CHAPTER 1
Castle splashed his face a few more times and turned off the water. He grabbed the hand towel, looked in the mirror, and wiped off the few spots of shaving cream he had missed. After brushing and flossing his teeth and running some gel through his hair, he finally looked in the mirror.
And sighed.
Normally, he loved his pre-date routine. He would practice his smiles, his expressions, his best winks and seductive looks. He would walk back and forth in front of the mirror, checking himself out as he passed. He would sing little songs and practice ordering in whatever language matched the cuisine he would be eating.
In other words, he had fun.
This was no fun—because for the first time, probably ever, he was not looking forward to a date. In fact, he was dreading it.
Castle frowned at himself in the bathroom mirror before turning off the light and going back into his bedroom. He opened his closet door and pretty much grabbed the first shirt and pair of pants he saw. Usually, he would spend ten minutes picking the perfect tie, but this time, he barely even looked at them, just grabbed one that matched and left it at that. He removed the pants' matching jacket from its hanger and tossed the garments on the bed.
After he dressed, he stood in front of the full-length mirror, analyzing himself. He grabbed the lint brush and moved it up and down the front of his jacket lapels. Then, he reworked his tie so it looked more like he was going out instead of coming home after a long night. He adjusted everything until he looked absolutely perfect, but he still did not step away from the mirror.
What are you doing? he asked his reflection.
He sighed again and left the room. In his office, he sat down at his desk and put his watch on.
He didn't have to go. No one was holding a gun to his head. But Cassandra seemed interesting enough. A curator at the Met, she had two PhDs (archeology and history), could speak Greek and Latin (which actually piqued the interest of the writer in him), and, most importantly, she was the niece of close friend. Apparently Cassandra had a "guilty pleasure" for mystery novels—though to see his career reduced to a guilty pleasure somewhat bothered him—and she really admired his novels, especially the Nikki Heat novels.
He had said yes because his friend had asked him to, of course. That's what friends did. And it was widely known—in his public and private spheres—that he was single again after ending things with Gina and apparently "looking," though he had never said that to anybody. Still, rejecting a blind date set up by a dear friend would look suspicious.
He also accepted the date because a small part of him wanted to make Beckett jealous, but that was only part of it, a very small part. He was going on the date so Alexis would stop giving him pouty little frowns whenever she found him sad, or not talking, or not sleeping, all occurrences that were becoming more and more frequent. He was also doing it so his Mother would quit trying to set him up with her friends' friends or relatives.
He had been waiting for Beckett for three years and still nothing had happened. His mother, Alexis, even his friends, gave him their version of puppy dog eyes whenever the subject of Kate Beckett came up. After weeks of this, he finally realized what that meant—they felt sorry for him.
And that made him feel even worse—being pitied—so he was going to give it the old college try.
Even though this reason was probably the most sound and best reason in theory, it felt horrible inside him, almost physically painful. He felt like he could throw up even now. Yes, he was going to go on this date to please his family, his friends, and hopefully himself, but he was absolutely sick about it.
He still thought Beckett would come around. He didn't feel like it was time for him to give up right now. He felt little shifts and moves from her—tiny seismic indicators of forward progress. Maybe she didn't move away from him one late evening at the precinct. Maybe she had smiled just a little longer at one of his jokes before telling him what an idiot he was. There were glances, and moments, and slight touches. He felt hopeful—even with Josh still in the picture.
But apparently, he was pitiful.
He wanted to wait for Kate and was totally fine with the range of emotions it would bring—laughter, arousal, joy, elevation … and also depression, lack of concentration, insomnia, and dark thoughts. He was fine with it all. But there was Alexis to consider. And his mother. Even Beckett.
Maybe, oh God maybe, he could actually like someone new. He didn't wish for it, not at all. But he did wish for more than to be pathetically and unrequitedly in love with Kate Beckett the rest of his life.
Just get through the night, he told himself.
He stood up and left his office. He walked into the living room and grabbed his coat from the closet.
"Should I wait up for you, Dad?" Alexis asked when he gave her a kiss on the top of her head.
"No, but I won't be late," he replied.
"Have fun," she urged him.
"I'll try," he told her, as he grabbed his keys and opened the door.
And he would—try.