She pulled on a pair of Katie’s yoga pants and grabbed one of Charlie’s band sweatshirts from the pile of clean laundry on top of the dresser. Judith had given her Richard’s old crib, Rayne and Lucy had passed on about three dozen onesies, and there were tiny overalls that had been circling the family for generations.

She could manage without sisters; she’d done it her whole life.

But now there’d be no daughters either.

Just six sons and then the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son of a Gale.

So she’d love her sons like she would have loved her daughters.

Flinging open the bedroom doors, she stood and looked and listened . . .

Jack and Graham were arguing over porcine aerodynamics. Given the cloud of smoke up near the ceiling the debate had gotten heated. Evan was chasing Edward around waving a stuffed sheep, both of them yelling, “Bam! Bam! Bam!” Charlie and Katie stood shoulder to shoulder at the long counter dealing with the last of the zucchini. Charlie seemed to be weaving complaints about grating off her calluses into an explanation of the differences between a bouzouki and a guitar.

French toast this morning, Allie decided as the boys spotted her and charged across the room. Harder to charm than pancakes so she’d be less tempted to . . . fix some things.

*   *   *

“Jack, do not let Evan drink the syrup out of the bottle!”

“I didn’t exactly let him.” Jack grabbed the bottle with one hand and shoved half a banana toward his cousin with the other. “He’s fast.”

“Graham! Incoming!”

“Charlie, don’t throw the eggs!”

“He can’t miss, remember?”

Allie dropped a fresh loaf of bread on the counter and turned as the apartment door opened. “Auntie Gwen, have you got any . . .”

“Cinnamon.” Auntie Gwen held up a spice container as Joe grabbed Edward on his way out the door.

“He’s fast.”

“See?” Jack demanded. “It’s not my fault.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Jack, if he’s running circles around you now . . .” Auntie Gwen’s voice trailed off, the sudden silence so weighted it squashed all other conversations. She stared at Allie, dark eyes wide. “You’re expecting again.”

“I am.”

“Twins.”

“Yes.”

“Boys.”

“So it seems.”

“You’ve been hiding it.”

“Yes, I have.”

To Allie’s surprise, Auntie Gwen nodded. “I can’t say as I blame you. Once Bea finds out, she’ll go right to Jane and none of us will get any peace.” She crossed the room and wrapped Allie in a hug. “Congratulations, at least now I know what we’re celebrating.”

“This isn’t a celebration, it’s breakfast.”

“So it is.”