After falling into the same trap that had accidentally befallen them the day before last, Trixie's head lay in Jim's lap as he stroked through the now tangled curls. Both breathed heavily, their faces flushed.

Seeing Jim's eyes on her, Trixie reached up and stroked his face. He smiled. "At least this time we managed to stop by our own accord."

Trixie blushed. "But it's only four. We have two hours."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't want to stop?"

Trixie's face turned even redder. "No— yes— I mean…"

Jim laughed, causing her to frown at him. "I know what you mean, Shamus." He bent down and gave her a kiss, which, for some reason, melted away the frown.

It was quiet for a moment, and everything was perfectly comfortable, until Jim casually suggested, "We could play a game."

Trixie hid her smile. "What kind of game?"

Jim shrugged. "Any kind of game."

A small chuckle passed Trixie's lips. "Well, I know what Dan would say."

Jim grinned. "Truth or dare, Trixie?"

Trixie hid a mischievous smile. "Truth."

Jim considered it for a few moments before answering. "What are you planning on doing this whole week you have in New York?"

Trixie laughed a little. "You waste your truth on that? You could have just asked me."

Jim leaned in closer so his breath tickled her nose. "But I meant honestly."

Colour flushed into her face as her eyes floated down to the lips that were so close to hers. "Spend time with you," she managed to say, but it only came out as an inaudible whisper before her lips met his, and they were still wet from before.

Knowing that they would get as far as they had before, Trixie reluctantly broke away to answer his question. "Honestly?"

"Honestly." His breath was hot and close and smelt like mint.

"Distract you from your studying," she answered before kissing him softly.

And the way things went from there, you could say she did a pretty good job of it.


Helen Belden put a fair hand on her forehead. Two years ago, she's thought that perhaps in a couple years her rambunctious six year old would be easier to handle. Boy was she wrong. "Robert Belden!" she called tiredly up the stairs. "For the last time, come down and eat your lunch."

"But Moms!" The curly blonde whirlwind whined when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I'm not done 'sploring!"

Helen sighed. "What could you possibly be exploring in a house this size?"

A sly grin popped onto his freckled face. "It's a secrud."

Helen narrowed her eyes. "Where's Mart? I thought he was supposed to be watching you."

Bobby scratched his head. "Well, Mart said he'd turn round' a blind pie if I'd let him alone."

Helen didn't know whether to laugh or groan. "Do you mean he'd turn a blind eye if you left him alone?"

Bobby nodded vigorously. "That's it. 'Cept he said it was a secrud."

Helen momentarily put her head in her hand. She sighed. "Come on Bobby. Eat your sandwich and you can tell me all about it."

He grinned. "Is it cheese?"

Helen smiled. "It's grilled, too."

As Bobby ate his sandwich, Helen ran a wet cloth over the table. She looked around. She had to finish sweeping, do the dusting, and bake the pie she'd promised Mart. And she had to do the laundry. She sighed. Where was her daughter when she needed her? Helen smiled slightly as she answered the question herself. Her daughter was in New York with the boyfriend she was head over heels in love with.

The thought kept her occupied as she finished wiping the counter tops. That moment two years ago when her daughter came into her bedroom to ask her if she could date someone was still as fresh in her head as ever. And now her baby was all grown-up and almost done high-school. This was the first time she'd ever been alone with Jim so far away from home without any of the Bob-Whites around. And Trixie was seventeen. The large part of her trusted her daughter and Jim but the smaller, less prominent part wonder what if? She herself had fallen into the trap when she was sixteen, and she had no idea how Honey and Diana were faring against the temptation of hormones mixed with human nature. Especially with, she'd admit with a degree of motherly pride, the handsome boys they would have to resist.

She looked fondly at her youngest child, still years away from all of that. She reached across and ruffled his hair, something that he looked curiously up at. He rolled his eyes. "I'm done my san-wich. Can I go now?"

Helen looked long and hard at him, a look she'd perfected over the years. "What are you going to do?"

He squirmed under his mother's discerning gaze. "'Sploring."

"What are you exploring?" she asked again, determined to get an answer this time.

He didn't answer, avoiding her gaze until he finally gave in. "I'm 'sploring Trixie's room. She's got so much cool junk in there."

Helen shook her head in exasperation. "My goodness Bobby. How many times do we have to tell you not to look in your sister's things?"

Bobby shrugged. "I guess I forgotted."

Reluctantly, Helen walked up the stairs to her daughter's room and saw the door slightly ajar. She pushed it open gingerly and walked in, wanting so much to collapse when she saw the mess. The bed was a misshapen lump; Bobby had evidently been jumping on it. The book shelf at least looked untouched, but the dresser was another story. Her bed-side table had been ransacked, and what was evidently a diary lied on the bed. Drawers had been opened, and the whole room seemed upside down.

Bobby seemed to have no qualms, though. He walked into the room, running to the pile of things beneath one of Trixie's drawers. He picked up a long, cylindrical object that made Helen's face pale. "Look at this thing!" he exclaimed, beating the feminine item on the wood of the dresser. "Trixie's got a whole pile of 'em. I wanted to take some 'cuz I losted my drumsticks and they make such a cool sound."

Snapping out of her horror, Helen rushed forward and yanked the tampon out of Bobby's hand. "Don't touch those, Bobby," she said, voice flustered, picking up the rest of them and shoving them into a drawer.

"What are they, even?" he asked, bewildered at his mother's reaction.

"Oh, nothing," she said sweetly. "Just something for girls."

Bobby made a face. "Like lipstick n stuff?"

Helen nodded meekly. "Something like that."

Bobby shrugged. "Whatever." He scratched his head. "Hey Moms, is Jim a Missus or a Mister?"

Helen looked strangely at her son. "Well, a mister of course. Why do you ask?"

Bobby picked up a coloured book from his sister's bed. "I thought Jim was a mister too, but Trixie wrote 'Missus Jim Frayne' in her diarrhea in with all these weird red hearts around it, and—"

Helen snatched the diary away from him. "Bobby, first of all, this is a diary, not a diarrhea. And second, you're not supposed to be reading your sister's private things."

Bobby blinked innocently, noticing that his mother was trying not to get angry. "I'm sorry, moms. I won't do it again." He ducked his head, looking up through his thick golden lashes.

Helen shook her head and sighed. "It's okay, dear. But don't do it again." She looked at all the mess around her. "Could you go get Mart, please, Bobby?"

"Sure, Moms," he said lazily. He lumbered out of the room.

Helen put a hand on her forehead, letting a small laugh escape her mouth. She had been wondering when she'd have to explain what the accursed feminine tube was to Bobby. She'd been through it with all her children, but thankfully Bobby had asked the least questions.

"Yeah, Moms?" an older voice said from the door.

Helen turned around, looking at Mart disapprovingly. The blond, rubbing sleep from his eyes, looked around the disheveled room sheepishly. "Oh."

"Oh is right," she said, gesturing around her. "I'm sorry to disrupt you from your nap, which you wouldn't need if you actually slept last night," she said pointedly, causing Mart to flush gracefully, "but the little sibling you were supposed to be watching has ransacked your sister's room, and I'm sure she doesn't want to come home to this mess."

Mart scratched his head. "You want me to clean this up, don't you?"

Helen nodded. "Please, if you don't mind."

Mart sighed. "All right, Moms." He entered the room and started to work, picking up the things Bobby had strewn across the floor.

Helen left the room, about to go downstairs, but the sight of Mart's disheveled bed reminded her of something. "Mart," she called back, looking at her son.

"Yeah, Moms?" He rubbed his tired eyes again.

"You might want to consult with Mr. Lynch before you and Diana decide to take it any further."

Blood flooded into Mart's face and he nodded meekly.

Helen smiled at him tiredly before walking back downstairs. And now to do the dusting.