What we’re watching now is the repeat. This particular station runs the morning news twice. Live from five to seven in the morning, and then again from seven to nine.

It was too damn early to ask everyone to meet at five.

But no one balked at coming to watch the seven-o’clock show.

Of course, I was pinned to the TV at the flat at five, and I didn’t miss a minute of Izzy’s weather report.

“That red dress is smoking hot on her,” Maggie says.

I couldn’t agree more.

The dress fits her like a glove. Her makeup is heavier than I’m used to seeing on her, and her long, blond hair is down around her shoulders and teased into long waves.

“Izzy, isn’t there something you can do about that weekend forecast?” the weekend anchor, Chuck, asks her.

Izzy chuckles and shrugs her shoulders in apology. “I’m sorry, Chuck, but the good news is, once this bout of cooler weather subsides, we’ll be back in the sixties with some nice sunshine for several days.”

“That is good news. Thank you, Izzy, and welcome again. We’re happy to have you.”

“Thank you, Chuck.”

The anchor bids everyone farewell for the day, and I get a text on my phone.

Izzy: Just getting off the ferry. Should be home soon.

I grin and reply.

Me: Just come over to Kane’s. I came to see the baby.

It’s not a complete lie. The baby is here. Currently being held by my mother.

“Izzy’s just getting off the ferry. I told her to come here.”

“My breakfast charcuterie spread is ready,” Maeve says as she hurries to the dining room table nearby. “I just have to grab the fruit from the fridge.”

“What in the hell is a charcuter board?” I ask.

“Charcuterie,” she corrects me. “It’s usually a fancy cheese and crackers tray, but I made it for breakfast, so it has waffles and fruit and all the toppings, along with bacon and eggs and a complete mimosa bar.”

“I’m hungry,” Shawn says, making his way to the table, but Maeve slaps his hand. “Ouch.”

“You can’t eat until Izzy gets here.”

Maeve, Maggie, Lexi, and Anastasia fuss with the balloons that spell CONGRATS on the wall, and we’re all armed with noisemakers when the woman of the hour walks through the door.

“Congratulations!” we all yell and make our noise, and I watch in horror as the woman I love disolves into tears.

“Whoa. No, no, no. Don’t cry, love.” I open my arms, and she walks right into them and buries her face in my chest. “Shh, don’t cry. I’m sorry you didn’t want a party, I didn’t know.”

“I want a party,” she mutters against my shirt. “It’s just I’m so grateful and so tired.”

She steps back and wipes away her tears.