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He smiled and brushed his fingers along the back of my neck, just above my collar.

“Good. I was hoping we’d have a little more time to ourselves before the Factory opens.”

The attraction’s first Saturday-night guests wouldn’t be admitted until nine, but Duncan had already finished his checks and left the staff in charge of the final preparations. He’d spent enough weekends on the other side of that arrangement to appreciate having experienced people handling the details.

His workshop was busy again, although he chose the pace himself. He accepted only the specialty-effects and sculpture commissions that interested him, and he taught occasional art and special-effects workshops at a local school and a nearby community college.

Sienna had her own table and drawers in a safe corner of the studio, and the little orange paper flower she’d made at last year’s festival still sat on a high shelf overlooking her workspace.

I smiled at the memory as we passed a booth filled with handmade autumn decorations.

We continued along the path, Sienna still debating whether moving the lamp would be enough to give her creature the expression she wanted.

Duncan listened while she worked through the possibilities. I walked beside them, enjoying the conversation and the occasional gentle pressure of his hand against my back.

There had been a time when I could barely imagine fitting into their lives.

Now I knew where Sienna kept her favorite cereal, which bathroom drawer contained her hair clips, and exactly how much coffee Duncan needed before he was willing to discuss anything more complicated than breakfast.

I knew that he preferred quiet mornings, that Sienna liked to work on her drawings at the kitchen table after dinner, and that both of them had strong opinions about whether my pumpkin-pecan muffins needed additional cinnamon.

They did not.

That particular argument had already been settled in my favor.

We reached the broad lawn near Factory of Screams, and I slowed to admire the scene.

The building that had nearly given me a nervous breakdown last October looked terrific.

The old charcoal siding had been cleaned and repainted, the entrance sign glowed bright red above the black curtains, and several groups of visitors were already gathering near the ticket area.

Two couples stood beside the posted attraction map, debating whether to enter together or separate into smaller groups. Nearby, a family posed for pictures in front of the Factory sign while a pair of teenagers enthusiastically described the Human Assembly room to their friends.

I heard one of them mention the moving head.

A very familiar feeling of satisfaction settled over me.

A year ago, I’d been racing through that building with a clipboard, trying to turn a collection of failing mechanical effects into something guests would actually enjoy.

Tonight, people were lining up because they wanted to see what we’d created.

After Janine reviewed the weekend reports and heard from Lisa about last year’s guest response, she’d finally offered me the promotion I’d worked toward for two years: Event Producer.

Lakefront Event Group had agreed to a hybrid arrangement, allowing me to manage projects from Maple Lane Falls and travel to Chicago or other client sites when necessary.

I still had demanding assignments and occasional weeks when I spent more time in hotel rooms than I preferred.

But Maple Lane Falls was home now.

I’d moved into Duncan’s house last spring after months of visits and weekend trips. We’d turned a room overlooking the wooded backyard into my office.

On my first morning working there, Duncan had brought me coffee before heading to his workshop. An hour later, I’d found a little handmade sign Sienna had slipped onto my desk.

It read: GOLDIE’S OFFICE. IMPORTANT WORK HAPPENS HERE.

She’d decorated it with purple flowers and one tiny monster peeking around the edge.

I loved that sign almost as much as I loved the girl who’d made it.