Ah, Sunday. Phase two of moving on from . . . well, from everything, began on Sunday. It was going to be a rough day, but I was ready. Stretching up on the tips of my toes, I kissed the corner of his lips. “Yeah, we’re still on.”

“Good,” he replied and then started out the door.

“Reece.”

He looked at me over his shoulder, and I said, “I love you.”

His face transformed from striking to stunning with a broad smile that had my heart spinning around in a happy dance. “I love you, babe.”

As I closed the door and threw the lock, I had to admit that was much better than saying good-­bye.

A soft breeze rattled the limbs lining the road as we stepped out of Reece’s truck, and I walked around to the driver’s side. Lifting my chin, I squinted as I stared out over the cemetery, my gaze drifting over the marble tombstones and large tombs. It was a sunny day. The sky was the perfect shade of blue, the scarce clouds fluffy and white. My mind churned with the watercolors I’d have to mix to capture that right color of blue and clouds, well, clouds were easy and fun to paint. I tugged on the hem of my light sweater and then reached up, tucking the streak of pink hair back behind my ear.

Reece walked to where I stood, with the tips of my flats just brushing the manicured grass. “You ready?”

Pressing my lips together, I nodded and so we started out, following the paved walkway. There was a ball in my throat, a mixture of nerves and a sadness that would linger probably for a long time. I knew that one day I would think of Charlie and there wouldn’t be sadness. There would just be warmth and happiness that cuddled the memories of him I would always have and cherish.

Neither of us spoke as we crested the small hill and we could see Charlie’s final resting place for the first time since I’d left the funeral. My step stumbled and my heart pounded. His parents had, as expected, spared no expense when it came to marking their son’s grave. It was weird to me since they’d barely been there for him the last six years, but who was I to judge? Maybe this was their way of showing him how much they did love him, how much they missed him.

A pearly white angel had been erected behind a rather simple headstone, wings spread wide and head bowed. In her arms was a small child, held close to her breast. I don’t know why, but seeing the statue made me want to plop down in the grass and weep like I’d never cried before.

But we weren’t the only ones in the cemetery. Nor was Charlie’s resting place empty. Not that I was expecting it to be.