Rick strolled beside Kate down the hallway toward the gym facility at the 12th, her requested tour of the precinct on her first day there nearly complete, and her abundant enthusiasm had him both absorbed and utterly charmed.
He hadn't known what to expect, what the Audrey Hepburn-esque actress might be like off the screen and away from the lights of Tinseltown, but after just a couple of hours spent in her presence, he'd already envisioned the pain of having to relinquish her back to Hollywood, and that pain was biting.
When they arrived, he pulled open the door to the weight room and allowed her first passage, his eyelids fluttering with intoxication as she stepped by him and left a puff of vanilla on the air. "This is where we, um…where we-"
"I know I'm new to the whole police thing, but I'm going to guess this is where you lift weights?" she offered in his aid around a stifled giggle, and despite his previous difficulty in formulating a coherent sentence, he managed a surprisingly admirable recovery.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You didn't tell me you'd bought a ticket to the know-it-all tour. You must be bored to tears, stuck here in this beginners' group."
Kate, who'd already made her way deeper into the room, glanced back over her shoulder. "You're pretty funny, Rick Castle. No wonder you have groupies."
The door closed behind him when he finally let it go and they were alone. "You should give one of the meetings a try, actually. They're every Wednesday night. If nothing else, I hear there's free punch, and it's often spiked."
"Does that help?"
"It can't hurt." He set off after her, more for the gift that was her scent than anything. "I didn't realize you'd be this tall," he said, absent forethought as to how ridiculous the observation would sound aloud.
Kate stopped at one of the machines and sat, reached up and grabbed the pull-down bar above her. "A tall know-it-all, huh? I'm blushing from all these compliments, Castle." She'd let his first name go like they were already buddies, like they were already some sort of a they, and that sparked all manner of thrills in him. "I guess it's my turn, now. I didn't realize you'd be this nervous."
She was a beautiful woman. That was a fact, as much a fact as any subjective notion could be, and though her career had grown from her physical good fortune, her ego had not. In her mind, she was still the same tomboy she'd been since she was a young girl, mud in her hair and scrapes on her knees, and when men seemed to react to her otherwise, it always amused her, because she knew precisely how simple a gal she really was.
Rick tried to act casual in the face of her observation, but in doing so, succeeded instead in appearing all the more rattled. "You think I'm nervous? Why would I be nervous? How am I being nervous? That's…I don't even know where that comes from." It was a spectacular ramble, award-worthy, one that could only serve to cement her measurement.
Kate released the bar with a clang and got up off the machine, took a step in his direction, which he matched by drawing equally backward. "Okay," she said with a smile in her eyes. "I stand corrected-tall and corrected."
"I mean, you really need to get your nerves radar or whatever checked, because I'm the least nervous person you'll ever meet. Ever." Christ, get it together snarled his inner voice. He'd stopped helping himself about eighteen sentences ago, but he couldn't stop. "So, yeah, anyway, we keep the weights here in this room on these mats. What else do you want to see?"
Then it became quiet, all of a sudden-not a no-talking-in-the-library quiet, but a calm-before-the-storm quiet.
"Take me to bed," Kate said into the hush with such frankness Rick nearly fell over.
That was, or so he thought she said.
His palms felt dewy like morning grass, yet again, his throat as dry as cotton. Nervous was only the tip of the iceberg of what he was. "You want me to take you…?" His words stopped, but the numbness in his limbs had only just begun.
She quickly scanned the room in confusion and came back to him. "I asked if the gym was coed. You know, do both men and women use it?"
In the moment of mortification that followed, he longed for a vat of that fictitious spiked punch.
"Sorry, I was, um, yes, the gym is coed. You can feel free to use it while you're with me. Here with me. With us." He paused to compose himself. "Let's try this one more time. You can use it whenever you like."
Kate threw a punch at the speed bag that hung from the wall. "Thanks. There isn't a gym where I'm staying. Maybe we can use it together, sometime. Looks like you've been in here before." His well-muscled arms were one of the many things she'd noticed and appreciated about him right away.
Even if he hadn't been anywhere near the damn place before, his answer would've been the same, because what kind of an idiot would ever turn down that kind of invitation from that kind of woman?
"All the time, yeah. I'm in here so much, in fact, they should name it after me."
"I guess I'll just have to bring my A-game, then," she replied with a challenge-accepted arch in one brow.
"Don't you already do that? You said upstairs you always try to be as prepared as you can be. The operative word being 'try' in this case, obviously," Rick responded, though with little warrant for such an assured attitude. He'd barely set foot in there in months.
"Okay, Detective Chuckles, I have plans the next few nights, but how about you put your money where your mouth is and show me what's what on Friday, after the cop shop closes. Whoever craps out first buys the other a beer. That is, if your groupie won't mind."
And she drank beer. Of course she did. Next he'd find out she loved football and old sports cars and classic films, too, because he wasn't suffering enough already as it was.
"Kyra and I are both grown-ups, thanks. We can have beer with whomever we like, so Friday's as good a day as any for you to buy me one."
"You know, with your talent for fiction, you should write books or somethin', Rick Castle."
They both turned and looked when the door opened and someone walked in, he dressed far more appropriately for the room than either of them.
"Miller," Rick said, and the new third wheel offered like acknowledgment.
"Whoa, and who might this be? If she's your sister, can I get her number? I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman." The man's tone and his shamelessly wandering eyes suggested otherwise. "Hey, I'm Terry. Why are you hanging around this guy when you could be hanging around with a real man like me?"
Rick wasn't sure which laughable item on the list of laughable items to tackle first, but it didn't matter, because Kate jumped right in.
"Jerry, was it?" Rick puffed out a snicker at her purposeful gaffe. "You know, as tempted as I am to let my brother here share my number with you, the fact is, I just don't date men who wear black socks to the gym. Sorry," she said with a shrug, and then she did something none of them expected.
She grabbed Rick by his shirt and planted a firm kiss on his lips. "Come on, brother of mine, the rest of the tour awaits. Enjoy your workout, Jer." She looked at Rick, who could now barely see straight, and tipped her head toward the door.
"Miller," he said again, only with a crack in his voice that time, and he shuffled more than walked behind Kate back out into the hallway.
"I'm sorry, Rick. I don't know why I did that. He just…I mean, was he for real? I've read some bad scripts, but I don't think I've ever read dialogue that ridiculous. Shit, wait, he isn't, like, one of your bosses or something, is he?"
It was a kiss of but two seconds, yet he wondered if the sublime tingle he felt in his lips would ever go away.
"As much my boss as Bruce Springsteen is," Rick quipped. "No, he works down in Records. And, don't worry about it. I'm fine. It was fine. Not that it was just fine. It was more than fine, actually, and I'm pretty sure I just broke the record for the number of times a person can say fine in a six second span."
"Maybe Jerry's word prowess is rubbing off on you," Kate teased. "I'm still sorry, though. I just met you, and we're going to be working together-sort of, anyway-and you have a…I'm sorry, I can't remember her name."
To be honest, Rick forgot her name for a second, too.
"Kyra," he filled in finally, and though he thought it, he didn't voice the "but." The fact was, despite the charge he'd gotten out of it, he knew why she'd done it, and Miller had earned the slack-jawed look she'd left frozen on his face for being such a class-A prick. "Really, Kate, it's not a big deal. You're an actress. You improvised. I'll just consider it a training lesson in-kind, and the next time ol' Jer comes sniffing around, maybe I'll use the Beckett Method on him."
They smiled at one another, amused, and something more.
"So, was that supposed to be the grand finale of my tour, that room with the faint odor of sweat and the Romeo from Records?"
"Awww, yeah, Superstar, better to get your whining done before we go back upstairs to Shaw. I think she hates that more than she hates doughnuts. If you're not careful, she might make you ride in the backseat of the cruiser." Kate squinted at him. "What?"
"I'm just curious. Does she cut the crusts off your peanut butter sandwiches, too?"
Rick pivoted and started to walk away. "Just for that, I might give Miller your number."
She didn't do things like this, not with new people, and certainly not with unavailable men, but his eyes had her entirely off-balance. "To give it, you'd have to have it," she called after him. "Do you want it?"
He stopped so fast, the rubber on the bottom of his shoes set off a piercing squeak. If ever there was an easy question without an easy answer.
"Come on, I'll show you the firing range," he said, leaving it without a response, and he could barely hear himself talk with all the screaming the voice in his head was doing.
xxxx
That night was an early night, for a change, the entirety of the day having passed without a body drop, and Rick was barely two feet inside his Lower East Side sublet when his phone rang. He let an expletive fly with its beep, hoped it wasn't Jordan, hoped he wouldn't have to forgo the pad thai he'd picked up on the way home and head to a crime scene, but it wasn't her. It was Kyra.
"I figured you'd be out schmoozing your newest potential golden boy," he said as he flipped a light switch with his elbow and illuminated the place. "How was your flight?"
She'd taken off for Philly that morning to visit a gallery and to meet a new artist who'd been recommended to her for a potential collaboration. She traveled a couple of times a month, at least, either on behalf of the Manhattan gallery's owner or in tandem with him, in an effort to woo up-and-coming talent or to visit their existing exhibitors and clients.
"It was fine, quick, and I'm heading out to the restaurant in a couple of minutes. He had an afternoon meeting with another gallery and was running late, so."
"Competition?" He pulled three small, aluminum tins from the takeout bag and plucked a fork from the drawer.
"I'm not worried," Kyra assured him, sounding as certain about that as she always did about everything. He envied that about her. "Before I forget, Victor needs me here until Thursday instead of Wednesday. He thought he'd be able to get out of Miami before that, but he can't. I may just fly back on Friday morning, in case things run late."
Friday. Friday was the gym and the beer and Kate.
"Whatever you have to do." He plopped down on the couch in front of the television and pried the top off the egg rolls. "I'll be where I always am."
It might've sounded dismissive to an outside ear, but Rick was just used to it by now, her coming and going, her being around and then not, and he'd suspected for some time it was one of the reasons they managed to work as a couple-that was, when they were a couple.
"I have to run, but I'll call you when I can. My schedule for the next two days is a nightmare."
"I guess good luck then, even though you never seem to need it," he said and then bit the end off of a roll.
"Thanks, I'll talk to you," she replied over the chime of what he assumed was the elevator, and the line went silent.
Rick set his phone on the cushion beside him and went to work on the noodles. She hadn't once asked anything about his day, about his new endeavor-Kate, assigned though she was-but that was just one more thing he'd grown accustomed to. Anyway, the Mets game was on TV, and that night it wasn't Kyra he needed the welcome distraction from.
xxxx
Kate spent Tuesday away from the precinct, working with another team from the upcoming show-her arrangement with the NYPD firm only in terms of out date, not in terms of daily schedule-because besides her in-unit observation with Rick and Jordan, she also had prep work to do with the stunt coordinator, with the costumer, not to mention pre-existing press commitments for a film she'd completed that was soon due to hit theaters.
Early Wednesday morning, she emerged from her bedroom wrapped only in a towel, her wet hair pulled up tight in a bun, and she hurried into the kitchen to pour herself some coffee before she had to head in for her second day at the 12th.
"You're not going to wear that, are you? Page Six will have a field day."
Grady had been one of Kate's closest friends since her modeling days, and despite the network having offered to put her up in a hotel, she'd chosen to accept his invitation to stay with him, a successful model in his own right, one with a Tribeca apartment that surely reflected that.
"Yes, G, I'm wearing a towel to the police station, today," she said, her response dripping with as much sarcasm as the Breville was coffee.
He snapped his tongue at her, slid the day's New York Times up in front of his face. "Touchy, touchy. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the insanely comfortable bed I've provided for her, this morning." Kate filled her thermos and crossed the room for him, kissed the crown of his head. "That's more like it. Have time for a croissant? I went over to the bakery."
"No, thanks, I can't. I really should go. I wanted to be on my way by now, actually."
"Miss Perpetually Ten Minutes Late wanted to be early? Bucking for teacher's pet, are we? Either that or the award for Most Fragrant Fake Detective. It smells like a Yankee Candle store just walked past me."
Kate turned and came back. "You're one to talk. My eyes were watering on Saturday night from the cologne counter you were wearing." She reached across him and swiped a bite of his pastry. "Holy shit, that's good."
"Only the best for my K. Take one with you, please. You're like a twig. My mother would have a fit if she saw you. And I'll have you know my man likes the way I smell, merci beaucoup." He nudged her on the hip. "Hey, never know. Maybe you'll snag yourself a man-cop down there that gets hot for the smell of vanilla cupcakes on a woman." He began to fan himself dramatically with the pages of the newspaper. "My, my, the thought of a man in uniform does get me going."
She flicked his earlobe and headed off again. Not all cops wear uniforms she thought, and she tugged her lip between her teeth.