The block party in Chinatown was in full swing by the time Jim, Brian, Mart and Dan sauntered past the orange police barricades. The whole street, colorful by any standards in gray old New York City, seemed to burst at its seams with in-your-face primary colors. The dragons! The flowers! The costumes!

Only in New York.

They passed by vendors selling all manner of Chinese delicacies, never chop suey, though. That was strictly an American invention. There were small strands of firecrackers popping in the night and Chinese music filled the air.

"The girls would love this," Brian laughed as a bright dragon wove its way among the revelers.

"Trixie would probably find a mystery." Jim's voice was dry. It was no secret the two of them were not exactly getting along lately. In fact, it might be fair to say the two of them were not getting along at all.

The rift in their relationship was starting to affect the other Bob-Whites. Although Jim and Trixie pretended otherwise, they were both unhappy. They missed each other more than they ever thought possible, but each was stubborn, and everything was at an impasse.

An impossible to resolve impasse.

Mart was too busy stuffing his face with a lobster roll to pay much attention to Jim's snarky remark, but it certainly struck Dan and Brian as telling. "Why don't you two just kiss and make up already?" Brian rolled his eyes. "You are both unhappy."

"And making us miserable, too," Dan added. And for once, he was on Trixie's side of the argument.

Jim grimaced. "Tell your sister that. And you tell your friend that." His mouth formed a tight, straight line. He hated this. He missed his special girl. Missed her a lot. If she wasn't such a damn, stubborn idiot at times…

He wasn't about to apologize since He. Was. Right.

A little of the joy of the day faded for him as if there was any real joy in his life without her. Everything seemed colorless, and he only had fleeting moments of peace. Why did she and his sister have to get involved with every damn criminal on the East Coast? One of these days one of them would get hurt, especially now that the BWG males were all away at school and not there to rescue them.

When he mentioned that factoid to her, those bright blues eyes became stormy. "We don't need to be rescued, Jim. We're more circumspect than we were at thirteen years old."

"The hell you don't," was his brilliant rejoinder, and that led to the biggest, most intense argument they had. The one that led to their break-up and all the harsh word that neither of them could take back.

"Hey look!" Mart waved his beef on a stick. "A fortuneteller! Whaddaya say, guys? Get our fortunes told?"

Brian scoffed at that. "A Gypsy fortuneteller in the middle of a Chinese celebration? Pfft."

"Aw, c'mon, Brian, what can it hurt. You too, Frayne. Maybe she'll tell you that have a tall, cool blonde in your future," Dan cajoled.

No. I want a petite, curvy, hot-as-a-volcano blonde. The thought was quashed almost as soon as it was born. That ain't gonna happen.

After much teasing, begging and promises of favors to come, the guys lined up outside the dark purple tent. It had gold stars, moons and planets all over it. The sign outside merely stated Alma, Fortuneteller. $15.00.

Jim went dead last. He didn't ask any of the others when they exited the tent what fabulous things Alma saw for them. It was his experience that these fortunetellers were opportunists and scam artists.

'Cause after all, if they were so good at telling the future, why weren't they all playing the lottery… and winning?

The interior of the tent was dim, and Alma or whatever she called herself was sitting on the other side of a small, round table. It was then Jim got his first surprise. She didn't have a bright kerchief wrapped around raven locks that hung to her waist; nor did she have a colorful blouse with gauzy sleeves. He half expected her to have a rainbow-hued peasant skirt with lots of tiers; long, purple fingernails and huge dangling earrings.

The only item he was correct about were the earrings. Huge silver hoops with tiny stars and planets hanging off of them.

"Have a seat, Jim." The woman may have been around 30. Instead of the Hollywood-style gypsy, her hair was a dark auburn and her eyes a light, soft brown. She wore a T-shirt emblazoned with Sun Signs and a pair of well-worn jeans.

He wasn't startled, well, maybe just a little bit, at the use of his given name. It was possible Dan or Mart dropped the information without thinking about it.

A crystal ball sat on the table between them. He had already paid for the reading and handed her his ticket. As their fingers brushed, he felt a tingle pass through his fingers and spread right across his entire being.

Static electricity.

He sat in the chair across from her and crossed his arms in front of him. He'd be damned if he'd tell her anything.

"You don't believe."

"Kind of obvious." Body language could speak louder than words.

"That's okay." She grinned at him. "I believe enough for both of us."

Alma flicked her eyes downward, to the clear crystal of the orb resting on the table. "She still loves you, you know."

Now, that did startle him. But then again, she could just be fishing.

"In spite of the fact that you are a stubborn redheaded fool, she still loves you. But she's as pigheaded as you are, your Trixie."

Brian could have said something. Or Dan. Or Mart. Maybe they wanted to play a joke on him. Jim remained silent.

Alma didn't look up. Her voice became softer, dreamy. "You've had great sorrow in your life, Jim. You have a chance at great happiness. All that you wish for will come true with her at your side. But you have to accept her gift." Alma looked up, and her eyes had changed from a soft brown to deep gold.

"Look into the crystal, Jim and see what will happen if you remain on this path."

A swirling fog filled the orb, and Jim found he had to look. He couldn't pull his eyes away from it if he wanted to; all he could do was watch until it cleared, and a picture began to form.

There was his special girl. She looked older and was wearing her hair differently. It was longer, and she was grinning at someone. Honey. Honey came into the picture with a newspaper. The headline was clearly visible.

PI Agency Thwarts Terrorist Plot.

There was a picture with Trixie, Honey and Dan accepting an award from the President of the United States, in gratitude for their service to the country.

The article went to say how Baker Street Investigations, a PI firm in Manhattan, notified and assisted the FBI and NSA with a plot to cause widespread panic and death, much like 9/11. The principals in the firm were Trixie Kimball and Honey Belden, ably assisted by Dan Mangan.

Waitaminute. Trixie Kimball?

Jim heard Alma's voice in his head. "She found someone accepting of her gift, Jim." He watched as the mists swirled up again and cleared. Cobbett's Island. He'd recognize it anywhere. The Oldest House.

A young blonde boy ran out of the front door followed by a little girl that was the very picture of Trixie at the same age. A man followed them out, an older Pete Kimball. "Hold up there, guys," he laughed and Jim could hear him. "You're going to knock Mama over!"

The children encircled a laughing woman, Trixie, his Trixie, with happy exclamations. Jim watched in horror as Pete lifted a hand to tug on a curl, right before he leaned in for a kiss. There was a thin gold band on his ring finger.

"No!" Jim hissed. "No!" That kiss, it should have been his. Those children should have been theirs.

The fog obscured the happy family from view, and Jim was looking at himself. Older, yes, and smiling. But the smile didn't reach his eyes. He was on a yacht somewhere, with two Trixie clones, one on each arm. "You're still looking for happiness, Jim. You're a one-woman man, as all the Frayne men before you."

"This can't be true," he whispered. "This can't be true."

"It is one of many paths you can take, Jim." The ball was crystal clear again, and he stared into those gold eyes that seemed to swirl and darken.

"No!" Jim sat up in bed, his breath coming hard and fast and his heart racing a thousand miles a minute. He stared around his student apartment, trying to calm himself. It's just a dream, Frayne. Just a dream.

He lay back down and raised a shaking hand to his head, rubbing at his temples. It seemed so real, though. Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something?

He stared at the little green numbers on his alarm clock. 4:45 AM. He'd never get back to sleep now. Instead, he grabbed his cell phone from the charger and sent Trixie a text message. She and Honey were taking a summer class at John Jay and staying in one of the dorms at Columbia.

We need to talk. Meet me at the apartment in midtown in an hour.

Jim was waiting at the fancy entrance to his parents' Manhattan pied-a-terre. He was nervous, wondering if his special girl would show up. She never responded to his text.

And there she was, getting out of the taxi and smiling at Ralph, the doorman. He heard Ralph's low murmur. "Mr. Jim is waiting inside."

Trixie was coming through the door with her bright blue, inquisitive eyes and her curls bouncing in the artificial light. She had a quizzical, worried expression on her beautiful face as she bounced up to him with her usual verve.

"Is something the matter, Jim?" Oh my God. Her voice, that beloved voice.

Emotions were swamping him.

"Uh, upstairs." It was all he could choke out.

Trixie saw her Jim, the most wonderful man in the world, was in the grip of some strong emotion. She took his large, freckled hand in hers, and they rode up to the 14th floor. Connected, yet apart.

He opened the door and ushered her inside, locking it behind her.

"What's the matter, Jim? You're scaring me." Trixie looked at him for the first time. He was pale, and his eyes were wide and dilated. He lost weight since she last saw him. He was suffering, too.

"I… I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I love you so much, and I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you. I just can't." Jim's strong arms enclosed her, pulled her to him. "But I love you enough to see that you need this, Trixie. You… you have a gift for mysteries."

"Oh, Jim." The ready tears sprang to her eyes. "I'm sorry, too. We should have talked about this. We shouldn't have let our tempers rule us. I love you. I'll always love you."

For the first time in a couple of months, his heart felt whole and filled. "We should have talked, I agree." He pointed to his red hair and laughed. "Me with my redheaded temper and you with your Johnson stubbornness... I feel sorry for our children."

The thought of having babies with him thrilled her. "Yeah. Our children. They're gonna have a worrywart daddy and a gun-toting mama, you know. But I promise you, I'm not the same girl that went traipsing off into danger without a thought. I'll be careful, Jim. I'll always come back to you. To them. To our family."

"And I'll always be there waiting, Trixie. Always." He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. Trixie went up on her tiptoes, desperate to have his mouth on hers again. Desperate for his taste, his touch, the outdoorsy scent of him.

He couldn't stop this time, Couldn't wait, and neither could she. Clothes were strewn about the living room as they joined to complete their pact.

Long, lazy hours later, they were snuggled under an afghan on the comfortable sofa. Bare skin against bare skin, her curls brushing against his throat. He was one hundred percent happy, fulfilled and sated.

Just a dream, he thought again. But oh, I'm so thankful.

However, his brilliant green eyes snapped wide open when he heard Alma's tinkling laughter, and her soft voice sarcastically echoing his.

Just a dream, Jim.