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There’s even a fucking petting zoo.

A goat bleats at me as I park.

I glare at it.

It bleats again.

“Watch yourself,” I mutter.

The goat looks unimpressed.

Smart animal.

I retrieve the roses from the back of my bike and head toward the row of food vendors.

Finding Autumn isn’t difficult.

Just follow the smell of cinnamon and listen for the sound of somebody laughing.

There she is.

My girl.

Standing behind a booth decorated with miniature pumpkins and twinkling orange lights, wearing tight jeans, a cream sweater, and an apron that reads WITCH, PLEASE.

Her hair is piled on top of her head, and there’s a streak of flour across her cheek.

She’s handing a box of pastries to a customer when she spots me.

Her entire face lights up.

Fuck.

That smile.

Ten years without it.

I don’t intend to waste another goddamn day.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she calls.

I stop in front of her booth.

“Morning, Pumpkin.”

Her gaze drops to the flowers.

Then back to my face.

“Are those for me?”

“No. The goat.”

She laughs.

“You’re getting funnier.”

“Terrible side effect of spending time with you.”