His voice cracks, and my throat tightens. “I would be honored if you would make my urn.” “Da . . .” Tears fill my eyes. “I can’t—” “Do this for me, Rowan. Please. Make my urn. It would mean so much to me.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Please.” Wiping a tear from my eye, I nod. “It would be my honor, Da.”
