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“Faye.” I deadpan. “You’re afraid of heights.”

“I was afraid of heights.” She snaps a finger to a point in my direction before her hand stutters back to her hip and she huffs. “You never know, things might have changed.”

I bite back a grin because there’s never a dull day while loving this woman. “How’d you get the tote down?”

“Oh.” She waves a hand like it’s no big deal, which tells me it was a big event. One I’m sorry I missed. “You know.”

“I don’t know.”

She averts her eyes as she scratches at some invisible itch behind her ear.

“Faaaaye.” This should be interesting.

She narrows her eyes on me. “We may need a new tote.”

“Why?”

She toes the tote until it’s turned enough for me to see the shattered hole in one corner where it very obviously landed on the concrete.

I can’t help my laugh. I don’t even try to contain it as I sip my coffee. “You threw it from all the way up there?”

“Well, it’s not like I set out to throw it. It was heavier than I thought, and the ladder felt shaky. It was a kill or be killed moment.”

I bark a laugh, because that explains the reason, I was jarred awake.

“Step away from the tote, wife.” Her jaw drops. “Before you do more damage.”

“You—”

I step down into the garage. “I’ll get the lights up today once the frost is burned off the roof.”

Her eyes flick upward, as though she hadn’t quite considered the risk of slipping and falling—from the roof of our house.

Good God, this woman can’t do this without me.

The thought comes with a pinch that steals my breath. I suck in new, crisp air, as I hook the handle of her coffee mug from the work bench to hand it to her. “I promise the lights will be up before the day’s over.”

She huffs as she takes her coffee, sucking back a long sip.

I pause at the sound of a truck engine pulling up to the house, then hear Mabel’s little voice screech, “Uncle Tanner!”

I grin. Tanner’s been checking in every day since the hospital. He’s not impressed with me for not telling Faye about the cancer, but he hasn’t said anything, and I’m grateful. He’s letting me wrap my faulty brain around the fact I’m dying in my own way, in my own time.

And he’s here when I need him. He covers for me when I need that, too.

I hear the ladder creak as he climbs it, then I see him poke his head over the peak of the house to see me stringing lights on the side, because just the front won’t do—and I’ve never been able to say no to my wife. I have no intention of starting now.

“Hey.” A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Should you, uh, be up here?”

“I’m feeling good.” I assure him.

“I just—you had that one⁠—”

The seizure. “I wasn’t feeling great before that came on. I’m good right now.”

His jaw clenches through a nod. “Well, I’m here to help. Where do you want me?”

“I’m too old to Trick-or-Treat.”