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“Dada!” she squeals, throwing both arms his way as if she’s been waiting all day for someone interesting to show up.

“I see how it is,” I mutter. “I carried you for nine months, gave birth to you, keep you fed, clean, and reasonably fashionable, and he walks into the room and gets a parade.”

Jasper smiles as Ella plants both hands on his cheeks.

“I’m very charming.”

“You’re very tall.” I nod his way. “She likes the aerial view.”

Jasper takes her and tucks her to his chest before she can launch herself into the grass, and she immediately puts her face in his neck with a satisfied little sigh that suggests I’ve been demoted to second-string parent.

I’m used to this by now. But it’s nice to know the woman who let her swim in her tummy is still in the running.

Jasper’s phone buzzes, and he checks it with his free hand. And just like that, I see the shift from playful husband to on-duty detective in about half a second.

“It’s Jordy,” he says. “He’s doing a security walk-through of the festival perimeter. We’ve got a few blind spots near the orchard that need eyes.”

Jordy would be my longtime friend, my once husband, and my current handyman here at the inn. It’s a long story.

Jasper lifts Ella just high enough to make her giggle. “I’m pretty sure she woke up just to see me. I’ll take her with me.”

“I’m pretty sure she woke up because you interrupted a perfectly good nap,” I tease. “But by all means, rewrite history.”

He kisses the top of her head, then looks at me over her little pigtails. “Don’t find any bodies before I get back.”

I wince at the thought. “I make no promises.”

Anything short of that would be a flat-out lie.

He heads off toward the woods with Ella tucked against his shoulder, already cooing about something that sounds like a very serious commentary on the state of festival security, and I watch them go for a moment longer than necessary.

There’s just something about Jasper carrying our daughter while doing his detective thing that hits me square in the ovaries. Ella has one tiny hand curled around his collar, Jasper has one big hand spread over her back, and together they look like the world’s most adorable father-daughter crime-fighting duo.

Although judging by the way Ella is pointing toward the woods and issuing orders, I’m pretty sure Jasper is the sidekick.

That sounds about right. She bosses me around too.

Nevertheless, Jasper is the hottest man here.

I keep waiting for the honeymoon phase to wear off, but it appears to have missed its exit. And I’m not sorry in the least.

Bizzy. Fish appears at the base of the nearest lantern post, sitting cute as can be on a hay bale with her paws tucked under her and the expression of a cat who’s already seen more than she wanted to tonight and formed extensive opinions about all of it. I want it noted, for anyone who can hear this, that I will not be wearing a costume this year. I’ve already participated in countless Halloweens and demoralized myself by dressing as a pumpkin, a bumblebee, and an entire slew of other objectifying costumes. And let’s not forget that one atrocity that your mother inexplicably called a pirate wench that was, in fact, a vest with buttons and an insult to my dignity. So therefore, this year, I will be attending as myself.

Sherlock comes barreling across the grass behind her, skids to a stop, and nearly takes out my ankles in the process. His tail is going a mile a minute.

BIZZY. They have turkey legs the size of my head! He barks and spins with utter delight. Dizzying delight, but still. The size of my head, I tell you! Halloween time is heaven! It’s a culinary paradise! I would wear a tutu, a sailor hat, or a full hot dog costume where I am the hot dog just to stay in this magical season a little bit longer. You name it. Whatever you want. The answer is yes! So long as I get to clean up the scraps in the midway. I’ve never had so many corn dogs, kettle corn, or funnel cakes in all my life! I’ll be anyone you want me to be!

You are a disgrace to the animal kingdom, Fish says, lashing her tail at him.

I am a disgrace who has sampled eleven different food stations. Sherlock is quick to inform her. That is called winning.

I crouch and give Sherlock a quick scratch behind the ears as he continues to spin like wild.

Fish would be my sweet black-and-white tabby. And Sherlock Bones is a red-and-white freckled mutt who once exclusively belonged to Jasper until we became one in the eyes of both the Lord and the law, and now Sherlock belongs to me just as much as Fish does.

Across the grounds near the orchard tree line, Emmie’s golden retriever Gatsby and her labradoodle Cinnamon go tearing past us at a dead sprint, and that’s the end of Sherlock’s attention span.

GATSBY. CINNAMON. HOLD ON. I’M COMING. I HAVE INFORMATION ABOUT THE TURKEY LEGS!