The Last Gift Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  About the Author

  By Chrissy Munder

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  The Last Gift

  By Chrissy Munder

  College student Nick Reed works late shift at a convenience store and dreams of graduation, a job he can be proud of, and finding the man of his dreams.

  But the man of his dreams is about to find him.

  A change in his lab hours forces Nick to swap shifts with a coworker. But no one prepared Nick for Mr. 5:25—Aaron Hampton—a beefy blond who’s Nick’s perfect guy, but professionally and socially out of Nick's reach. Soon Aaron becomes the highlight of Nick's workday, and when the overly focused lawyer needs Nick's help with holiday gifts, Nick is eager to spend time with Aaron.

  They become friends, share book recommendations, and are surprised to find themselves at the same charity run. But is that all? When Aaron learns Nick is heading back to his old shift, will he find the courage to ask for one last, very special gift?

  For Karen, Aimée, Lyubov, and Clare.

  With appreciation.

  I

  NICK REED’S first week on the new shift couldn’t be called bad. Different? Sure. He’d go there. An entire collection of tiny differences that when totaled? They made for a huge, uncomfortable change. A sure sign he’d fallen into a mind-numbing rut.

  Which wasn’t hard to do when Nick’s life consisted of nothing but his shifts here at the convenience store, a max load of classes, his on-campus job at the computer lab, and—surprise—more studying because he also took classes online to make sure he graduated and was employed in a life-sustaining field before his brother finished high school. Money was tight, and even with Nick’s outrageous amount of student loan debt, his parents couldn’t afford two kids in college. Three, if you counted his little sister in the pipeline.

  The most irritating difference on this particular morning? Why the store never seemed to get warm on this shift. A cold Nick was a grumpy Nick. He’d added another layer under his long-sleeved work polo, and he still felt the late November chill. Nick blamed the increase in customers letting in the elements. Not to mention the slush tracked in from the post-Thanksgiving snowstorm. Floor mats, people. Use them.

  He mopped floors more in the hours between 4:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m. than his entire previous shift. Add in the staggering amount of coffee he needed to keep brewed, and the time spent refilling the fresh baked donut and bagel displays, and the downtime Nick usually used to catch up on his homework vanished.

  Turned out being near the freeway on and off ramps took on a whole new meaning during peak hours. No wonder Blaine had swapped with such enthusiasm. This shift sucked.

  He shouldn’t complain. Finding out his Bio instructor had gone out on maternity leave a month early and her replacement had changed the open lab hours had not only sent Nick into a panic, but threatened to derail his graduation plans. So much for the hours he and his father had spent arranging his academic schedule and getting special permission to take most of his advanced, only offered once a year courses in his first couple of years, and the more accessible, intro courses here at the end.

  “Change is hard,” Blaine mocked when he clocked out at 4:00 a.m. Friday morning, no doubt heading to Amanda’s, his on-again, off-again girlfriend and their store manager.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nick muttered. He opened his battered laptop, refusing to acknowledge the twinge in his chest as anything other than heartburn from the greasy burger he had for dinner. He didn’t have a clue how the complicated mess of Blaine and Amanda’s relationship worked, but at least they had each other. “Hey, be sure to tell Amanda thanks for letting us swap shifts again.”

  The laptop screen flickered as the unit crawled back to life. Nick crossed his fingers it would finish booting. Poor baby only had to last through another term before retiring to some electronics graveyard.

  Nick turned his head from left to right, checking his appearance in the reflective surface while he waited for the hourglass to disappear. Not bad. He’d worried his scruffy, college-chic grooming wouldn’t be considered acceptable for the morning business crowd, but there was no denying the awesomeness of his man bun.

  “Aren’t you going to thank me?” Blaine paused, deliberately holding open the front door so Nick couldn’t escape the arctic blast of outside air. “You know she only agreed to the switch so we could spend more time together.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Nick waved Blaine off with a rude gesture. The door shut with a bang, leaving Nick on his own, forced to face major shift difference number two: Morning People. Even worse, Morning People invigorated by the holidays.

  Amanda had declared the season upon them and replaced the normally obnoxious door chime with a fake hearty “ho ho ho.” Blaine loved it. Nick wanted to stick his pen in his eye and attempt a self-lobotomy every time he had to hear the sound.

  Which he did a lot, because major shift difference number three? Who knew so many commuters stopped by a convenience store for their initial caffeine hit rather than the pricier franchise up the street. Granted, the other shop didn’t open for another couple of hours, which totally proved his point.

  Did he even have one? Okay, so mornings were not Nick’s forte. Not when he was behind on his classwork and in the middle of a routine change. Overall most of the customers in this shift were okay. He had already chosen names for a couple of his new regulars.

  Like the Dragon Lady. The epitome of professional with her sharp features and the pressed edges on her business suit. No cream or sugar, but lots of stevia in her 6:30 a.m. coffee. Or Call-me-Darla, sweetie; the grandmother who volunteered at the senior center two blocks over and came in at 7:14 a.m. to fill her thermos and grab a couple of donuts every morning.

  Nick had reached first-name basis with a trio of snow removal guys, who, while cute, were obviously straighter than Blaine, and the old guy who used to drive Nick’s elementary school bus and still hadn’t retired.

  That one freaked him out. A lot. He had nightmares afterward where he ended up a perpetual student and grew old behind this counter, his man bun streaked with gray and his tennis shoes still refusing to stay tied. But the end was in sight, and he had a plan: graduation, job, new apartment, and finally, a new man. Someone a little older. With more life experience to offer than, well, his current crop of suitors.

  Nick held tight to his dream and scanned the next customer’s selection of three Slim Jims, a carton of cigarettes, a gallon of chocolate milk, one banana, a cartoon character notepad, and a three-pack of condoms. He tried not to judge too harshly.

  Nick glanced at his phone for the umpteenth time. Best part of the new shift, or maybe worst, was about to walk through the door any minute.

  Blaine had never mentioned Mr. 5:25.

  Nick had only worked four days on this schedule, but each one of those mornings Mr. 5:25 strolled in like stopping by this crappy convenience store was the highlight of his day. Cheerful, smiling, and so scorchingly hot, he drove every logical thought out of Nick’s head. Nick didn’t know what to do.

  Other than stare.

  And groan silently. And promise himself that no matter what, he would not turn into the creepy store clerk who beat off to thoughts of his customers.

  Nick needed to use triple mental exclamation points to reinforce that thought.

  Even if said customer happened to be named Aaron Hampton. And introduced himself the very first morning with a warm smile and a “Hi, pleasure to meet you” handsh
ake.

  Who does that?

  Nick tried. He did. But even his ma would admit he was a man of weak will who carried a dubious moral compass. Especially when it came to beefy blonds. Call it his hell, Aaron Hampton couldn’t trigger any more of Nick’s pleasure centers if he was hardwired to Nick’s neural interface.

  Nick may or may not have made a spreadsheet to prove it. He’d never tell.

  But he could share a few details. Over six feet tall? Check. Close-cropped hair with the barest, yet somehow still adorable hint of thinning? Check. Tortoiseshell glasses designed solely to accent Aaron’s brilliant blue eyes?

  Abso-motherfrickin’-lutely. Don’t even get him started on Aaron’s reddish-blond beard or the way Aaron’s thighs strained the material of his dress pants. Nick sighed.

  Totally unfair all this perfection dangled so temptingly in front of Nick might as well have Do Not Touch stamped across his buns of steel. Because this tantalizing package came wrapped in a soft, navy cardigan worn over a crisp white dress shirt and tie. Yeah, Nick’s dreamy slice of blond beefcake bore all the hallmarks of a salaried professional.

  Which placed him completely out of Nick’s current broke-and-in-debt college-student reach, assuming he even liked men. All lust aside, based on four days’ worth of interaction, if pressed to describe Aaron Hampton in one word, Nick would have to sum up that bundle of total hotness with the word nice. Yep. Nice.

  How was this his life?

  The door ho ho ho-ed. Nick turned toward the entrance like one of Pavlov’s infamous hounds. Nothing there but two guys bundled against the early morning ice and snow. Nick contemplated violence if they went for the peppermint mocha, and scowled at the muddy footprints left on the tile.

  He checked his phone again, tapping his thumb ring on the counter and mentally urging the jerk sorting out change to pay for his case of Red Bull to hurry up. Nick dropped the last handful of pennies into the register without counting.

  “Come back again,” Nick muttered. He brushed at the front of his polo with a huff. Finally. He tucked a few loose hairs into his bun and settled into a studied, but still casual stance. Preparations complete, he tuned out both the sound of the door ho ho-ing and the overhead music, and hit play on the mental soundtrack he used to herald Aaron’s entrance. In three… two….

  “Morning, Nick.”

  One. Nick admired a man who could stick to a schedule. “Hi, Aaron.” Nick answered Aaron’s wave with one of his own, then rested his elbows on the counter. He cradled his chin in his palms with a dreamy smile and watched Aaron head to the coffee machine. He hummed his approval. If anyone’s backside deserved a slow-motion montage, it was Aaron Hampton’s.

  “I know, right?”

  The soft murmur hit Nick like an icy snowball to the face. He jerked upright and glared at the woman waiting patiently on the other side of the counter. She must have entered the store while Nick was distracted.

  He refused to feel a shred of guilt over his lack of attention. Not only did she interrupt his Aaron time, (a man had needs), but she stared at Aaron’s backside like it was a piece of Nick’s mother’s infamous raspberry cheesecake. He bit back his urge to hiss and tell her to get her own. Instead he shrugged and held out his hand for her purchases. “Not bad, I guess.”

  The twist to her lips told him she wasn’t fooled. Nick gave in, and they shared wolfish grins before she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and headed out the door with a final backward glance.

  “What was that all about?” Aaron’s big blue eyes seemed a little duller than usual behind his glasses, his expression guarded when he set his coffee on the counter. “Did she give you her number?”

  “Me?” Nick coughed. “Not hardly.”

  He bit his lower lip at Aaron’s inquiring arched brow. Then oh so casually slid the paperback he had stashed beside the register closer to Aaron. The rainbow bookmark he had picked up at this year’s Pride Celebration might as well have screamed “kiss me, I’m gay.” Aaron blinked, the tips of his ears flushing an adorable pink. Pleased, Nick scanned Aaron’s coffee. “No donut today?”

  “No, thanks. I missed my workout yesterday, so no carbs for me.”

  Today’s cardigan was a dark gray, buttoned around Aaron’s narrow waist. Attractive, but minimal protection against the weather. The sleeves were pushed up, offering Nick a satisfying glimpse of muscular forearms when Aaron inserted his credit card into the chip reader.

  “Like you have to worry.” Nick reached into the display case and used the tissue paper to select two whole-grain blueberry bagels. He placed them in a bag with a couple packets of butter and cream cheese, and pushed it over to Aaron. “Where’s your jacket and gloves? It’s freezing.”

  Aaron took the offered bag without comment, even though the pink flush to the tips of his ears darkened. Nick gave himself a mental pat on the back for his subtle, yet caring nonverbal flirtation.

  “Probably won’t need to wear one until January. I tend to run hot.”

  I bet you do. Nick shivered but not with the cold. “Any plans for the weekend?” Forget the pat on his back, that was a lame segue, even with his lack of practice.

  Aaron opened the bag and halved one of the bagels onto a napkin. He spread cream cheese on both and handed one half to Nick before answering. “Work, like usual. Maybe some reading.” He gestured at Nick’s paperback. “Is that one any good?”

  “Not bad.” Thrilled at the success of his conversational gambit, Nick held the book out for Aaron’s inspection. He took a bite of the bagel while Aaron read the back cover. “I love a dedicated serial killer.”

  “Me too,” Aaron said, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

  Nick pulled at the neck of his polo. Did the furnace finally kick on or did the sheer warmth of Aaron’s smile raise the temperature in the store?

  “Stalkers too. So hard to find a good one.”

  Nick snorted at Aaron’s mournful tone, covering his mouth until he finished chewing. “Careful,” he teased. “You’ll give a guy ideas.”

  The door ho-ed before Aaron answered, another miserable gust of winter tickling Nick’s bare ankles. He’d had a rough week, okay? He had to deal with a schedule change. Aaron. New sleep patterns. Aaron. Whatever. Laundry wasn’t happening. “I hate that sound so much.”

  “Must be different when you hear it all day.” Aaron dropped the book and brushed his hand across his beard. “I guess I’d better head to work and stop blocking the register.”

  No! Nick wanted to shout. Stay right there and block away. He watched Aaron gather his coffee and remaining bagel and turned toward the door. He hesitated for a second, shifting his stance to face Nick once again. “I’ll see you Monday?”

  His voice rose the tiniest bit at the end of his sentence, and Nick warmed even more at this small sign of victory. What cold ankles? “You better,” he replied.

  Aaron waved his bag in Nick’s direction and then headed out. Another customer took his place at the register.

  “Two packs of Marlboro Reds.”

  Nick reached into the cigarette locker on autopilot, his focus on Aaron walking briskly through the lot. God, those thighs were practically illegal. He craned his head for a glimpse of Aaron’s car without luck. He cheered himself on anyway. Things were getting interesting.

  Out of Nick’s reach Aaron might be, but there was nothing lost by a little flirting. Nick tapped his thumb ring on the counter, playing the encounter over in his mind. Or a lot.

  II

  NICK’S PLANS for a game of heavy-handed innuendo vanished the next Monday at 5:38 a.m. Not only was Aaron running late, but the frazzled man who pushed through the door bore a shallow resemblance to Nick’s usual calm and collected crush.

  “Breathe,” Nick said, thankful the morning rush hadn’t hit yet, when Aaron collapsed over his counter like the hottest sack of potatoes ever. Nick’s hands hovered above the broad back before gingerly patting the hard muscle beneath his favorite navy cardigan. A very cold na
vy cardigan. Aaron might claim to be warm-blooded, but the short walk from heated car to warm interior was enough to suck the heat right out of him.

  Didn’t Aaron have anyone to worry about him catching cold other than some creepy clerk at the convenience store? Nick’s concern vanished along with the air from his lungs when Aaron shifted under his fingers, offering him another section of firm muscle to pat.

  Wowser. How much did Aaron workout? Nick choked before taking his own advice. He inhaled. Then exhaled. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Not bad, his voice was a little rough, but otherwise sounded pretty normal.

  “I need your help.”

  A quick scan of the sidewalk outside the front door told Nick there wasn’t any immediate threat, and Aaron appeared to be in one piece. Nick’s pulse slowed its frantic pounding. No blood, no slimeball in wait. He could handle this. “I got you. It’s okay.”

  Aaron stood up, forcing Nick’s hands to drop from where they had dug into the soft knit like a piece of malware on a known Windows fault. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s my assistant’s birthday,” Aaron huffed out. “I need a gift.”

  Say what? Nick blinked. Once. Twice. He studied Aaron’s distraught expression, then he deliberately blinked a third time to give himself a chance to process with no luck. He had to have missed something. “Excuse me?”

  Aaron groaned, dragging one large—yes, shoot him, Nick noticed—well-kept hand over the top of his head. The gesture disturbed his normal tidiness and left a few adorable little spikes behind. “I sound crazy, but I’m serious.”

  “And I can help, how?” Did he seriously look like some personal shopper? Nick crossed his arms over his chest. Laundry still hadn’t happened, and he wanted to hide the stains left from when he cleaned out the hot chocolate machine two days ago.

  “I’m not sure. But I don’t know what else to do.”

  Nick glanced around the store. Still empty. He leaned his hip against the counter. “Explain.”