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.

And my least favourite section? All the face paint. Which apparently people feel the need to pull off the shelf until they have enough to build giant paint castles with. I almost feel bad tearing down all their hard work when Becky and I reach the part of our day where we have to clean and reorganize the aisle.

I believe we may have found my task for the next six hours of my shift.

I'm sitting cross legged on the floor sorting different shades of purple when Becky returns from helping another customer.

"So, you remember that jerk my ex was with like two seconds after my parents cut off my money?"

Nothing like a good segue with Becky. "I remember you wouldn't tell me his name and I'm really not okay with maybe walking past him daily. The town might be large but it's not that large."

"His name doesn't matter. He isn't from here. What matters is I just heard from Rita Pierro who heard—ultimately from Carmina—that he dumped my good for nothing ex flat on his ass yesterday in the middle of the square while the grandparents yoga hour was literally in session.

"No way! Did Granny Sue threaten to sew his lips together?" I slide the pile of the darkest purple onto the shelf where it belongs.

"She did not."

"Wow. So shocked they didn't even yell at him for interrupting yoga hour. Maybe they didn't want to derail your second-hand revenge. I know old Xavier has been trying to convince you to do several illegal things in retaliation."

"Old Xavier never left middle school. I'm not going to jail for any man. I got a life to lead." She slides two piles of face paint back onto the shelf and flips one of the tags over so it's legible. "Maybe I need to find this guy and mail him a gift basket for allowing me jail-free retribution."

"You know I could help you with that if you gave me his name."

"I might have been born at night but it wasn't last night."

"But we like him now. So I can know, right?"

"Don't you have enough going on with Luther and—"

She's interrupted by a crash from the end of the aisle that we've already cleaned. The evil witch I'm dressed as is feeling exceptionally appropriate at the audacity of someone messing up my hard work right after it was finished.

But I need this job. So I take a breath and slowly turn to face the culprits.

I look back to see a man so buttoned up I wonder how he can breathe. Which is probably why the first thing that comes out of my mouth is, "Why is your shirt buttoned so tight on your neck?" rather than an incoherent evil screeching noise of despair.

"What?" The taller one says, pushing his glasses up his nose and rolling up his sleeves before popping the top button. He clears his throat and shifts from foot to foot and he stares at a small business card he holds in both of his large hands. "Umm, I was hoping to find a Jaqueline. The, uh, last name isn't clear. Anyway the bartender from Stalwart told us you could help us."

"Nice blonde bartender gave us your name specifically." The shorter one interrupts, pointing at the card his friend is holding gingerly in his fingertips. "We need costumes for the LJB Technologic Halloween Party this weekend."

That name brings bile up to sting the back of my throat. They must see the seething rage seeping out of me, because they shrink back into themselves, causing even Becky to side eye me as she slides off her stool and walks over.

"We'd love to help you. What kind of costume are you looking for?"

"Are you Jaqueline?" the smaller one asks.

"It's Jack," I interrupt. "It's not Jaqueline. It's Jack. And that's me."

"We want her." He points. "She's supposed to be good."

Becky whispers on the way by, "How are you supposed to be good? You've never worked here before and you already have a reputation?"

"Blonde bartender?" I wait for her to make the connection. "She's taking pity on me after the incident. She's trying to get back at Luther by sending them over to his party looking the part and then making Luther have to deal with them. She's sent them here knowing I'll know how to get them in the door."

Realization dawns on her face. "Oh, this I fully support. Even if one of them does look a lot like the guy I had to call the ambulance for yesterday."

"Shouldn't you be trying to sell costumes regardless? Isn't that sort of your job?"

"Only until daddy dearest decides to reinstate my trust fund. It's not like I'm going to be doing it forever."

"You and me both. Hopefully I can find something better soon. No offense."

She shrugs, turning back to the shelf of disorganization. Apparently this is supposed to be my cue to attend to our customers. Not that I've ever done that before. Wouldn't be something a supervisor should help me with or anything.

I love Becky, but she's terrible at having a job.

Asking her seems fruitless, so I smile and guide the two men over to the much better organized men's costume section. And yes, I've already complained about the sexist labelling. And no, nothing will be done about it except I was threatened with a reprimand by our douchebag store manager, but he won't be around much so I'm being the bigger person and letting it go.

Doesn't mean I won't be mixing up the merchandise a little in my spare time. He doesn't need to know.

Finally, I stop in front of the racks and turn to face the pair. "How can I help you? I know we're looking for a costume for LJB Technologic's Halloween party. Any dates' costumes I should try to coordinate with?" I let my eyes wander across the two of them and something about the tall one shifting under my gaze, looking back at me with steel eyes through thick rimmed glasses is—

"No." They both shake their heads.

"No one to coordinate with. Just two guys looking to fit in at a party. You can do that, right?" He looks at me expectantly like a cat waiting for dinner.

How much time do I have?

But I don't say that. I just smile the fakest smile I've ever seen. And I can't even see it. Then I turn to the rack. "I can definitely make sure your costumes fit in. Everything else is out of my expertise."

The taller one rakes his eyes down my body and then back up to my face, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and fiddling with his fingers. "I think maybe everything else is inside your area of expertise."

"Is that a joke?" I ask, only now realizing I left my shoes on the floor of the face paint aisle.

"It actually wasn't," he says, red climbing up his face and fingers pulling at his hem. "You look like the kind of person who knows how to fit in at a party. And not just with costumes."

"Maybe you're right." I shrug noncommittally. His green eyes catch the lights, and they kinda sparkle.

We spend several minutes perusing the costumes, and I pick up random options which they reject for being too cute or too simple or too shirtless. I'll admit I'm kinda sad about that last one. I might like to see the tall one without his shirt.

Clearly breaking up with Luther has confused me beyond words. I'm supposed to be a professional. I'm at work.

"So, what about this one?" I pull a debonair pirate costume off the rack and turn around to face them. I admit to the shirt being a little revealing, but it's not shirtless.

The short one jumps when he sees the message on his phone. "Sorry, Alex. I gotta get this," he whispers, dashing out of the store before I have a second to notice if he has a costume in his hand. Hopefully I haven't just spent my first day on the job letting someone shoplift because I was too busy getting lost in the green field eyes of his friend.

Speaking of his friend.

The awkwardness expands between us, and I really wish I'd had some training in sales before this moment. But when I arrived here this morning I foolishly assumed it would be easy to find people budget halloween costumes. I know everyone in town and I've never in my life run out of conversation topics. Appropriate topics, yes, but never at a complete loss for words.

"So, do you have a change room or something?" he asks, pointing to the costume I'm holding.

"We do, but..." The line is a mile long and filled with children bouncing on their heels. "We only have the one."

"Ah," he says, spinning the costume around in his hands. "Could I just try on the jacket over my shirt?"

"Dude, it's a Haunted Halloween, not Chanel. I'm not paid enough to care."

His laugh fills the space the awkwardness used to and I have to admit the way he wears his unique sense of humor and nerdiness so confidently is endearing, maybe. I mean, he's right about me knowing how to blend in at a party, but I can't imagine doing one of those terrible cheesy makeover sequences on him until he's reduced to nothing but a paper cutout of his former self. Only with better clothes.

Who needs clothes?

That came out wrong. I didn't mean it.

Right?

No. Definitely weird.

"So it's okay?" he asks, and by the way his lip pulls up in a smirk, I'm guessing it isn't the first time he's asked. "To try on the costume here?"

"Yeah, whatever." Did it get hotter in here?

He removes his very practical green and black jacket, and something tumbles to the floor. Something I'd recognize anywhere.

Because it's the access card to a building in the city. The building where Luther works. And Mr. Glasses, according to the information I definitely didn't snoop on while he was busy wrestling the costume packaging open, is in IT security in the building.

"Hey," I say when he finally has the costume jacket on. "That looks great on you."

"Thanks." His smile is shy and small, but he looks up at me with a half smirk that has me convinced he could draw me straight into the middle of a bank heist if he wanted to. I have GOT to find a way through this.

"So, umm, you dropped this." I hand the card back to him. "Didn't want you to get in trouble at work or anything."

"Thanks. I know the woman who makes those, so I'd probably be alright. But it's less hassle this way. Thanks. I said that already."

"You did."

"Well, I think I will take this costume. Pirates are sexy, right?"

I try really hard to focus on the words coming out my mouth, and keep my thoughts inside where they belong. "They definitely can be. Just depends on how you wear it, I guess."

Nailed it.

"So, how should I wear it?"

Something about his eyes is honest and pure and he's right that I could help him. I just don't know why I so desperately want to.

I look down at his key card again. Well, he does work at Luther's company. Perhaps he could help me out. A trade of sorts.

People do that all the time in movies. And it always works out well.

But by the time I've left my stupor, he's wandered away, chasing after his friend toward the till where Becky stands, asking them if they need any flashing Halloween pins for night visibility. She's been having a lot of luck selling them to parents, but these two don't seem like the type.

I gather myself and turn away from the cash to put away all the costumes I pulled to show them. I'm glad he's gone. That way I won't have the opportunity to do anything ridiculous like ask him to help me.

He doesn't even know me. And I don't even know him. But I still listen to the bell on the door when he leaves.

And that damn bell is singing that this meeting is fate. I wonder if he has a little vengeance in him after all.