A Kiss in Costume | Holidays in Heartsbrook #1

Two | Jaqueline (Jack)

It's my first shift at the Haunted Halloween. You know that retail establishment that magically appears in every abandoned storefront overnight on September 1st? With the shelves full of very accurate costumes like "blonde-haired princess" or "buff green hero" or, y'know, vampire or whatever?

Well, that's where I work now.

And I've decided if I'm going to work here instead of the upscale bar my ex bought and subsequently fired me from, I'm going to do it in very skimpy Halloween outfits. With tights and tank tops underneath. This is a family establishment. And I'm not about to get on the bad side of Mrs. MacDonald.

So today, because I'm fun and quirky and totally not feeling vengeful, I'm wearing an "evil queen" costume. Black and purple cape, horns and, naturally, a very revealing dress. I even painted my nails a shade called 'Candy Apple Red' and painted my lips in the sluttiest colour I could find.

Becky said I could take a picture for the company social media accounts so Luther can see what he's missing.

And normally, I'm opposed to rubbing that kind of thing in a person's face after I break up with them, but in this case, I think it's justified.

Jerk deserves it.

Maybe tomorrow I'll be a country singer. I could deal with a few baseball bats to his vehicle.

When I get to the very inconspicuous storefront painted with everything Halloween, the door is still locked, the CLOSED sign hanging from the door.

But it's my first shift. I don't have a key.

I knock on the door, fielding a few strange looks from passersby as I wait on the sidewalk, hoping Becky will arrive before I lose all my patience or my circulation in my big toe. This is not a comfortable pair of shoes. Should have stuck with the ones I always wear to the bar, but the black really didn't have the same pop as the purple sparkles, and I'm on a mission.

But standing on the icy sidewalk is having me rethink my decision to put fashion over function this morning. I'm clearly still thinking too much with my revenge brain and not enough with my mature adult one.

"You look hot," my friend and supervisor Becky calls from down the street, drawing my attention from a small icicle forming on the store's overhang.

Little droplets drip off the icicle and I step under them, letting the cool water hit my sore feet until Becky is finally close enough to talk without shouting.

"Sorry I'm late. I stayed late doing inventory last night and then I had to call the paramedics for this dude who passed out right on the street and I didn't get home until way too late."

"The worst." Having worked in one of the more upscale bars, I'd seen my fair share of emergency services calls. Don't let them fool you into thinking it's the lower priced establishments that have all the issues. Money might solve a lot of the problems I have in my life, but it's also really good at causing shit everywhere it goes.

I'd much rather be broke and fabulous.

Finally, we unlock the store and I follow behind Becky while she carries out store opening procedures. I kick off my shoes, abandoning them behind the counter and vowing to put them on only when I absolutely must walk around the floor. Because I'm not here to have a half completed outfit on my first day of revenge—I mean, mature acceptance.

I mean work. My first day of work.

After a whole hour of work and a complete tour of the store, I think my favourite section is the accessories aisle. Witch hats? We have those. Werewolf mittens? You got it. Teenie tiny pumpkins to wear like a coconut bra? I bought those.