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Jack's life is already on a downward spiral when his teenage daughter Rache
shows up on his doorstep, and she’s pregnant out to here. When he takes her
to confront Billy, the boy who knocked her up on her last visit, he
discovers boy's uncle, Dan, who is not just a fine baker. He’s a real stud.
Much to Jack's surprise, it looks like Billy is going to step up and assume
his responsibilities with Rache. Now that Jack's met Daniel, could it be
that the rest of Jack's life is also looking up? Of course there's the small
matter of Daniel not knowing that Jack is actually gay...
Jack was sleeping hard when the doorbell rang.
One of those deep, hard-core sleeps where the ringing of the doorbell read just like a fire alarm in a dream that featured a muscled-stud wearing chaps and painting the wall of that weird little club on Fifth and Gardener.
It wasn't until the doorbell rang again, then again, that he managed to wake himself up, get himself stumbling across the apartment floor. "Just a sec!"
He tripped on one of the piles of clothes, bouncing off a set of unpacked boxes, went down hard, his entire body jostling. "Fuck."
He wasn't unpacked enough to figure out where the fuck things were. Shit, he wasn't sure what Chris had fucking given him when he'd gotten thrown out. He sure as shit wasn't ready to answer the door at o-dark-thirty and...
He scrambled up as the doorbell rang again. "I'm coming, for fuck's sake! What on earth is the..."
He tore the door open, blinking into eyes the same color green as his own. "Rache?"
Those eyes filled with tears, his teenaged daughter nodding. "I.... Hey?"
"Hey." He blinked at her again. Rache lived with his ex-wife in Boston, eleven hundred miles away. They spoke once a week and she came for a couple of weeks in the summer, maybe, and it wasn't fucking summer. Hell, it was cold and she was pale, eyes dark and shadowed.
"What..." Surely she wasn't here for Christmas, right? Surely he would have remembered that?
"I. I came on the bus. On the bus. Daddy, I messed up. I messed up so bad."
"Did you kill someone? If you did, was it your mother?" He'd always thought he'd enjoy that job.
She shook her head, opened her coat. She was wearing a Boston College sweatshirt and the little garnet necklace he’d given her for her sweet sixteen, and… Oh.
Oh, fuck him raw.
"Is that? Tell me you just got fat."
"Sorry. It's late. I'm... I was dreaming."
She arched an eyebrow, tilted her head.
"Right. Sorry. Come on in. I'll make coffee. You are just eighteen, right? You didn't turn thirty and get married without warning your old man?" Maybe jokes would stop the tears.
"I didn't. I don't know... Daddy, I'm so scared." He found himself with an armful of wailing, shaking girl and suddenly it was more than a decade ago and he was still the hero.
He blinked at the clock. Three fourteen a.m.
Possibly a beer.
Then he'd try to wake himself up again.
Allspice: Recipe for Love by Sean Michael is an entertaining story. Throw in a dash smoking hot sex, a pinch of witty dialogue, two delicious men and you have the perfect recipe for a truly scrumptious read.
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