of them to let us know how…close they had become. I finished my bourbon, slammed the glass on my desk, and headed to the restaurant. I forgot all about the papers I had gone there to collect.
1
“Oh my God, Jackson, what the hell are we going to do?” Sara sobbed uncontrollably as I held her. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive us?” I wanted to reassure her that her dad would forgive us and this feeling of dread would pass in time, but I couldn’t promise that. I couldn’t imagine what was going through Ian’s mind. How the hell would I feel walking into a room and seeing my daughter in such a compromising position? He had to be mortified. I knew I was.
We were sitting on a random park bench trying to recover from what had to be one of the most embarrassing moments in either of our lives. I had never thought Ian would come back to that apartment. After he and my mom got married, they bought this awesome place in Greenwich Village, where they now lived. My mom was renting our old apartment to some guy from her law firm, and Ian was keeping his place in case one of the girls needed a place to live. It was prime real estate, so it would have been silly to get rid of it. He’d told Sara she could live there after the semester ended if she wanted to, but she hadn’t decided where she was going to live yet. We had used the place to hook up because nobody ever went there. Until now.
“I need to apologize to him, Sara. I’m so fucking embarrassed, but I have to man up. I can’t even fathom what my mom is going to say. God, this sucks,” I said. I closed my eyes, trying to make the expression of Ian’s face as he walked into the kitchen disappear. It wasn’t working. I knew it was going to haunt me.
“Oh crap, your mom! She’s totally going to think I’m a freak or something. I love her so much, Jay. She’s been such an amazing mom to me. What have we done?” The hysterical crying continued. I knew my mother would never hate Sara. She would be disappointed, however, and that was just as bad.
Sara was hiccupping between every wailing breath, way past the point of being consoled. I sat there holding her and trying to think about what we should do next. I’d never told my mom I was coming into the city. In fact, I’d never told her I was dating Sara. I didn’t have any classes on Fridays, so I often took the train in so Sara and I could spend weekends together. It was exciting to keep it a secret.
I knew I couldn’t procrastinate. I had to apologize to Ian and my mom right away. The longer I waited, the harder it was going to be.
When I’d first met Sara last Thanksgiving, I was immediately smitten. She had looked adorable in a turquoise dress that made her bright blue eyes sparkle. Her hair was blond and wavy and fell loosely on her shoulders. I remember thinking that it looked like silk—it was so shiny. She had a vivacious spirit that made you want to be around her.
Her dad had just started dating my mom, and Thanksgiving was the first time the families were introduced to each other. I’m not going to lie: I expected Ian to have two snot-nosed little girls. My mom had never told me they were college age. The dinner went better than I could have expected. I liked Ian more than I wanted to, and I really liked both of his daughters. That night, Sara and I discovered that we both liked horror films, so we went to the movies. When we got back to my apartment, she stayed for a few more hours watching another movie with me. We instantly clicked.
We started texting on a pretty regular basis after that night, and I was psyched when Ian surprised us all with a trip to Italy for Christmas so he could marry my mom. It w
I was protective of my mother; my dad’s death had been such a horrible time for us. She had been with him for nearly thirty years, and her despair almost killed her, too. I didn’t want my crush on Ian’s daughter to cause any tension. There was no way in hell I was doing anything to screw up my mother’s new relationship.
Asking Sara out the first time was really awkward, to say the least. I’d done it the night my mom and Ian got married. They’d gotten married in this really old church in Tuscany. It was small and beautifully ornate—I couldn’t imagine a more romantic place for anyone to exchange wedding vows. Sara looked so beautiful in her light blue dress. It was magical. There was only Mom, Ian, and the three of us kids there. The intimacy of having just the immediate families together made it all the more special.
I was very grateful for Ian; in a way, he’d saved us both. I was just as devastated by Dad’s death as Mom was, but I tried to hide my despair—I knew she couldn’t handle knowing how hard I struggled with his death. I went to counseling because I couldn’t deal with watching her get thinner and sadder as the days dragged on. The counselor promised me things would get better. I just needed to be patient. Thank God she was right. Things did get better. My mom fell in love again. I was so happy when she met Ian. He was amazing, and it was obvious how much he loved her.
I was also thankful that he gave me permission to date Sara, because I really liked her. That night, Sara and I were sitting in the living room, having the most amazing bottle of wine from a local vineyard. We were in front of the fire talking. Her sister Emily had gone off to bed, so it was just the two of us. I told Sara there was something serious I wanted to talk to her about. She isn’t the most serious person, so she blurted out, “Oh my God, please don’t tell me you’re gay!”
“What makes you think I’m gay?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. It’s probably ‘cuz I like you a lot, and if you’re gay, then I’ll never have a chance to kiss you, and I really want to kiss you. But if you’re gay, it’s no biggie. I’ll just have to start thinking about you differently. Not bad differently, just not in a sort of romantic way differently, you know?” Sara always said exactly what was on her mind, with no reservations. It was probably one of the most adorable things I had ever witnessed.
“You want to kiss me?” I asked her cautiously.
“Only since that first night when I jumped on your lap during that creepy horror flick, you moron!” she said mockingly. As she called me a moron, she smacked my arm in a familiar and friendly manner. It felt like we had been friends for more than a couple weeks.
It was such a relief to hear her say that. As soon as she finished calling me a moron, I grabbed her face and kissed her. She kissed me back eagerly. I think I could feel her smiling even while she kissed me. We kissed for several minutes—I’d never thought it could be such fun. I was so glad I’d worked up the nerve to ask Ian if I could date his daughter. That was the night it all started.
And now he knew I liked to cover his daughter’s naked body in whipped cream. OK, Mother Earth, just swallow me whole. I didn’t know how I was ever going to face him again.
2
My driver dropped me off in front of Pane Vino, the restaurant I’d funded when my brother Todd finished his culinary degree in Italy. It had always been his dream to open an Italian restaurant in New York City, and I’d helped him make that dream come true once his training was complete. It had been open for about four years now and had an excellent reputation. I was really proud of him.
Pane Vino was the first place I’d taken Katharine on a date. I would never forget that first time I’d met her. I had decided to stop at a bar near my office for a drink, and she was sitting alone at the bar, crying. She had been widowed just over a year, and to say she wasn’t dealing with her husband’s death very well would be an understatement. I offered to buy her a drink, which she politely declined - she couldn’t remember if she had anything to eat that day or not. I felt the strongest compulsion to take care of this woman, and the first order of business was to feed her. I was shocked when she accepted my invitation to dinner, but fate was definitely working in our favor that day.
She was very honest and forthcoming during that dinner, and I hung on to every word she said to me. She told me that she and her husband had made a pact to keep passion in their lives. Although it had sounded like a good idea at the time, however, she couldn’t see herself moving on with another man. She was devastated by his loss and was having a hard time getting through each day. Although it was obvious she was a beautiful woman, it was also apparent that she wasn’t eating properly or getting much sleep. She looked and sounded completely strung out. Her story made me feel so sad and lonely for her.
She also shared that the two of them had agreed that, if possible, they would send the other person a sign to remind him or her of the pact they made. I had read about couples doing that, but it always sounded a little juvenile to me. Yet here I was, intrigued by her story. And although it should have sounded outlandish, I believed every word she said. That night at the bar, Katharine received the sign she and her husband had talked about.
Until that night, I had never put much stock in the notion of fate. But I now believe it was divine intervention that prompted me to walk into that bar that night. It was a night I will treasure always, the start of our forever. We fell in love and were married in the most beautiful place in the world. We joined our families and vowed to live happily ever after. Now, I had to share with her the fucked-up scenario I had just encountered.
As I walked into the restaurant, I saw Katharine sitting at the bar having a glass of wine from a bottle she had ordered. There was also a platter of calamari and an order of bruschetta in front of her. I stood there for a minute, watching her from afar. She looked so beautiful sitting there and chatting with the bartender. She looked happy and relaxed. That was going to change. I walked up to her, put my arm around her shoulder, and gave her a kiss on the lips.
“Hey, counselor,” I said timidly.
“What’s wrong?” She could tell something was up. She turned her body toward mine and put her hands on my shoulders.
“I think we need to get a table so we can talk in private. I don’t want to do this at the bar. Hold on a second, let me ask Andrea if there’s somewhere she can put us.”
Within minutes, we were seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant where we could have some privacy.
“OK, Ian, spit it out. What’s going on? I don’t like the look on your face.”
“Something really…bizarre happened,” I said hesitantly.
“Bizarre? You’re scaring me, Ian, what happened?” she pleaded.
“When I went to the apartment to get those documents I told you I needed to pick up, there were people in there. Two people, to be exact. Let’s just say I walked in on our children in a very - how do I say this in a diplomatic way? - compromising position,” I said carefully.
“Our children? Which children, Ian?”
“Sara and Jackson,” I said cautiously.
“Sara and Jackson? What exactly were they doing, Ian?” she asked me nervously.
“Well, let’s see. My daughter Sara was laying on the kitchen table sans clothing while your son Jackson was decorating her. With whipped cream.”
“Oh my God! You have got to be kidding!” she said more loudly than I think she wanted to.
“I wish I was. It was so fucking awkward, Katharine. Fortunately, Jackson was fully clothed,” I added. I rested my head in my hands and closed my eyes. The image was way too clear, and describing the scene out loud made it even more real and more horrifying.
“So what did you do? I don’t even know what to think,” she mumbled in disbelief.
“I went into my office while they cleaned up or whatever. Sara came in and apologized profusely. She brought me a very tall glass of Maker’s Mark, and I asked them to leave. I didn’t talk to Jackson. I wasn’t ready, and I’m sure he was feeling a level of humiliation that he didn’t even know existed,” I said rationally.
