A/N: Something I have been working on lately; I hope you like it.

He is looking for a seat that might facilitate writing, one that is not too cut off from the flow of people entering and exiting the establishment, but just enough so that the creative juices can flow without interruption. Looking around, he finds himself content to have wound up here once again when inspiration has yet to strike. The library does that to him, its environment captivating and stimulating. He found out a long time ago that there is no place like one filled with the works of the people he aspires to compare to, and those who do the comparing, to initiate the flow of images that flit through his usually untamable imagination.

Making his way across the room, he has his mind set on finding the perfect spot for what he has planned. Things have been hectic lately. His mother has temporarily set up her things in his loft. Temporarily being the operative word in the above sentence although he knows full well what her recent arrangements mean for the long term occupation of the upstairs guest room. He likes to think he is not the man they portray on Page 6, but nonetheless, the arrangement doesn't leave much room for intimacy with anyone.

Being recently divorced, for the second time, is not easy; especially considering that Gina is still in his life and constantly breathing down his neck for the next chapters of his book. A book that is supposed to be in progress- supposed to be-. He's considered finding a new publisher but her efficacy has proven to be quite rewarding. Despite her flaws and the fact that they didn't work out, he won't deny that she is good at what she does.

Shaking his head, Rick continues across the rows of desks; the last thing he wants or needs right now, is to be thinking about Gina. That woman is definitely not helping with inspiration.

He's made up his mind on a seat in the corner of the room facing the double doors of the entrance when a particular sight stops him.

There's a girl- a woman rather- sitting at a nearby table. Usually he wouldn't be stopped in his tracks at the sight of someone simply reading in the library, but there's something there.

Her hair is light brown, cascading down the front of her pale blouse, her eyebrows knit together in concentration, engrossed in the world that has captivated her seemingly inviting imagination. Her posture radiates affirmation but, as he looks more attentively, he sees comfort.

She's here to relax, to be swept off her feet by the all-encompassing tale that – he focuses on the book- Patterson, has effectively woven for her.

Huh.

Crime and Mystery. It isn't every day he encounters a woman of such taste; at least not one with such a striking figure and features; one's that hold his gaze captive. As much as he wishes to push forward and seek her out, something keeps him rooted in place.

It's her determination. The way her gaze hungrily drifts across the pages at a steady pace. How she absorbs every piece of information, like every minor detail is equally as important as the last. Suddenly he notices the corner of her mouth lifts slowly in a ghost of a smile and her eyes get softer, happy. It's like she knew. She knew what was going to happen and then it did and her smug little grin is proof that this brings her some sort of satisfaction, or gratification.

Her fleeting joy is contagious and he finds his lips tugging up in a grin at her quickly retreating surge of emotion. It's not that she no longer looks happy. But the delight has passed and the plot thickens. He observes as she refocuses her eyes on the page and unconsciously pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. It's one of the sexiest things he's ever seen.

It kills him to interrupt, to burst her perfectly crafted bubble, but he has to be a part of it, has to share whatever world she's living in with her.

As his feet move him forward of their own accord, he finds himself directly in front of her. He has no idea what to say. He's never approached a stranger in a library. When she doesn't look up, he clears his throat. Startled, she looks up and her eyes widen.

He wonders if the blush he notices creeping up her neck and up to her cheeks has to with his presence or simply with the fact that she is taken off guard. But then it's his turn to startle as he notices her eyes. He doesn't know what he had been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't that. They are a swirl of hazel and green, with specs of gold splattered proportionately, here and there. He's never seen anything like them. They're beautiful.

Shaking himself out of his trance, he clears his throat again.

"Is anyone sitting here?" he points to the empty chair next to her.

"No," she answers as if unsure of what to make of his unexpected approach.

"May I?" he asks, pulling it back. She nods giving him a perplexed look as if to convey her confusion but then quickly turns back to her book. Apparently, she's unaware of his sudden fascination with her.

He sets up his laptop, but he doesn't take his focus off of her and it seems to be throwing her off. Every now and then, she looks up from her book and their eyes meet, but only for a second as she glances back down again, seemingly avoiding his gaze. He grins, proud that his presence is affecting her focus.

"So, crime, huh?" He asks out of the blue. He really wants to hear her voice.

She wasn't expecting him to talk to her. "Excuse me?"

"The genre. You like it."

"That wasn't a question," she retorts.

"What?" He doesn't really understand what she means.

"Well, you didn't ask me if I liked crime novels. You stated it. And I wasn't sure what I was supposed to answer."

Oh. He likes her. She understands the power of grammar and that's just… hot. For some reason, he's the one left a little dumb struck. He doesn't know why his suave has suddenly left him, and of course it all had to happen when in the face this beautiful, intriguing woman. He's usually a lot smoother; a lot more at ease with words and at forming eloquent sentences but for some reason this stranger is different. He can't say he doesn't enjoy a challenge.

"I guess you're right. Should I have asked a question?"

Leaning her back against the seat, she looks at him, her eyebrows knitting together in thought. "You didn't, but you've been staring at me for the past five minutes and it would be getting creepy if you didn't have a question to ask."

"You find my staring creepy?"

"It's a little disconcerting is all," she rolls her eyes and he sees the corner of her lips lift up like he did before when she was still entranced by the imagery of the pages before her. He wants to see it again. He wants to be the reason behind it again.

"How so?" he can't help but ask.

"Well, it's just that people don't usually stare, it's not really appropriate."

"What do they usually do, then?"

"I didn't major in psychology but I can tell you what they don't do. They don't sit next to you in the public library when there are more than a dozen empty desks in the room." He mockingly narrows his eyes at that. He knows she doesn't really mind his sitting here.

"But what if they wanted to strike up a conversation?" He has to keep asking questions because her voice is nothing like he imagined. It's rich and full, just like her lips, and at the sound of it he sounds exactly the way they usually make him out to be on page six, but to be fair, this woman is throwing his game and he likes it. A lot.

"Then they'd ask a question. But you didn't; you stared. So what is it exactly that you want?"

She's something else. The way she analyzed their entire interaction with one another was entirely too cute for his liking. She might not have majored in Psychology but it couldn't have been anything too far off. He's taken with her. He knows that much. He also knows the notion is ridiculous because they haven't even been talking for a full five minutes. But he's also acutely aware of the fact that in this instant he wants only one thing and it's for her to keep talking.

"I've been asking questions throughout this conversation; wouldn't that infer that I'd like for the conversation to keep going?"

"Why? Why would you want the conversation to keep going?"

"Why not?"

"Stop that!" She glares, although he can see it's not genuine. She's not disliking their conversation, he can tell that much. Although she does look kind of annoyed.

"Stop what?"

"Stop questioning me. This isn't an interrogation." Something law oriented. That's his best guess by now. Her occupation has to consist of something that would keep her mind alert, active on a daily basis, but with human relations. She's not the closed off type.

"I thought you said I had to ask questions to keep out conversation up."

"But that doesn't mean every sentence that comes out of your mouth needs to be a question."

"How else am I supposed to learn more?" She huffs out a laugh and he can't help but smile.

"About what?" She asks, lifting a perfectly crafted eyebrow.

Her phone vibrates loudly on the table, disturbing the peace of the library. As she picks it up from where it was resting, glances down at it without unlocking the screen and starts gathering up her things, her smile quickly dissipates.

"Where are you going?" He asks again but quickly backtracking. Maybe he's been reading this whole thing entirely wrong. She lifts an eyebrow again and he shrugs, figuring he has nothing to lose at this point.

"Not that it's any of your business but I have to head back to work."

"On a Sunday?"

It's her turn to shrug. "Duty calls," she says over her shoulder heading for the library's entrance. He remembers that if he wants her see her again- and he does- he should probably move. Scrambling to his feet and nearly tripping over the desk, Rick increases his pace to catch up to her. She's relentless. He likes it. He realizes he's had that thought multiple times in the past 10 minutes.

"Wait, I don't know your name," he calls. She stops and turns to look him over.

"You didn't ask." He smirks and lifts an eyebrow, effectively asking. "Beckett. Kate Beckett."

"I like the sound of that. I'm Rick Castle. You don't need to ask, I'm volunteering the information." She blushes and ducks behind the curtain of her hair.

"Do you ever tell women you don't like the sound of their name?"

"I, uh… I don't think I ever have, no. Why?"

"It's just an odd way of responding to someone's name."

"Well, just because I don't tell them I don't enjoy the sound of their name, it doesn't mean I tell every woman I do, which is probably the question you meant to ask."

"Is it now?" She's amused. He can tell by per posture, the way she's leaning back, comfortable, and not quite succeeding in hiding her smile. The fact that she's putting up a fight makes him set his determination higher.

"I think it is. I don't want to keep you away from work, but I'm afraid I need to ask one more question." Her eyes widen, waiting for him to finish his thought, silently granting him permission to ask. "Can I see you again, Kate?"

"See, I think that's the question you've been meaning to ask for a while." This time she doesn't hide the smirk. She's content with her answer.

"Is that a yes?"

Looking down at the pavement as if in contemplation, she narrows her eyes at him. She does that a lot, enjoys giving him a hard time. He can't say he doesn't enjoy it too. "I guess that depends on how many more questions you plan on asking."

"As many as you are willing to answer," he answers quickly. She laughs; a full throaty laugh, radiating genuine amusement. He really wants to hear it again. Hopefully not long from now. She looks up at him, a shy smile gracing her features, her eyes sparkling, mysterious.

"I think something could be arranged."

A/N: I'd love to know what you thought.