Tonight & Always
His hand spans across her hip as he pushes the door open, lets her step inside before him, his fingers falling from her side as she walks away from him, turns to catch the smile in his eyes as he lingers by the door. The waitress is rushing to their usual booth before they even get there, muttering about cleaning it up for them and welcoming them with utterances of their names.
She pauses by the end of their usual booth, hand curling against the cushion as she waits for him. The smile spreads across her face as he steps towards her, one hand spanning her waist, the other joining hers on the bench, fingers sliding into the gaps between hers as his smile morphs, mirrors hers and then pushes forward to meet it.
So she presses up into him, off the ground and onto her toes so she can meet his lips, reciprocate the kiss that he's pressing to hers. It's sweet now, the heat having faded to a simmer that lingers beneath the surface of their touches over the years, to something that lights up and burns frequently, but allows for moments like these.
The soft press of his lips to hers has her arm coming up to loop around his shoulders so her hand can meet the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the hairs there for a moment before he pulls away.
He smiles, and draws her even closer, pressing her against his chest and wrapping his other arm around her waist in a hug that has her tilting into him, swaying with the subtle movement of his body. Her laughter rings against his ear, pressed against the side of his neck to muffle it, hide it from the dinner crowd that surrounds them.
The restaurant is almost full, brimming with happy people but the chatter is drowned out when he squeezes her, holds her tight. His nose drifts across the shell of her ear, his lips pressing a split-second kiss to the side of her neck, just long enough for the intimacy of it to melt her heart, catch the stutter of it and send it flying for him in that way he somehow manages to evoke, even now.
She pulls away again, lets his hands linger on her waist as her palms drift across his shoulders, the ease of public affection not quelling the nerves it evokes in the pit of her stomach.
"You're clingy today," she breathes, just for him, catching the stray curl of hair that pokes out from behind his ear with her finger and twirling it slowly, drawing herself closer once more to reassure him from whatever hint of accusation might lie behind the words.
But all he does is shrug, letting her go to reach up and catch her hand in his, squeeze her fingers with that same quiet affection that's lingered between them for months, years of this.
"I like this place," he offers. "I like being here with you."
And the love in his eyes, the lilt of it in his words that catch her heart once more, wrap around her in the way that warms her cheeks and has her lilting towards him once more, catching his lips for a final kiss.
Her fingers are still clenched around the bench of the booth, and her mind runs wild with her glorious love for this wonderful man.
The first time they were here together—the first time they went out together—was with quiet, unspoken nerves and smiles they tried to hide behind the rims of their coffee cups. Flirty exchanges that meant more than those at the precinct but were treated just the same. Miscommunication and lack thereof sending them home separately with nothing but secret affection that ran deeper than ever before and a flourishing friendship that didn't permit it.
Their first date, as he's come to call it. As she's come to consider it, despite the half-hearted protests that fall from her lips when he utters the label.
And yet it all fits, even now. Pieces of a puzzle sliding into place, and this moment that she remembers so stupidly vividly fits right in, spurs an endless row of other moments that mean just as much.
She'd twirled her hair around her finger, let him carry her dress from the precinct to the restaurant until it was draped across the chair next to her. The waitress had smiled with far too much glee that shifted from faked to genuine when she saw them together.
Which then shifted to disbelief when Castle informed her that they weren't together.
But they had been, that night. A new couple with a relationship that was budding before their very eyes, even for those hours they spent sitting at the booth they still call their own, without them even realizing it.
In retrospect, it was in the grin that spread across his face at her acceptance of his invitation. It was in the nerves that fluttered in her stomach every time she caught him looking at her, in the silent admiration that had shone in his eyes during every single glance.
It was the day he found out what her usual was, watched her dip fries into her milkshake for the first time and laughed at her for it, only to steal some from her plate to do the same. The day she first let her toes drift across his, only to pull away too quickly with burning cheeks and the heat she'd once tried desperately to tamper coming to life beneath the surface of her skin.
Beneath his too, he's long-since revealed.
She'd had a burger and so had he, the first of many that now bleed in her mind, a series of celebratory dinners and last minute lunches and days when they just wanted to be together without being together. Or when letting themselves do both, but releasing the tension of expectations that came with dates when they went elsewhere.
That day, he'd stared at her with hopeful eyes and she'd tried to tamper that same emotion as it welled in her chest, pushed back the jealousy that had burned over the week and replacing it with affection she didn't allow herself to feel but wasn't strong enough to push away completely.
And they'd gone their separate ways that night, hadn't let it change more than their habit of ordering food to the precinct rather than making the trek to their favorite restaurant.
Or so she'd thought.
Because now, looking back, she realizes how much it had changed, that it was the birth of the friendship that went far beyond professional and morphed to a love that burns more brightly than anything she's ever felt before.
It was their first date, sitting across from each other in a booth at Remy's.
The dinners and lunches there were all similar, quiet meals laced with silent exchanges neither of them allowed themselves to feel, subtext they read but pretended not to and other messages that they missed completely. That sent them on separate ways to separate locations only to clash together once more in a second round of dates that weren't dates but could only be considered as such.
Movies they saw together, huddled side by side and stealing from each other's snacks only to go their separate ways, to find themselves in different relationships with different people.
That year was shaped by too much to reflect upon, too many mistakes that she once hated but now can't bring herself to regret. Not with the knowledge of where they've ended up, how beautiful their story is despite the bumps in the road.
Or because of them.
One such bump was on another day she'd once tried to banish from her mind but failed to do so, that started with a murder case which dragged her out of bed too early, continued with a phone call laced with implications it shouldn't have had, and ended with a smile that had haunted her that night, in her dreams, with its beauty and her forbidden reaction to it.
The murder case, she barely remembered. The phone call was between him and Gina. The smile was the same one he still offers her today.
But the date that wasn't a date that had kept them out late that night wasn't to Remy's, or to anywhere with booths and heating and waitresses with gleeful smiles. It was to a truck that sold comfort food, macaroni and cheese that she ate too quickly and used to tamper the flicker of hope in her chest that was there for all the wrong reasons.
He had just broken up with his girlfriend, and she'd still had a boyfriend. And yet the implications in their words that day were heavy, his explanation for his break up leaving too much to the imagination, blanks that were filled in by the looks in his eyes and the pink tinge to his cheeks.
Her own relationship had been at the back of her mind, a whisper she only heard because she made herself, to keep herself from doing something stupid with him. From acting on the attraction that was electric between them, grew harder and harder to ignore since the summer apart and the weeks since they'd become partners again.
The night hadn't been all that eventful, hadn't offered anything more than the knowledge that he was single and that she wasn't. The quiet desire to be that had lingered in her chest as she shared a meal with him, tried not to think about how time spent with Castle was always so much more fun than time spent with Josh would ever be.
Nothing new, until they'd parted ways and she'd used whatever pain he should have been feeling but didn't seem to be as an excuse to loop her her arms around his neck and press herself against him. She'd muttered her apologies for his relationship's collapse against the collar of his jacket without feeling sympathy the way she should have. And he'd held her tight, like he didn't feel the pain he should have felt.
And when she'd pulled away, there was that smile. The one that had flashed in her mind every time she'd closed her eyes for hours, days after she'd turned and walked away.
They'd shared their first kiss a week later. She'd pretended she hadn't been dreaming about it every night for that week, pretended she didn't know it would haunt her for weeks afterwards.
It doesn't anymore, not since the memory of that first kiss has been clouded by hundreds, thousands of others, some softer and sweeter and others laced with a passion they hadn't known that first day in the alleyway.
The smile still follows her, though. That joyous, hopeful, loving grin that she's seen too many times to count and has grown to love too much to pretend it doesn't have the power to make affection bubble up within her.
And that day had been the first time she'd let herself see it.
That year had been a blur of firsts, split second moments that meant so much but they had pretended they didn't. She'd done it for her sake, to protect the battered heart that would beat steadily until he came along and sent it pattering with everything she'd never allowed herself to feel. To let herself pretend she felt nothing, that she was immune to love and the pain of loss that came with it. She'd done it selfishly, no matter how many nights she'd thought she'd regretted it.
He'd done it for her sake, too. And though the initial stages of their relationship had been laced with silent regret that they hadn't taken the leap into romance sooner, she would thank him for it, now, if she wasn't sure he feels the exact same way.
She loves where they've ended up.
She also loves being able to look back and admire the beauty of the firsts they never acknowledged, the steps in their relationship that occurred long before they would label it as such.
The first smile that shone bright with love. The first kiss that haunted her until there would be another. The first Valentine's Day she spent with him by her side.
He calls it that, even now. Their first Valentine's Day, not the one she ended by giving him a drawer or the one before that, which they spent exchanging smiles and coffee like promises that the next year would be different. And though she thinks its in part to keep himself from thinking of the pain of that day, she's started calling it that, too.
Because they'd sat on opposite sides of a booth, but her toes had touched his leg too often, drifted up to his ankle in something she had told herself was an attempt at comfort, not closeness.
It had been an attempt at closeness.
The true attempt at comfort was the curl of her fingers around his hand, quietly reminiscent of the first terrifying encounter with Tyson. She'd let her fingers dig into his palm, nails pressing against his skin as she clinged to him, hoped her touch could wipe some of the pain from his features.
She'd seen the way he smiled at her by then, knew her power even though she was unwilling to admit it.
Just like she was unwilling to admit the tight clench of pain around her heart, induced by the sadness that furrowed his brow and drew at the corners of his mouth. Or the thoughts that raced through her mind, contemplation that had her almost cancelling her Valentine's Day plans with her actual boyfriend to spend the evening offering Castle her companionship and comfort over the loss of a friend he could admire.
The only thing that kept her from doing it, a fact she was painfully aware of even then, was the fear that if she stayed, she would offer him more than the touch of their hands.
Like the touch of their lips, which, fueled by alcohol, would have sent them spiralling too far.
It was their first Valentine's Day, after all.
So she'd limited it to that, until too much time had ticked by and she was forced to leave. She'd slid from the booth on hesitant legs, fingers only then slipping from around his and it was too intimate and yet not enough after the day he'd had. Too little to keep her from reaching for him when he followed her from the booth.
She'd pressed herself against him, a quick hug that lasted only a second and wasn't the first, but had guilt welling in her chest and forcing her to walk away in brisk steps, teeth digging into her lip.
Her plans for the evening were with Josh, her boyfriend, but she'd wanted to spend the night in Castle's arms and it was wrong.
It was their first Valentine's Day.
And it left her heart open, vulnerable to the power of that smile that haunted her and memories of hard, desperate kisses in an alleyway, touches of hands that were for more than comfort.
Words that kept her alive in a cemetery, seeped into the hole pierced through her heart and kept it beating through the agony of a gunshot wound.
It had been a year of firsts.
His first I love you was one of them.
The next logical step in their relationship would have been finally jumping into it, into romance and each other and the love that lingered between them, stronger than ever before. Even now, looking back, knowing everything that happened in the year that followed, she sometimes questions herself, why she didn't let herself heal with him instead of beside him. Why her confession of reciprocation stayed locked behind clenched teeth for so long after he'd uttered his promise of love.
But she'd spent three months away from him, longing for him but living with a broken heart and a broken mind and too weak to handle the power of his affection. And when she'd returned, she'd lied.
The year that followed had been a year filled with lies, on both ends, and quiet exchanges laced with the sentiments hidden within their secrets.
Affectionate smiles and locked gazes filled with hesitant love and unspoken, untouched desire. The brush of hands across coffee cups that had her heart fluttering for a moment after they parted. Words with more subtext than content that would make her cheeks burn and heart long for the day her walls were knocked down and she could tell him what she truly wanted to say.
And yet for the first portion of that year full of lies, there was more hesitancy and fear behind their relationship than ever before, the lingering pain of healing scars between them much like the one on her chest. There was pain behind his eyes when he looked at her, at every reminder of the summer they spent apart and the still unexplained reasons why. And fear clutched at her heart every time he came too close, every time he made her feel too much at at every glint of light reflected in a mirror.
For weeks. A month. Too long.
Hesitancy born from the uncertainty that comes with subtext. From a day on the swings when trying to say everything she couldn't say left him unsure of her true intentions and her unsure of if she was capable of being the woman he deserved.
Subtext, she's long since accepted, is something they're terrible at and rely on too much.
And that year started off exactly that way.
Until one case that started off normal, escalated until jealousy burned beneath her skin, more intense than ever before, and ended with an arrest followed by dinner at their favorite restaurant.
It hadn't been the first time they'd shared a meal since her shooting and return to work with him by her side. But it had been the first time after a case where he kissed someone else and she realized how desperately she needed him to know it was him that she wanted, before she lost him to the abyss of uncertainty.
So she'd let him pick the fries from her plate, staring at his hand because she couldn't meet his gaze. She'd sipped at her milkshake with his gaze locked on her, his smile that small one of quiet affection and contentment that follows her every move even now.
That part still strikes her. How the love he has for her now is so similar to the love had for her then. That his love burned so fiercely before he ever knew she reciprocated it.
But that day, it had terrified her. Ever since his confession of love that had snapped the line between them, remained in her mind as the moment he stepped over it and forced her, with her heart broken by a bullet and her mind broken from everything else, to take a step back. Ever since then, being alone with him had terrified her.
Because she had her secrets and her reasons for them, and she didn't trust herself to keep them when he stared at her like she was the sun and the stars and she had to fight not to stare at him the same way.
It's still scary, how fiercely she loves him, but not like it was then.
Then, it was scary enough to keep her quiet through dinner, staring at the tabletop until he'd reached across it, toed the new line she'd drawn between them and took her hand in his.
It was supposed to be just another celebratory dinner after they closed a case, a meal to reassure her broken heart and broken mind that the love he'd confessed would not be deterred by time or beautiful blondes.
He'd made that reassurance that day, his fingers curled around hers as he whispered his promise that she had nothing to worry about, left it unspoken that he only loved her, only wanted her.
She'd mumbled her own, words assuring him that she wanted to be the one he was with, words she can no longer remember with any degree of clarity.
All she remembers is the look that had shone bright in his eyes, the hope that had been half-hearted for weeks, a month, too long but burned fiercely once more. Like it did in the hospital room the day she'd crushed it the hardest.
That day set the tone for the year, added weight to their subtext and meaning to their glances until her insides seemed to burn with her love for him, body made weak by desire, her determination to wait until she was healthy fading week by week, dinner by dinner, drink by drink.
Until drinks with him were terrifying, the line between them growing hazy and her heart driving her more than her brain.
Until she was sure she would step over it, confess her desire with the press of her lips against him.
Looking back, she can now see that drinks with him were more exhilarating that terrifying, comparative to the rush of solving a case with broken sentences on their tongues, only to be picked up by the other. Nights spent out late with him by her side and alcohol in her bloodstream were about toeing the line between them, waiting for the other to snap, only to wait to long or let exhilaration be replaced with fear and be forced to part ways before either had done more than they had the last time.
It was scary because of the risks, but beautiful in the intensity of their passion and the hopeful burn of possibilities between them.
Drinks with him, and even celebratory dinners with him, were about the rush of waiting but allowing themselves to do more while they waited, even if that more was simply teasing each other and hiding their blushes behind sips from their glasses.
The scarier thing was the intimacy, the emotions that lingered in their gazes and the comfort that grew between them over the course of that year of secrets. The knowledge that once their waiting game was over, they would be diving into a relationship with much more depth than any of her previous ones ever had.
But back then, she'd thought she was protecting herself by denying herself, and the single biggest threat to that wasn't late night drinks at the Old Haunt or dinners at Remy's.
It was the evenings she spent in his home, with his family, by his side.
It was the intimacy.
She still doesn't know when it started, when the attraction and affection that had lingered between them since the beginning morphed into something so subtly beautiful. When it became less about when they would fall into bed together and more about the nights they would spend sleeping side by side. When she stopped wondering solely what it would be like to have him in her bed, but to have him in her life, a constant presence she knew she would love before she let herself experience it.
Those nights, spent sitting across from each other at his dining room table or curled up on separate ends of the couch were a peek at the possibilities, moments of insight it to what would be.
They were dangerous. They were wonderful.
The wine he'd offered would loosen her shoulders every time, quell the fear and apprehension in her stomach long enough for her to find peace in the hours of companionship. For her not to flinch at the brush of his hand across her back or the quick catch of her fingers within his or brush of their knees as they sat on the couch.
She'd discuss with his family like they were her family, too, find herself offering Alexis and advice and asking Martha about her acting school with ease. She'd follow him into the kitchen when dinner was done and let herself enjoy the brush of his shoulder against hers. He'd pour her another glass of wine and just as the thought of leaving slipped into her mind, she would let him lead her into the living room only to stay for another few hours.
The best of those nights was less about dinner, more about what happened afterwards. His mother's one-woman play was over and the guests were starting to leave, but Castle had allowed his mom to be the sole hostess, and after refilling her glass of wine one last time, she'd found him in his office.
He wasn't writing when she walked in, just staring at a blank screen with a smile on his face and contentment alight in his features in that way that could ease any anxiety she may have.
Now, she's found him that way countless times, has used those moments as an opportunity to show him how much she loves him in whichever way she deemed fit at the time.
That day, his mother's voice ringing through the loft and the joy of a wonderful evening still curling the corners of her mouth upwards, had been the first of those moments. It was the first time she'd found him that way, had curled up in one of the lounge chairs in his office to watch him.
He'd turned to look at her after a few moments, his smile widening at her presence, a quiet offer to stay falling from his lips, and though her mind had told her she shouldn't accept, her heart had caused her answer, had her settling into a more comfortable position in her seat.
They'd spoken for hours. About what, she doesn't remember any more. Everything and anything they could think of until the windows in his bedroom let her see the night sky and had her rushing to leave. Her heart had clenched in regret when she'd said goodbye, for reasons she barely understood at the time.
It had been the simplest of nights, quiet conversation, sitting at opposite ends of his office until nighttime fell without them even realizing it. And it had been that simplicity that made it beautiful.
The intimacy she usually feared…she'd loved it that day.
And for a moment, curled up in her own bed and reflecting upon her night, it had been that day that she'd first realized she was ready to open herself up to his love, to openly loving him back.
Little did she know that everything would fall apart within a week.
Or that she would spend her first night in his bed just over a month after that.
It's funny, really. That when she looks back upon their relationship, their first actual date, the first one they both acknowledged as such, isn't something that truly stands out.
Not that she doesn't remember it. In fact, it's still a vivid image in her mind that, when she looks back upon, draws a smile to her face and butterflies to her stomach. She could never forget the nerves that had preceded it, or the look in his eyes when he'd shown up at ther door, or the bubbly giddiness that had come with allowing herself to be out on a date with him.
Or the fact that they'd barely made it into her apartment before he lost his shirt, but those are details she tries not to think about in public.
It had been a wonderful evening, one you would imagine when picturing a first date with a millionaire who loved you like nobody ever had and knew you like nobody ever would. Expensive, yes. Beautiful, unbelievably so. Quiet and intimate, fit just for them.
He'd taken her to a quiet restaurant, one where the atmosphere was amazing and the food equally so. But the company had been the best part, the ease of their relationship erasing the majority of first date worried and allowing them to be them, the beauty of their relationship shining bright throughout the evening.
It had been wonderful. But it still wasn't the time that struck her most about the beginning of their relationship, wasn't what first came to mind when she thought about the progression in their relationship.
Her mind, in its sometimes confusing ways, goes to their first dinner here as a couple, the first time they returned to Remy's and the endless cycle of times after that.
Because change is more noticeable in the things they did before they got together, and continued to do afterwards. In their first date, which they never acknowledged as such, and the first celebratory dinner they shared, still without calling it a date.
It was them. Evidence that their relationship could shift without changing completely, that what brought them together lingered, with the added aspects of touch and kisses and openness that they wouldn't permit for before they confessed their desires and fell into each other.
Fell deeper in love than she ever imagined she could.
The first time they went to Remy's as a couple was shortly after she returned to work and he came with her, at the end of their third case together that they solved too late at night, after putting off eating for far too long.
Part of her had wanted to just go home, order in and curl up next to him on her couch. Watch whatever TV show was playing that he'd enjoy until her head was resting on his thigh and his fingers were combing through her hair and she zoned out, silently basking in all the little things she'd never thought of but enjoyed beyond belief.
The suggestion was on the tip of her tongue when he'd spoken first, a smile on his lips that made it impossible to say no.
Looking back, she knows they probably should have been more careful than to walk into a restaurant their friends and co-workers sometimes frequented hand in hand while they were still trying to hide their relationship. But she was in love with him, giddy with returning to their favorite restaurant with a new level to their relationship and permission to do such a thing.
Hold his hand. Brush her toes along his calf under the table. Reach forward to steal a kiss from his lips when the realization that they were finally together hit her all over again.
The waitress smiled, bright and gleeful and that time he had no denial of their status as a couple to quell the young woman's midnight joy.
There had been nothing notable about it besides that. No new confessions or silent realizations that made it stick so brightly in her memory. The conversation had been so typical she could not longer remember any aspect of it, almost everything the same as the middle of the night meals they'd been sharing for years.
He'd stolen fries from her plate until she'd slapped his hand away. She'd taken a drink of his milkshake when he wasn't looking, and he fought back with a larger drink of hers that had gave him a brain freeze and left her laughing until he caught her hand and squeezed it and reminded her of the weight of a moment that would seem like nothing to anyone else.
It was their first date where their first non-date had been. It was amazing.
And they'd talked for too long considering the day they'd had, until the weight of her job was lifted from her shoulders and the drain of fatigue was erased from her bones. Until she'd paid the bill and he'd drawn her to her feet by intertwining their fingers and pulling her to meet him.
His arm had draped over her shoulders, his lips finding her temple because he'd known the weight of the moment, too. Had understood the beauty in the little things that made them them.
They're still the little things that make their relationship so wonderful, easy in the best of ways. And she still loves them.
After that, things quieted down. Less emotional epiphanies came as they sat across from each other at a table, sharing a meal and each other's company and the love that lingered between them. They didn't go out as much, not on big dates or for simple meals that could be had in the privacy of their home. Ordering in became more habitual for them, late nights are Remy's reserved for cases that had them at the precinct long into the night and days when they wanted to reminisce upon the earlier stages of their relationship.
They had settled down, the constant blur of emotions of a budding relationship fading into an easy routine she loved just as much.
Their evening were spent curled up next to each other on the couch, reading separate books or watching a movie or discussing whatever was on their minds over glasses of wine and takeout. Pancakes became the breakfast of her days off, eaten in bed with him pressing kisses to her shoulder and the coffee he made for her sitting on the nightstand. Lunches, eaten at work, started matching on the days he took it upon himself to make her something or she had the time to put together something for the both of them.
When she looks back, the nights that stand out are usually those of celebration.
There was the day after his ring was placed on her finger, when, despite the weight of changes soon to come, they let themselves to out and celebrate with laughter and food and wandering hands whenever nobody was looking. The engagement ring had shone bright in the restaurant's dim light and she watched his eyes light up every time he caught the glint of the diamond, making her heart lift with reassurance that they would be okay.
And the day they'd returned from their impromptu honeymoon with matching rings and smiles, had slid into their booth and shared their join with the employees that had watched their relationship flourish. They'd been too preoccupied with their new marriage to let go of each other for long, hands locked over the table at any moment they were free, allowing him to draw hers to his lips to brush kisses to her knuckles in a display of giddy affection much like those that had the boys groaning all day at work.
The times when death was too close, when they'd spent their day with survival in question and celebration of life was necessary but so was the comfort of something familiar. When they'd walk into Remy's and slide into the same side of the booth, comforting each other with soft touches and the press of their shoulders, their warmth reassurance that they were both still alive.
There are so many that they blur into each other now. Stumbling footsteps from the Old Haunt and wandering hands under the tables at fancy restaurants and easy laughter across the table here, at Remy's.
Each one was beautiful. In the moment and looking back. Days when silence was heavy with unspoken words and nights when everything was out in the open so discussion was easy. Moments when the brush of their hands reminded her of how lucky she was and dusting kisses was the perfect way to show him how much she loved him.
Silence. Noise. Friendship. Romance. Wounds. Scars. Recoveries. Tears. Laughter. Love.
Everything.
And now…
His arms are still wrapped around her, lips dusting against her temple to drag her from the endless cycle of memories. His thumbs are pressed against the muscles of her lower back, his smile surely a beautiful thing hidden by her hair. And his laughter is quiet, laced with the love he once hid for her sake but no longer has to.
She would never want him to, not now.
"You're thinking very loudly," he whispers, his words a warm brush of air against the shell of her ear.
It has her pulling back slightly, just enough to let catch his gaze with hers and let him see the emotions surely shining in her eyes, evoked by memories she always forgets the meaning of until they have her like this. Sappy and clingy and so hopefully in love with her husband that she can do nothing but let him see it and know that he feels the exact same way.
Her fingers comb through his hair once more, drawing him down so she can brush a kiss to his mouth and hold him close even after she pulls away.
"I love being here with you, too," she offers, a quiet explanation that says nothing but makes his eyes shine bright with realization. "I always have."
She has. Even on nights when her feelings for him terrified her, or when she would pretend it never happened for the sake of protecting herself from this, before she knew how extraordinary they would be together. This place, and others like it, have always held a something in her heart, not for their burgers or milkshakes but for the memories of him that have built their relationship as strong as it is.
They're amazing. Whatever fears she had that they would lose their magic at some point in the future having long since been lost.
Because now…
Now she has their daughter groaning in protest at their kisses, tugging on the hem of her jacket for attention with quiet, adorable utterances of "Mommy" filling the silence that's fallen.
And she has their sons, already occupying their separate seats in the booth, having crawled onto the benches with their big sister's help to press their noses against the window and admire the bustle of New York City like only toddlers can.
She pulls away from him to turn her attention to Lily, hand already reaching for her daughter. She tucks a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear before leaning down, offering her little girl a smile. "Yes, Lily?"
Lily smiles, the same expressive grin that Castle has even though their daughter is the spitting image of her. "I'm hungry," she whines. "I want a burger."
She nods, straightens back up and holding her hand out to Lily, let their daughter drag her to the booth as her husband follows in their footsteps.
It's only as Lily is sliding into the bench that she turns back to face him.
And that smile she loves so much, the once filled with every emotion he can't express in words but that shine bright in his eyes and the upturn of his lips, is staring back at her.
It had her reaching for him, taking his hand in hers for the few seconds as they walked to the booth, drawing him down to plant one last kiss to his mouth before letting him go so they could enjoy lunch with their children.
Happy birthday, Lindsey! I hope you know how much I appreciate your insight and help with my writing, and even more-so the friendship we've developed, the support and advice you've offered, and the fun and laughs we've shared. I hope you had a great day and have an amazing year!
And I hope everyone enjoyed. This went unbeta'ed, so I apologize for the mistakes.