One Heart

By Chace Verity

At thirty-five, Vincent Ezell has settled into a routine. The nonbinary bartender sleeps during the day, serves drinks at night, contemplates the mysterious pendant his biological parents left him in between, and (most importantly) avoids dating coworkers. It's isolating, but anything is better than getting ghosted again—at least, he clings to this belief until his hot new coworker melts the walls guarding his fragile heart.

Kit Clayton has broken ties with his morally bankrupt family and their billion-dollar oil company, prompting him to borrow money from a shady lender and start again on his own. Despite the challenges, his broken heart gets soothed by a cute, scrappy bartender. Kit's new life seems to be going well until the snowy winter night he disappears.

Months after getting ghosted, the still-grieving Vincent winds up reuniting with his crush—by accidentally reviving him from his icy coffin. The newly awakened necromancer's routine gets turned upside down as he works with Kit to solve the zombie's murder, investigate his own mysterious origins, and deal with the demon following them. Everything would be easier if they weren't now sharing a heart—Kit might have died, but Vincent's feelings for him live on.

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One Heart is a full-length, standalone paranormal romance novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chace Verity
• Release date: Sep 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223936381

Book preview

Chapter 1

Anatomically correct heart

Vincent Ezell hated the new bartender he was training. First of all, the clueless meathead had clearly coasted through life with his handsome face and his daddy’s oil money alone. It was utterly ridiculous that Gio had hired a twenty-nine-year-old with no previous work experience except for volunteer lifeguard shifts at a youth center. Second, the trainee’s name was Kit Clayton. Kit. Aesthetically unappealing. Third, Kit—who laughed too much and was five inches too tall to be working behind a counter—had a terrible habit of looking over people’s shoulders when they were on their phones.

Whoa! A lively, sonorous voice rippled through Vincent’s ear. Is that the nonbinary flag on your lock screen? Cool.

The veteran bartender turned around while debating murder and met his new coworker’s gentle, heart-stopping, glittery smile.

Vincent changed his mind. He would die for Kit Clayton.

Still. It was rude to look over someone’s shoulder while they were on their phone. The giant greenhorn before him had no concept of boundaries. Just because the pair had to spend their evenings in a fishbowl filled with beer, spirits, and cowhide-print umbrella straws didn’t mean they had the right to invade each other’s privacy.

Kit hooked his massive hand behind his veiny neck. What are your pronouns? Sorry, I should have asked you properly when we met yesterday.

I use ‘he’ and ‘they.’ Vincent pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his slick face. Though it was autumn, the bar always had an unbearable warmth to it. Everyone sweated buckets inside Allers. But it’s probably easier to use the ‘he’ part while we’re here at work. Most employees here know, but the patrons… Well, you never can tell who’s gonna punch me for being queer in a cowboy-themed restaurant, you know? I gotta mask it.

However, from Vincent’s perspective, it was obvious he was nonbinary and bisexual. Every time he looked in a mirror, he couldn’t see anything else. His full lips and round cheeks had been designed specifically to quirk flirtatiously and service anyone that caught his fancy. Some people might have mistaken his short auburn hair and sharp, narrow, earthy eyes as something purely masculine, but on his pale and slightly chubby frame, they were genderless traits.

Kit blinked. Well, if anyone punches you for something like that, I’ll be sure to kick their ass. But, of course, I won’t out you to anyone who doesn’t know.

He said everything so matter-of-factly that Vincent nearly lost his breath.

It took everything the veteran bartender had to keep his expression impassive as he studied all the fine features his new coworker possessed. There were many. A glowing, light complexion that had seen many days under the sun. Thick, dark eyebrows that didn’t quite match the mess of golden-brown hair on his square head. A chiseled nose carved by Renaissance-era masters. Broad shoulders and a chest that looked comfortable to sleep on.

Vincent’s gaze lingered on Kit’s wide mouth capable of producing ear-touching smiles. His irritating, inexperienced trainee was incredibly hot.

He was in trouble.

But he would get through this crisis. Vincent had been bartending for sixteen years, ever since he was nineteen. Banging coworkers always led to disasters. He would sooner fuck a jar of peanut butter than fall into bed with another bartender, barback, server, host, line cook, dishwasher, delivery driver, shift manager, or health inspector.

And all Natalies were now permanently out of the picture. Didn’t matter what they did. Couldn’t risk another ghost.

What about you? Vincent asked, determined to extinguish the fire brewing in his stomach before it could do any irreversible damage. Someone like the hunk before him wasn’t going to be interested in people like Vincent, anyway. In five seconds, he would figure out Kit Clayton’s fatal flaw that would drive the final nail through the horny coffin. Your pronouns?

‘He’ and ‘him’ are fine with me. Kit’s friendly smile slowly veered into something more cheeky. And gender doesn’t matter to me when it comes to dating, if you’re wondering about that.

Oh?

Yeah.

Oh.

Vincent Ezell was still very much in trouble.

The oddly enamored bartender cleared his throat and fiddled with the strings of his apron. Okay, so, since we settled that and have finished restocking our coolers, do you have any questions before the rush starts? It’s Thursday, so we’re going to be swamped with university girls looking for espresso martinis while they wait for their edibles to kick in.

Kit chuckled. Other than I don’t know how to make an espresso martini, I have nothing.

After yesterday’s painful orientation, Vincent wanted to remind Kit that he didn’t know how to make anything. Even a gin and tonic had been too challenging for the newbie. But he opted to avoid the snark. Somehow, he got the feeling that being deliberately rude would crush the gleaming ray of sunshine.

That’s fine. I’ll show you soon. Or Samina will when she gets here. She’s our closer. Vincent gestured to the beer taps. You remember how to pour the perfect pint, right? Gio’s going to give you a test here soon once he’s back from the bank.

Gio really likes his tests, huh? Kit fussed with a pile of napkins, but his face still carried an easygoing expression. I’ve already taken three. It’s not just me he tests?

No. Why would it be?

Kit shrugged, veering his gaze to the dirty window overlooking a parking lot. He didn’t strike me as the type. I thought it would be chill to work here, but I guess I was wrong.

Vincent rolled his eyes. He was used to working with spoiled brats, but they were usually ten or fifteen years younger. Kids fresh out of high school who had been coddled their whole lives. It was obscene to deal with someone who was almost thirty and shocked that work meant, well, work.

And yet, the ghost of a grin danced on Vincent’s lips.

All during the evening, his attention never strayed far from Kit. Even while swimming through a flurry of orders and catching up with his regulars, his gaze would flit in his trainee’s direction.

Kit always bent over the counter to talk to guests and serve drinks. No doubt his back would be in pain by the end of the night. The new bartender’s cheeks would also probably be sore at the end of the night from all those smiles he served.

The new guy beamed like his life might end if he dared to frown. During Kit’s numerous requests for help, he sported a sheepish smile. When women commented on how handsome he was, his lips curved into a flirty smirk. While washing glasses or fetching more ice, his mouth twitched with cheer.

And when he wiped the sweat from his brow or thanked Vincent for his assistance, Kit’s smile sparkled with an indescribable charm. The man had an unexpected air of humility for someone whose family crossed the billion dollar net worth last year.

What was someone like Kit Clayton doing mixing drinks in a dim, stuffy bar?

By the end of the shift, Vincent noticed his heart had started doing something weird. It pounded against his chest, looking for relief. Not the fun, lusty kind of pounding. No, it was a sensation he had never experienced before.

It would be nice if it stopped as soon as possible because he didn’t know what to do with the feeling other than fantasize about Kit kissing the peculiar feeling away.

He mentally crushed the daydream into minced pieces of intangible fluff. Even thinking about kissing coworkers was against the damaged bartender’s rules for guarding his heart.

Vincent still managed to instruct his trainee, despite the pressure building in his chest. Don’t clock out until you’re done cashing out with Gio. If there’s a problem, you’ll both need to come back to the POS to figure out where you went wrong. You need to be paid even while you’re figuring out your screwups.

And I’m sure I made a lot of mistakes. Gio’s probably eager to ream me. Kit chuckled while he poked the touchscreen of the machine. He held a receipt up close to his face and mumbled something.

The new guy talked to himself a lot without worrying about if other people could hear him. A strangely endearing habit.

You don’t have any issues to worry about tonight. Vincent leaned against the cooler and watched Kit’s thick, careful fingers treat the screen like a priceless historical artifact. Which it kind of was, considering stingy Gio refused to upgrade any of the busted systems. I was here the whole time. You did very good tonight.

Did I?

Kit glanced at him, his eternal smile broadening. Unable to handle the sheer earnestness radiating from his trainee, Vincent shifted his gaze toward the closing bartender.

Samina was deep in a conversation with the guests at the end of the bar, her shoulders shaking with laughter. The twenty-something woman with light brown skin and black curls bundled in a loose bun had a fan club among her regulars. Of all the upstairs bartenders, she was the most popular one among patrons and Allers employees alike. Before Natalie stained Vincent’s life, he used to gossip with Samina after work about the gorgeous women they both admired.

By this point in the night, there weren’t many people left in the building. The university kids had moved on to different clubs, and the sports fans had work in the morning.

Something flashy caught Vincent’s attention. An empty seat by Samina suddenly had a new patron.

But the visitor wasn’t…fully there. Nor fully human.

He blinked a few times, and the person disappeared.

Before he could process what had just happened, he realized Kit was talking to him and turned his attention back to his trainee.

I don’t even remember what happened now that it’s over. Kit printed out the rest of his receipts. I think I was a robot or zombie for the past few hours.

That’s pretty common, and, honestly, very healthy for you to forget work as soon as you can.

For some reason, Vincent couldn’t help grinning, though he only allowed his lips to stretch so far. Samina would never shut up if she caught wind that he had a soft spot for Kit.

Ever since he swore off banging coworkers, Vincent had put up a wall between him and everyone else at Allers. Refused to socialize with anyone before or after work. He didn’t even talk to Samina like he used to. Wouldn’t join anyone for days-off drinks at other establishments. Declined all new social media friend requests.

This lifestyle wasn’t bad, but he had been feeling the pangs of loneliness lately. His only family lived hours away, and his non-work friends (whom he hadn’t seen in years) didn’t operate on the same clock as him. They were parents, teachers, lawyers, and such. When the sun was up, they went to their jobs.

Meanwhile, Vincent lived more like a ghost, staying up until dawn and waking around three in the afternoon. He was most active when the moon was in the sky.

He had tried bartending during the day, but the money wasn’t as good, and he was left restless at nights. His body simply didn’t believe in sleeping while the sky was dark, which left him exhausted and inefficient during his day shifts. It was better to work nights.

After clocking out, Vincent grabbed his bag from the employee room and changed in the tiny bathroom. It was after midnight, so it wouldn’t matter if someone outside saw him walking home in his greasy, sticky clothes, but he felt better changing into a fresh outfit and reapplying his deodorant.

The last item he put on was his pendant. He never went anywhere without the heavy chain carrying an even heavier heart of gold. The sentimental person only took it off for work, showers, and sex—for some reason, his bedroom partners all found the realistic replica of the human organ to be a mood killer.

Draping the pendant around his neck always soothed the frequently irritated bartender. He always ran his fingers along the gleaming chain and let them rest on the heart charm for a breath or two. Always silently said hello to both sets of his parents, even though he didn’t actually believe in an afterlife. The ritual made him feel less lonely all the same.

The pendant was the only item he had received from his biological parents (besides his life). Who they were, what they did, where they came from, where they went, and why they gave him up were all mysteries destined to be unsolved. It was easiest to assume they were dead.

Vincent loved the family who raised him tremendously, but fate had been cruel. Both of his adopted parents had passed away at early ages from different illnesses. All he had now was his aunt in Jasper and her two geriatric poodles he referred to as his cousins. Since she lived far away and he didn’t own a car (no point when everything he needed was within walking distance), he rarely saw her.

After Vincent finished his ritual, he wished the remaining staff members a good night and slipped out of the building as quickly as he could. Once outside, he sucked in a gulp of fresh air. The cool night tasted so good in his mouth after hours behind a cramped, broiling hot bar. The air wasn’t totally clean or anything—downtown Calgary always had a little something lingering in the atmosphere—but it suited him just fine.

As he began to zip up his jacket, he realized he wasn’t alone. Kit had, at some point, appeared before him. The newbie had his work shirt draped over his shoulder and an intrigued smile etched on his absurdly handsome face.

Vincent eyed him up and down. Considering Kit came from a rich family, his gray checkered coat and black ankle boots looked like they came from a thrift store. The items were in neat condition aside from a few stray threads, but they weren’t brand names or anything. Everything Kit wore was quite ordinary in appearance.

A moment passed in silence between them before Vincent realized Kit was looking at his pendant.

That thing is massive, Kit commented.

Irritation flickered through the other person. I get that a lot. Thanks.

He quickly finished zipping up his jacket, hiding his heart as best as he could. With the golden charm being as large as it was, though, there was still a noticeable lump beneath his collarbone.

A soft chuckle left Kit. Don’t hide it! I think it’s cool. Creepy, but cool. I was admiring it.

Uh-huh. Disbelief colored Vincent’s response, although he was secretly excited to hear someone give his pendant an actual compliment. Better if I don’t have it showing at this hour. I’d hate to get mugged because someone thinks this is worth any money.

Is it not?

The ‘gold’ never gets scratched. Worth its weight in sentimentality and nothing else.

Kit arched an eyebrow, his smile slipping. His mouth opened in one shape, then he closed it and shook his head.

I gotta head home now, Vincent said, trying to making it sound like the truth. All he really needed to do now was get away from his hot coworker who glowed gorgeously with the streetlights behind him.

Oh! Yeah. It’s late. Kit toyed with the collar of his coat. You driving or taking the train?

I live close enough to walk.

Me too. Shall we go together?

Absolutely not.

But the flustered bartender couldn’t quite bring himself to say no. Instead, he pointed to his left. I’m heading that way.

Kit grinned. So am I.

Vincent’s traitorous heart skipped a beat as he said, Then I guess we should go together.

The pair ambled side by side, saying nothing as they passed the first crosswalk. The cluster of coffee shops and bars shifted into a row of touristy souvenir stores and Blackfoot art displays, washing the drab street in color.

For the fortieth time in two days, Vincent thought about how Kit was too tall. And now that his mind was on the subject, his new coworker was also too brawny. What kind of lifeguarding did he do? Did Kit rescue beached whales with those muscles?

A passing train stopped them at the second crosswalk. While they waited, Kit gestured to an enormous planter next to the LRT station. You think this little guy’s dead because people keep putting their cigarettes and gum wrappers in his dirt?

Vincent turned his attention to the flowerpot. A brown husk of something that had once been leafy and green during the summer greeted him. He idly placed one thumb on his pendant while he used his other hand to pick a coffee lid from the dead stems and toss it in the trash.

Probably died because it’s October. Vincent carefully removed a few more large pieces of rubbish he was sure wouldn’t be covered in someone’s fluids. There’s always garbage, no matter what season it is.

Oh, that makes sense. Still, what a pity. I wish I had seen it when it was alive.

It was hard to tell if Kit was genuinely sincere. There was no way an attractive beefcake like him could actually be sympathetic to a plant. Not when the Clayton family’s wealth came from destroying the environment.

Ew, there’s an RCA pamphlet here. Vincent faked a gag as he tossed the paper in the garbage bin. I want to burn it.

Kit grunted. Burn the whole trash can with it. Everything Dick Baggs touches is unsalvageable.

Richard Baggs was the leader of the Real Canadians Alliance. The RCA had been a huge menace to Albertans during the summer with their anti-immigration ideology and faked reports over climate change. Most normal people didn’t want to be associated with a political platform that ran on online donations and racist ideology, but the ones who did were loud, rich, and frightening.

It was good to know his new coworker hated the RCA. Vincent wouldn’t have inherently believed any other wealthy person saying that, but they had sweated behind the same cramped bar for two days now. There was a shared trust between food and beverage industry people who had gone through the weeds together.

While Kit and Vincent crossed the now-safe street, the latter used some hand sanitizer he had in his bag. I have to turn right here.

Me too. Kit cleared his throat, a bit excessively. Hey, you really meant what you said earlier? That I did a good job?

Vincent glanced at him askance. I did. I hope you’re not expecting many more compliments from me.

Kit laughed. His amusement rippled in the air like a silver bell. Is that a wrong expectation to have?

Yes.

I understand. Another chuckle escaped Kit. This is my first real job. I want to do well.

The real part confused Vincent, but he decided not to linger on it. Considering you’ve never done it before, I think you have the potential to be an okay bartender.

Great! Kit flashed him a disgustingly bright smile. One that would be nice to see again and again. You think I’m going to make it at Allers, then?

Vincent tore his eyes away and fiddled with the chain around his neck. It was bold of you to join at the start of hockey season. If you can survive a Battle of Alberta game, then I suppose you have the mettle to be in the bartending business for the long haul.

Excellent.

Was it truly excellent for someone who could easily have a desk job at his daddy’s company? Vincent stopped in front of his apartment building, but he didn’t want to end the conversation here. Not when so many things about Kit Clayton tugged at his heart strings.

You’re not planning to stay in Calgary for too long, are you? Vincent found himself asking, even though he didn’t actually care. Coworkers came and went, changing more frequently than the weekly weather forecast. All the more reason he quit banging anyone involved in the food and beverage industry.

Kit stood in front of Vincent and cocked his head to the side. This is my new life here.

Not a trace of his usual merriment could be seen, but his expression was still quite kind. His eyes alone had a way of dancing while looking at someone, as if he was so excited to be with them that his eyeballs couldn’t stand still.

It was an expression Vincent implicitly trusted. New life?

New life. Kit grinned again. I know everyone at Allers knows whose son I am, even though I’m not sure why—

Gio told everyone after your interview. He brags about all of his rich acquaintances.

All of them? Kit stared off into the road, his voice suddenly distant. Well, my dad and I only share blood now. Nothing else. My parents specifically said I would never be welcomed back into the family.

Vincent’s jaw dropped as he took in that quiet reveal. He quickly gathered himself. I’m sorry to hear that.

A lazy shrug from Kit suggested he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and Vincent didn’t particularly want to pry. He was at risk of becoming more intrigued by his new coworker if he investigated. In fact, now was as good of a time as any to make his escape.

So, uh, this is where I live. Vincent pointed to the cold, looming tower of steel and glass.

Though it was his intention to say goodbye and disappear, he couldn’t quite bring himself to end their conversation so abruptly. Not after Kit had bared a vulnerable part of himself.

Um, don’t worry too much about if you’re doing well or not at work, Vincent half-lectured, half-mumbled. As long as you show up, you’ll be okay. That’s all that matters in this industry, honestly. Get a large double-double from Monahan’s before each shift, and you’re golden.

The advice-bearer, however, thrived on a triple-triple from Monahan’s. But he’d never admit to anyone he needed three creams and three sugars in his coffee at his age.

Finally, an easygoing grin returned to Kit’s face as he met Vincent’s gaze. The veteran bartender rubbed the lump under his shirt, hating the way his actual heart had fluttered with just one look from his new coworker.

Not the insight I was expecting, but that’s good to know. Kit gestured to Vincent’s chest. Tell me more about that thing tomorrow, okay? You’re working, right?

I…I am.

Want to walk to work together tomorrow?

Vincent gritted his teeth. Er, you’ll be late if you wait for me. Samina’s your trainer tomorrow, not me. I’m the closer, so I come in at seven instead of five.

Yikes. Yeah, very late. Kit squared his shoulders as he widened his smile. Creepy heart necklace. I wanna hear all about it tomorrow night. I can wait for that, can’t I?

Oh. Uh. Yes. Okay.

The request had been laced with sparkling sincerity. How could one deny that gentle voice and soft set of brown puppy dog eyes? Everything about the new bartender brimmed with earnestness. Kit was as refreshing as the night air.

Vincent was so, so fucked.

The two waved goodbye, and Vincent watched his coworker walk away, back in the direction they had just come from. He snorted, realizing the newbie had lied to him about living in the same direction. That seemed like a lot of effort just to spend some time together.

They had only known each other for two days, but Vincent already wanted to make a mistake. Of course, he wouldn’t break his rigid dating rules over some sun-soaked hunk.

But he spent the rest of the night thinking about Kit. Even when he woke the next day, his brain quickly flitted to daydreams of the tall, muscular, kind man with an interest in weird heirlooms.

Kit. Kit. Kit. Was there ever a better name?

Perhaps if Vincent hadn’t had his thoughts so full of Kit Clayton when he next went to work, he would have noticed that the dead plant by the LRT station had sprouted olive green buds.

Chapter 2

Kit Clayton still didn’t understand how to do laundry, but he had a smartphone and free Wi-Fi included with his rental. Just another test in his new life. Tests were detestable (heh heh), but so far, he had passed everything thrown at him in the past month with flying colors. He had to. Every individual with a financial stake in Alberta’s oil drilling companies knew he had dramatically and publicly proclaimed he could survive without Unbounded Energy’s money.

But he did miss having housekeepers.

And he missed the days when he thought his parents and brother were better people than they really wound up being.

Mostly, though, he missed the housekeepers.

Liar, whispered a voice in Kit’s head as he continued sorting his pile of mystery clothes that still didn’t look right after being cleaned.

At least he had his own washer and dryer. Not everyone freshly estranged from their blood relatives could say that.

He was grateful he had managed to acquire all the money he needed to start anew—his brother’s drug dealer had a legitimate side business and deep pockets.

As much as Kit loathed the man for continuously feeding Lucas’s addiction, he had had no other alternatives to getting cash on short notice. Because of their previous bad blood, his new lender had made him grovel and wring out the remaining bits of pride left inside the elder Clayton son. Every evening they saw each other, Kit received a snarky reminder that he was in debt.

The humiliating ordeal would be worth it, in the end. What was pride if a person could be one step closer to living a life that matched their morals?

Plus, he wouldn’t have to deal with that particular man for much longer. Even now as he searched online for tips to get rid of armpit sweat stains on white undershirts, Kit was confident he’d have every dollar returned to his shady lender. Ideally, it would happen before the end of December. Despite it currently being October, he was booked through Christmas giving private swimming lessons. The new bartending gig at Allers would bring in a steady stream of cash too.

As soon as Kit thought of Allers, a smile crossed his face. He had only been there for a few nights, but he couldn’t wait to see his ludicrously attractive coworker. Having eye candy to flirt with made the whole renouncing ties with one’s only family thing easier to deal with.

Maybe once he paid off his loan, he could take Vincent out for a nice date. His newfound crush had mentioned he was a night owl and watched the sunrise every morning from his balcony—and that he was bored with the view downtown Calgary provided. Vincent might feel differently about sunrises from a cozy cabin up in the mountains. Somewhere in Banff or Jasper.

There was something about his crush that struck Kit as especially fascinating. He couldn’t quite name what. Was it his reticent manner of sharing stories about himself? Or perhaps it was the way the vines tattooed on Vincent’s chest peeked out from his shirt, caressing his collarbone and inviting outsiders to wonder how far down the ink traveled.

Kit very much wanted to see all of Vincent’s tattoos.

How they got there wouldn’t matter to him, as long as his eyes could feast on all the colors woven into the history of his private coworker’s body. It’d be nice if he allowed Kit to fill all the blank spaces with kisses. Vincent would look spectacular splayed across the bed, completely nude except for his glasses and creepy realistic heart pendant.

That was another part of Vincent that Kit couldn’t stop thinking about. The pendant. As a former member of the oil and sands industry, the elder Clayton son used to meet people who only wore the newest, trendiest, and most expensive jewelry (except for his mother and her bizarre charms). Now he had a coworker who carried around an actual heirloom—a gift from the family who gave him up for adoption and mysteriously disappeared from the face of the earth.

And the heirloom was so scary. It would be cute if the pendant was tiny, but it had to be the size of a fist. Vincent clearly displayed it as a way to warn the world not to approach him. It suited the moody bartender so well that Kit felt his heart beat every time he glanced at the golden organ.

Not just any ordinary kind of beat either. His heart pounded against his chest with such force that his pulse jumped, his tongue twitched, and the rest of the world blurred for a delightfully electrifying second. It was a sensation he wanted to experience over and over again.

Vincent Ezell had a way of making the newly lost loner feel very alive, even when he wasn’t peering at him with those soul-piercing dark eyes.

A text flashed across Kit’s phone and pulled him from his lusty thoughts. Conflict passed through him as he read the message from his new boss.

Come work tonight. S is sick and I can’t leave V in the upstairs bar by himself on a Monday with a hockey game.

A demand. Not an invitation.

That was the trouble of being in debt to one’s boss. Especially when the borrower had broken said boss’s nose a few years back after catching him getting head