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"JJ," he said, his voice still warm and easy, but with that edge underneath it that meant he wasn't negotiating. "None of you are using the kitchen knives. I'm cutting the tops and scooping them out. After that, you can use the pumpkin-carving tools from the kit."

Sawyer made a sound that was almost a laugh. Mikey looked relieved.

"But Daddy—"

"The last time you helped scoop a pumpkin, you got pumpkin guts on the ceiling."

I went silent. Sawyer laughed outright.

"We still don't know how," he said.

"It was an accident."

"Obviously." Daddy's mouth twitched. "You three are going to sit there and draw your designs. I'll handle the messy part. Then you can carve them with the proper tools. That's the deal."

I pouted. I pouted hard, because it was worth a try, and also because pouting was free and sometimes worked on Daddy if I did it cute enough. He looked at me, the corner of his mouth twitching, and I knew he was fighting a smile. I also knew he wasn't going to budge, and that was probably for the best because, again, ceiling.

"Fine," I said, with all the grace of a toddler who'd been told he couldn't have a third cookie. "But I'm going to be very creative with my design to make up for it."

"I'd expect nothing less," Daddy said, and he reached for his enormous pumpkin — the one Mikey had picked out for him — and moved it farther onto the counter where he had room to work.

I realized with a little thrill that he was going to carve one too. Daddy didn't always participate in the crafts. Sometimes he just watched, the way he watched everything, with that amused attention. But when he did participate, he went all in.

"All right," he said. "Draw."

We drew. Mikey was already sketching on his tiny pumpkin. His tongue was between his teeth. His green eyes were narrowed to slits.

I grabbed a marker of my own and attacked my pumpkin with considerably less precision. I drew a face — asymmetrical, just like I'd promised, one eye bigger than the other, a lopsided grin that took up half the pumpkin's surface. It was, I decided immediately, a masterpiece.

Sawyer was the last to pick up a marker. He held it for a second, turning it in his fingers, and then drew two circles for eyes, a clean triangle for a nose, and a straight line for a mouth. He set the marker down like the job was complete.

"That's it?" I said.

"That's it," Sawyer said.

"That's the most boring pumpkin face I've ever seen in my entire life."

"It's classic," Sawyer said.

"I hate it," I said.

"It's efficient."

I opened my mouth to argue, and Daddy's voice came from the counter, low and amused.

"JJ, let Sawyer draw it however he wants."

I closed my mouth.

Daddy worked through the pumpkins one at a time. He cut the tops off with clean movements, keeping the real knife on his side of the counter and well away from us. Then he scooped the insides into a big bowl. The seeds went into a separate one — he always saved them and roasted them later with salt and paprika, and they were some of the best things I'd ever eaten. I told him that every single year.

He did mine first because I was bouncing in my seat and making impatient noises. When he handed it back to me, hollowed out and clean, I pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you, Daddy. You're the best Daddy in the whole world."

He cupped my jaw with one hand.

"I know, baby."