October 4, Saturday
THE BIRDWHISTLE Tours office buzzed with unusual morning energy as Jett and I walked through the front door.
Teresa stood behind the reception desk with the sort of predatory smile usually reserved for cats who'd cornered particularly plump mice.
Even from across the room, I could tell she was practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Bernadette!" she called out with false cheer. "Perfect timing. We've made some exciting changes around here."
Marv looked up from his paperwork with the expression of a man who'd rather be anywhere else. Behind him, filing cabinets stood open like gaping mouths, their contents scattered across every available surface.
"What kind of changes?" I asked warily.
"Well, you know how you mentioned that our corporate uniforms were a bit..." Teresa paused dramatically, clearly savoring the moment. "Stodgy? Uninspiring? Lacking in authentic Kentucky charm?"
"I suggested something more regionally appropriate, yes."
"We took your feedback to heart." Teresa reached under the desk and produced a cardboard box.
"We've decided to embrace the historical roots of Kentucky hospitality.
You know, really lean into the authentic tavern experience.
" She placed the box in my hands, then gave me a light shove toward the bathroom.
"You'll want to change before the customers arrive. "
I carried the box toward the small restroom at the back of the office, acutely aware of three pairs of eyes following my progress. Behind the locked door, I opened the box with dread.
And rightfully so.
The costume spilled out of the box like a practical joke come to life. White peasant blouse with dramatically puffed sleeves. Brown corset-style vest that laced up the front. A long, full skirt in some sort of homespun-looking brown fabric.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered to my reflection in the wavy mirror.
But as I stared at the ridiculous outfit, something shifted in my perspective.
If Teresa thought she could humiliate me into quitting by forcing me to dress like a refugee from a Renaissance faire, she had seriously underestimated my tolerance for absurdity.
I'd been living in a van, chasing after phantom fathers, and surviving on instant coffee and hotdogs for months.
A silly costume was hardly going to break my spirit.
I changed into the barmaid getup with the resigned efficiency of someone who'd learned to roll with whatever curveball life decided to throw.
The corset was surprisingly well-made, cinching my waist in a way that was actually flattering.
The skirt swished when I walked, and the whole ensemble had an undeniably theatrical flair.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Jett took one look at me and burst out laughing. "You look like you escaped from a dinner theater production of 'Oklahoma.'"
Marv looked concerned but nodded congenially. "It's catchy."
Teresa watched my reaction with barely concealed glee, clearly expecting tears, outrage, or immediate resignation.
Instead, I smoothed down the skirt and gave her a bright smile. "I think the guests will love it. Very creative thinking."
Her triumphant expression faltered. "We could only afford one costume, so you'll need to launder it frequently. Keep it looking fresh."
"No problem," I said, my smile never wavering.
I turned to Jett. "Ready?"
His mouth twitched. "Lead the way, Bar Wench Bernadette."
"You can take it down a notch," I murmured as we left the office.
"No way. Besides, you're cute."
Was he flirting? I arched an eyebrow. "Did you say I'm cute?"
He squinted. "What? No, I said you're a hoot ."
My shoulders fell. "Oh." That made more sense.