Pete wanted the haunted trail we were setting up for our party to be the best one ever. We were walking down the path behind our house — the one that ran along the side of the old red barn that had seen better days.

I ducked beneath some dead hanging vines, while reaching up to keep them out of my face.

“Don’t pull those off!” he shouted. “They’re perfect for the trail!”

I rolled my eyes and answered, “I’m not pulling them off, goofball. I was pushing them out of my way.”

He interjected, “I think you could be a witch.”

I knew he was talking about my future costume, but I teased, “I can definitely be a witch. Just ask my handsome husband.”

It was Pete’s turn to roll his eyes.