You’d think a man like Captain John Price wouldn’t have the patience for pumpkin patches, novelty skeleton mugs, and entire store aisles dedicated to “spooky chic” throw pillows: but you’d be wrong.

Well… sort of.

He grumbles, of course. That low, scratchy mutter that makes strangers in line at HomeGoods take one look at him and decide this is not the man to ask where the soap aisle is. He’ll roll his eyes as you tug him toward yet another cart full of pumpkin-spice-scented candles, shake his head when you insist this skull-shaped cookie jar is different than the other four you own, and groan when the cashier chirps “Happy Halloween!” like it’s his personal nightmare.

But you catch it, always. The tug at the corner of his mouth when you’re bouncing in your seat because the store’s already stocked for Halloween in September. The way his big hand rests over yours in the cart handle even as he’s muttering about “bloody overpriced seasonal tat.” The little hum in his chest when you grab onto his arm during the scariest parts of horror movies, no matter how many times you insist you’re not scared.

And he’s worse than you, if you’re honest. He’ll pretend he’s only watching your silly horror marathons for your sake, but then he’s the one rattling off trivia about old slashers and insisting: “now this one’s a classic, sweetheart.” He acts unimpressed by pumpkin-flavored everything but mysteriously manages to “finish off” every latte you don’t drink, and you’ve caught him more than once sneaking a bite of pumpkin bread before you’ve even iced it.

He’s cheeky about it, too. The kind of man who’ll lean back on the sofa, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, and with that wry grin of his, murmur something like, “Don’t see why we wasted money on decorations when Ghost could’ve just stood in the front garden: scare the bloody trick-or-treaters for free.”

It’s not just about the season, though. You know it. He doesn’t get much time with you, not with his job, not with the life he leads. So when he does get it? He pours it all in. Attentive in ways you don’t expect: making sure you’ve eaten, drawing you into his side when the movie gets too tense, carrying all the shopping bags even when you insist you can handle them.

And yeah, he’ll still complain. That’s Price. He’ll always groan about the mess of pumpkin guts on the counter when you carve them together, mutter that the fake spider webs look like fire hazards, insist that pumpkin beer is “an abomination.” But you’ll catch him in the kitchen at midnight, cigar dangling from his lips, standing in the fridge light and sipping that very same beer with a shrug.

Captain John Price: reluctant Halloween convert, unrepentant grumbler, and absolutely hopeless when it comes to saying no to you.