The Shape Of A Heart excerpt

Happy Memorial Day everyone!

Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming novella, The Shape Of A Heart. It will appear in the Hot Comfort anthology from MLR Press. This is an unedited excerpt, so all errors are entirely my own. Enjoy!

The Shape Of A Heart

By Kimberly Gardner

Blurb

Twelve years ago Zach Jensen bought the bookstore called Bean Readin’ with his life partner, but now Jay is dead and Zach spends his days in solitude with his books and his coffee and his grief. And he likes it that way, or so he thinks. But when a sexy blond with eyes the color of good Scotch whiskey joins the staff, Zach realizes that memories are cold comfort.

Keith Harte likes his new job and he likes the man with the grieving azure eyes even more. But Keith has a secret, a monster from his past that pursues him still.

Just as the two men begin to explore their attraction, Keith’s secret comes to light and threatens their new-found happiness.
Will the horror from the past destroy their chance at love? Or is their tender, new bond strong enough to give them the comfort they need in The Shape of a heart?

Excerpt

Chilly autumn wind swirled dry leaves around Zach Jensen’s feet as he pushed open the door of Bean Readin’, the bookstore/coffebar he’d owned for the past twelve years. He could still remember when the time and effort he and Jay had put into the place had been more love than labor. But those days were gone. Jay was gone, and now it was just him.
Closing the door against the chill, he paused and inhaled the rich aroma of coffee mingled with the scents of ink and paper and glue, the smell of books, a smell he’d come to love and loathe in equal measure.
He looked around at everything that was so familiar. Part of him still expected Jay to come walking out of the back of the store or to appear from around the end of the biography section. His lips parted, Jay’s name on the tip of his tongue when the realization, and with it the grief, hit him like a freight-train. He gasped and, closing his eyes, gripped the edge of the front counter to keep from staggering under its force.
How was it even now, nearly two years after Jay’s death, the memories could still hit so hard and so unexpectedly, triggered by something as familiar as the scent of good, French roast? Wasn’t grief supposed to become easier to bear with time?
He didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” A strong hand gripped Zach’s arm, steadying him. A quiet voice, filled with concern spoke next to his ear.
Before he had time to think, Zach reached out and gripped the hand. “Jay?”
His eyes snapped open. Except it wasn’t Jay, of course it wasn’t.
Idiot. Jay is dead.
Zach found himself face to face with a slim, blond man in his early twenties, a stranger.
Customer, Zach realized with the part of his brain not addled by grief and confusion. He dug for the friendly but professional veneer he wore here in the store, his gameface. He’d just about managed to drag it into place when he realized his mistake. This guy was no customer. It was still way too early for customers.
“Sorry, not Jay.” The blond held out his hand, a long, slim hand which, only a moment before had been gripping Zach’s arm. “I’m Keith Harte. And you must be Zach.”
This must be the new kid Rhonna had been threatening to hire. Looked like she’d gone ahead and done it.
Great. So now he’d made an idiot of himself in front of his new employee. Way to make a first impression, man.
Zach stared at the hand. Civility dictated that he take it so he did. Keith Harte’s grip was firm, the hand warm and dry, a fine handshake. And a good looking guy too, Zach’s brain piped up.
Shut up.
That part of his brain, the part that still noticed the way tight pants hugged a particularly fine ass, would not be so easily silenced.
Look at those gorgeous eyes, it went on, and those pretty, pouty lips. Imagine how they would feel wrapped around your-
Shut. Up.
So much for the idea that he’d successfully muzzled that voice in his head, only letting it out on the rare occasions when the company of his right hand wasn’t quite enough. Clearly, he’d been wrong.
“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, who’s Jay?”
Zach started. Shit. Not only had he been staring at the man’s mouth but he was also still holding his hand.
He dropped the hand and stepped back, putting some much needed space between them. “Nobody. Forget it. I was just having a senior moment.”
Keith Harte laughed, a warm, sexy chuckle. “I don’t think you’re allowed senior moments at … what, thirty-four? Thirty-five?”
Keith’s gaze slid down Zach’s body, appreciation clear in the younger man’s eyes.
“I’m thirty-eight.” And too old for you. Even if, and maybe because, that look had made his belly flutter just a little.
“Even so, I think the rule is you have to be at least forty before you’re allowed senior moments.” Keith’s gaze settled on Zach’s mouth.
Zach licked his lips. Just a reflex, he told himself.
“Rhonna didn’t tell me you were starting today.”
Or at all.
Of course he remembered the conversation they’d had, the one where Rhonna said they needed to hire someone fulltime now that the two part-time college kids had returned to school. The same conversation during which he’d said they could manage just fine with only the two of them. She hadn’t agreed and here, standing in front of him, was the result.
“Oh. Well … I am. I’m going to be running the coffeebar mostly, I think.” He paused. “Barista boy at your service.” He made a little ta-da gesture with his hands and smiled. That smile took his all-American good-looks to something close to angelic.
Zach’s cock stirred and began to fill. “Oh, well, that’s fine.” He shifted his stance but apparently not in time. Keith’s gaze dropped from his face to his crotch then just as quickly slid back up. “Guess I’ll let you get to it then.”
“Okay. Sure.” Another pause. ” Can I maybe get you some coffee? A latte? Anything?”
Anything? Yeah, anything would suit him just fine.
“Coffee would be good.”
“Cream?”
“Black.”
“Sugar?”
Christ.
“No. Thanks.”
“Okay.” Keith hesitated. He seemed on the verge of saying something more, then didn’t. Turning, he walked toward the rear of the store and disappeared into the café.
Zach’s gaze followed, drawn by that firm, rounded ass in those black chinos like iron filings to a magnet.
Once he was gone Zach took a breath. It did nothing to banish the images racing around in his head or quell his growing erection. Okay. Fine. So what if the guy Rhonna had hired had a nice ass, and eyes the color of good, Scotch whiskey? So what if looking at Keith Harte made him think of Jay and all the things that were missing from his life since his partner’s death?
The two men looked nothing alike, not really. Except for their height, around five-eight or so, Zach guessed. And both had similar body types, lithe and slim with long, lean muscles. Was Keith a runner like Jay had been?
Then there were the hands. Those graceful hands that Keith used so freely when he talked, just like Jay. No wonder Zach could already imagine those hands on him, the long fingers stroking his prick, teasing the orgasm up from his balls. So what? Zach was not looking to get laid, especially not by one of his employees. So no problem, right? Right.
When Zach heard Keith returning with his coffee, he busied himself with the cash-drawer. Breaking open a roll of quarters he didn’t need, he spilled them into the tray, the metallic jingle very loud in the quiet store. Zach kept his eyes focused on the money.
He. Would. Not. Look. up.
“Where do you want it,” Keith asked.
Zach looked up.
In one hand Keith held a large white mug. In the other he held a doughnut. There was the smile again, lighting up his whole face. A return smile tugged at Zach’s lips. “I brought you a doughnut. They’re just store-bought but– I hope you like chocolate glazed.”
“Chocolate glazed is good.” Zach heard his own voice as if from far, far away and gave into the smile.
Shit.
He was so fucked.

Written by Kimberly Gardner

As early as the seventh grade, Kimberly remembers slashing her favorite rockstars and reading romance. So it’s not surprising that her two passions, romance and putting pretty boys with other pretty boys, should come together in her writing. Moliere said, “Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, then for a few close friends, then for money.” Kimberly is delighted to finally be doing it for money.
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