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tone. “Your image of me as a tough cop will be shattered.”
    “What?”
    “I read mysteries—but not true crimes and I try to stay away from procedurals. Either they get it wrong or it’s too much like reality.”
    “Makes sense,” I said. “I take it you read cozies.”
    He bit his lower lip and nodded. “It’s my guilty pleasure. Cozies and capers. I like the ones where the police detective gets the girl. It started with an Alisa Craig novel someone left in a hotel room—the story featured an RCMP detective.”
    “Who got the girl. I have the series and all the books she wrote as Charlotte Macleod.”
    “I noticed. We also share an interest in Janet Evanovich, but I stay away from cozies that feature food or hobbies.”
    “I can’t help it. I love the puns in the titles. So,” I waggled my brows since, due to a physical deficiency, I couldn’t raise a single eyebrow, “is there a girl-who-got-the-detective in your life?”
    He shook his head.
    “I told you I used to be married.”
    I nodded. “And that you have a son.”
    He gave a deflated sigh. “Yes, well, I hope I’ve been a good father, but I know I was a lousy husband. I’ve never taken the chance again. Don’t ever plan to.” With a slight tilt of his head he recovered his Vulcan-like cool. “For the moment, I think I identify with your Sergeant Valdok.”
    “Who dies saving the woman he can’t admit he loves. I might rewrite that part.” I finished my tea. “I’ll consider it while I try to get some more sleep.”
     
    *    *    *
     
    Thanks to auto checkout and valet parking, we were ready to go right after breakfast. Merrick was driving a minivan now and I noticed boxes in the back—two were marked with my name, the other two were marked for Hope and Boone. I looked at him questioningly.
    “Zeke managed to clear a few items.”
    I felt tears well up and busied myself with making sure the kids had everything to hide the fact that I was bowled over by Zeke’s consideration. I fussed about, until Merrick’s hand guided me into the passenger seat.
    As soon as we pulled away from the hotel, the questions started.
    “Where are we going?” asked Hope.
    “When will we get there?” asked Boone.
    “Can we put some music on?”
    “When are we stopping for lunch?”
    I had nothing to offer. I didn’t know where we were going, when we’d get there . . . but I did remind Boone that we’d only just had breakfast. Merrick just maintained an amused silence. I was pleasantly surprised when we pulled off the expressway about fifteen minutes later.
    Disneyland turned out to be the Disney Store in one of the big malls outside the city core. Also in the mall was a store that catered to private schools. Hope and Boone were going to a school with a strict dress code. They needed black pants, socks and shoes, and white shirts. For gym class, they needed black shorts, white t-shirts, and white socks and trainers. New backpacks and extra school supplies were bought. It was exciting. As Boone observed, the mall became their ‘Diagon Alley’ and the new school was like going to ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’.
    At the Disney Store, I bought belated birthday gifts for the twins and we all picked out pyjamas. Boone chose hockey-playing Tigger. Hope got a nightshirt with the Shepherd illustration of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet playing Pooh-sticks. I found an over-sized, plaid flannel nightshirt with Minnie Mouse embroidered on the pocket. Hope pointed out the matching set of men’s pyjamas with Mickey Mouse.
    “We could buy them for Dad,” she suggested.
    “Or not,” I replied. The image of Seth in Mickey Mouse pyjamas was only slightly less horrifying than imagining the look on his wife’s face.
    Merrick started searching through the stack. “If they come in extra-large, I’ll take them.”
    Hope looked from Merrick to me, and back again. I think I blushed. Merrick just took the pyjamas and ushered us towards the