Page 57 of Hot Cops

He nodded. “That it is.”

“And that’s you. You have a lot more hair here. And it’s brown, not gray.”

Patrick chuckled. “Count how many kids are in that picture, then blamethemfor all the gray hairs.”

“Did Mommy make your hair go gray?”

Patrick chuckled, certain at least ninety percent of his gray hairs had Riley’s name on them, but he merely shrugged. “I worry about all my kids…so, gray hair.”

Sunnie glanced back at the photo. “That’s Grandma Sunday, the one I’m named after.”

Patrick looked at his beloved wife. Sunday would have adored this spitfire—and would have had the patience to figure out how to entertain her namesake.

Riley had always been an active little thing as well. He suspected that’s why she now served as chef for their family restaurant. Every time Riley acted up, Sunday would pull her into the kitchen and put her to work, patiently answering every single one of her daughter’s seventy-two million questions as they cooked. Riley had listened to every word and remembered. Which meant all of Sunday’s recipes and baking secrets still lived on.

Sometimes he wondered if Sunday had had a sixth sense about how short her life would be. If she’d somehow known she had to make every moment count. He’d found himself adopting that idea more and more these days, as each year passed and he grew a bit older, slower, and as more grandchildren entered his world. He wanted to pass on pieces of himself—his history and his stories—to all of them.

“Do you know how Grandma Sunday got her name?” Patrick asked.

Sunnie shook her head, her curiosity piqued. “No. Mommy never told me.”

Patrick considered that. “I’m not sure your mommy even knows.”

“So it’s a secret? One only you and me will know?”

He could see she loved the intrigue of that, so he nodded. “It is. Our own secret. Because your name is important and it has a very special meaning.”

Her eyes widened and she didn’t move. Patrick realized this was the longest he’d even seen her sit still. Even in sleep, Sunnie was a wiggle worm, constantly shifting and shuffling and kicking her covers off.

“You see, it took your grandma a long time to be born, a whole week.”

“How long does it usually take?”

Patrick had known there would be countless questions, and he suddenly regretted where he’d started the story. “Well, that depends. It’s different for every baby. It took Teagan three days to be born, but your mommy was born in just a couple of hours. That’s not the point of this story,” he added quickly. “Let’s just say it took her a very long time to be born and it made her mother very tired.”

“Mommy was in the hospital with Darcy for two days, but Darcy wasn’t in her belly the whole time. Bubbles took me and Finn to McDonald’s and ice skating and when we went to the hospital, Darcy was there.”

Patrick nodded, grateful Sunnie had a frame of reference that helped her understanding. After all, Darcy was only a few months old, so that memory was a strong one for her big sister. “The whole time your grandma was trying to be born, it rained. Lots and lots of storms. The sky was gray and dreary and everything was wet.”

Sunnie crinkled her nose. “I don’t like storms.”

“Grandma Sunday never liked them either.”

“What happened next?”

“The very minute your grandma was born, the rain stopped and the sun came out, bright and beautiful.”

“Really?”

Patrick nodded, embellishing the story for her entertainment. “Yes. Her da said it was like magic, like she’d summoned the sun. She’d made it a Sunday, even though it was only Thursday.”

Sunnie giggled. “That’s silly.”

“So when you think about it, your name means you bring sunshine and warmth. You make people happy.”

Sunnie smiled, and he could see his words had truly sunk in. She glanced at the picture again. “She’s pretty.”

Patrick swallowed the lump in his throat her words provoked. “She is indeed.”

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