Three weeks later, Rick was in the car on his way back towards the city from upstate, having dropped off Alexis at Pine Lake Camp for the summer, where she'd been hired on as a junior counselor. She'd already begun resume building for perspective colleges, despite that transition still being a few years off, and though he'd whined incessantly about it, and though he hated that she'd be away for two months, leaving him to his own devices, he never once tried to talk her out of it. Alexis was exactly as Alexis needed to be, as she always had been, and his pride as a father, one that never knew the same of his own, was immeasurable.

He pulled off of I-87 in Cornwall to fill up the Benz's tank, something he hadn't done before they left the city, and to grab a bite to eat, conveniently spotting a diner right in the center of town. From what he could tell, it was a busy Saturday afternoon, and parking was definitely an issue, so he drove past and down the block, hooked an eventual right and found a spot just on the edge of a No Parking zone. He hadn't yet seen a cop, and the town seemed small enough that parking patrols probably wouldn't be regular, so he took a chance and left the car where it was.

He passed an old hardware store as he walked his way back around, a pet grooming shop and a post office the size of a closet, before he came upon a front window lined with books. That's where he saw her for the first time, through that window, in that bookshop, off that interstate exit he'd chosen entirely at random.

Rick went inside. Of course he did. And he did so because he had no choice. His body, his brain, his nothing would permit him to do otherwise.

The sound of a tiny bell rang above his head when he pushed open the wooden door, as though he wasn't already charmed enough, and the woman that'd unknowingly enticed him in, though in conversation with someone else at the time, welcomed him with a delicate wave of her hand, which he acknowledged with the same and then allowed her to continue.

He adored places like that. Places like that were owned by people who loved books and existed for people who loved books. It was just that simple. It was just that pure-people and pages.

The woody scent of the air soothed him as he wandered the shop's narrow paths around circular tables of hardcovers and paperbacks, some classics and some not, and it was as he neared the area of the register that he happened to spot it. It was just one, alone amongst a collection of other newer works, and it stopped him in his tracks. It was his own, his number thirteen, Richard Castle's brilliant failure of a novel about a father unknown yet longed for, and he swallowed hard at the sight.

Rick picked it up and held it, scrutinized its front and back, its shape and texture, as though it was the first time. He recalled holding that first copy months ago and how different it felt in his hands from his others-heavier with the parts of himself he'd infused it with-and it still carried that weight for him now, there, only more so, with the added burden of his disappointment.

"Hi, sorry about the wait. Can I help you find something?" the woman asked, her approach unheard and her voice, so close, unexpected.

Rick flinched in surprise and tightened his fingers around the book, as if it might break like glass if he were to drop it. "I'm…Oh, sorry. I guess I was somewhere else for a minute." He set it back on the table as it was and came back to her.

She could tell she'd reacted to him in some way because she could feel the change in her body, but what she couldn't tell was if he'd noticed or not. It was him. It was Richard Castle, a man she recognized instantly, a writer whose career she'd followed for years, ever since her mother had returned home from the teaching conference that'd turned out to be her last with one of his paperbacks in her messenger bag. And it wasn't starstruck. That wasn't it. She'd met literary heroes and not experienced whatever this moment was. This moment was different.

"Well, that's easy to do in this place," she said resisting the impulse to call him by name. "There are a lot of worlds to visit."

Rick scanned the room and let his eyes find her again. "This is a great shop. It's warm, welcoming. I wish there were still more like it. Is it yours? Are you Whitman?" He'd already forgotten about everything outside of those walls, about the car and the gas and the food. All he wanted was to hear her talk.

"Um, no, I'm not, actually. I don't own it, I just run it for the couple that does-been here almost sixty years."

"Wow, I'm impressed," he said. "You barely look a day over twenty-five."

Her cheeks warmed pink. "Oh, so you're here looking for books about how to be funnier. You'll want to look over in our Self-Improvement section." She pointed abstractly, stifled a smile.

Rick followed her finger out and caught a glimpse of his own title again on the way back in. "Very cute," he said, both sarcastic and sincere. "Just out of curiosity, have you, um, have you read this one here, by any chance?"

She looked down at the table and realized to which he was referring. "I'm sorry, I haven't, no. Should I?" she asked innocently, curious as to how he might respond. She'd read the stories about his perceived conceit. She knew the way he was portrayed.

"I don't know," he replied with honest reserve, and they stood there in silence for a moment before he said anything more. "I wonder if you'd have dinner with me." It just came out. He didn't even know what the hell he was asking until it did. He didn't even live there, for crying out loud. Frankly, he barely even knew where there was.

"I don't…No," she responded clumsily yet without hesitation.

"You don't know?"

She didn't realize how her answer must've sounded. "No, I know, but no."

Somehow, that, Rick managed to follow. "Why not?" The very question of a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.

She looked at him sideways. "Because I met you three minutes ago. I don't even know your name." A fib it was, for many reasons.

"Well, I mean, you don't need to answer right away. I can just wander around for a few minutes and give you some time to think about it," he said, making it only about three steps before she offered her second reply, just a firm as the first.

"Still no."

Rick didn't look back and he didn't stop walking, though he did find himself grinning on his way out the door, and, in truth, all the way down the street to the diner, and he was left to wonder if he might ever be able to stop.

xxxx

The lunch crowd was heavy, so Rick opted for the counter at the diner rather than take up an entire booth just for himself, which he preferred, anyway. The old place had those round, chrome seats covered in red vinyl, the ones that spun and squeaked with age, and they always presented some air of cool that he found himself drawn to.

"Menu, handsome?" the woman pacing behind the counter asked, though she moved right on by before he was able to provide an answer. Despite the traffic down the line next to him, she appeared to be working the afternoon set on her own.

"Yeah, thanks," he said after her, and she slid one in front of him on her next trip by.

"I need that melt, George!" she hollered into the kitchen through a cutout of a window. "Jimmy's lookin' at me funny." Jimmy, Rick noted, seemed to be doing nothing of the sort. In fact, he had his head buried in a newspaper from what he could tell, but her tactic amused him, nonetheless.

"You seem like you've been here a few times," Rick said smartly, angling in some to score a better look at the woman's name tag. "What would you recommend, Dot?"

"I'd recommend the joint down the street," she replied with a guffaw, and as quickly as she said it, he imagined she'd used the line countless times before. "I'm kiddin', sweetie. How about a nice Reuben? The dressing's homemade."

"Done," Rick said, handing the menu back across the counter.

"You're easy. I like men like you." Dot winked, but not skillfully. Returning moments later with a glass of water and his Coke, she sought to alleviate some of her curiosity. "Now, I have a brain that remembers every face it sees. Don't ask me how. It's old, but it does, and it's sure it's never had the pleasure of yours. Tell me your name, sweetie."

"Richard," he said as though properly answering a teacher in school. "Rick."

"Huh, I knew a Richard, once. Folks called him Dick. Anyone ever call you Dick?"

He nearly spit out his mouthful of soda. "Not to my face, usually. Well, maybe my ex-wives."

Dot nodded. "I definitely like you," she said before she moved off, once more.

By the time she brought him his sandwich the place had emptied some, so Rick seized the opportunity to do a bit of digging, himself, with someone he presumed would be in the know.

"So, Dot, question for you. I stopped in that bookshop down the street on the way here, and there was a woman working who was-"

"Oh, she's a bit of sunshine, isn't she?" she interrupted knowing right away who he was speaking about. "Kate's one of our favorites around here. She comes in here every morning to see us."

"Kate." Rick repeated it back like he'd just heard the perfect name. "She definitely leaves an impression."

"Aww, now don't go getting your hopes up, handsome. I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you, but she's been seeing the manager down at the station for a while. Name's Josh."

Clearly he'd been that obvious to have elicited the unfortunate news without having asked. "The station?" And why his brain thought that was the next important question was beyond him.

"Yep, she does these reading things every Friday night on the radio, you know with famous books. We get to pick 'em and she reads 'em. He's the manager over there. Known each other since they were kids." Dot watched his expression take a definitive turn. "You know, I do have myself a gorgeous granddaughter, though. I feel like I can tell you that. You don't seem much the serial killer type."

Rick found himself caught between utterly charmed and dejected to a degree he didn't expect. "A compliment for the ages, Dot. I'll take it, thank you." He finished down his soda and pulled out his wallet. "For the Rueben, the memorable company, and the offer, but I'm afraid I must now bid your town adieu. The concrete jungle awaits."

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me," Dot said, earning an objection from her husband.

"Quit flirting with the damn customers, Dottie, and get these plates outta here, huh?"

She slowly turned, threw him a dagger of a look over her hunched shoulder, and he backed out of sight. "Forty-seven years, and the silent eye still works," she chirped entirely pleased with herself.

Rick dropped a stack of large bills onto the counter, far more than his check required. "You're fun people, Dot. I'm glad Exit 17 called my name."

She sent him off with a salute. "Me too, handsome. Come back and see us."

He found the small piece of paper pinned between his windshield wiper and his front window when he returned to the car, the potential parking ticket he'd scoffed at when he'd chosen to park it where he did. He laughed as he read it, because how could be not. There might never be a better 40 dollars spent in his life. And he would. He would definitely be back, and though he'd never reveal it to Dot, her diner wouldn't be the reason why.

xxxx

Lanie poured them each another glass of wine, their third apiece, on a girls' night in at her place, one they'd had planned for over a week. She worked night shifts at the hospital, for the most part, so on the rare occasion she did find herself free, the two always tried to take advantage of the time and spend at least a part of it together.

They met for the first time when Kate came home from school to help her father, Lanie new to the hospital's nursing staff at the time, and they'd been the closest of friends ever since, finding themselves with one of those instant connections that came along too infrequently to ignore, and without Lanie, Kate knew how lost she would've been during those early months-and would still be.

"So, how's the cardiologist?" Kate asked. Lanie's escapades tended to rival what one might see on a daytime soap opera-never without hot drama-and the tales that came out of them always entertained, no matter how many glasses had been consumed.

Lanie closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, clearly relishing some memory or another. "Still making my toes curl after four months, that's for damn sure. The other day? A supply closet." She immediately held out her hand to shush Kate, before she even had a chance to say anything. "I know. Cliché, maybe. Hot, definitely."

"You ever get any work done in that place?" Kate teased.

"Just save an occasional life is all. How many did you save, today, bookworm?" She drank a self-satisfied sip of her red, and Kate stuck out her tongue in fun. "And how's Josh?" There was a tone that usually accompanied the utterance of his name, and there it was. Lanie cared little for him, beyond the fact that Kate considered him someone of great importance in her life, and she never pretended otherwise.

"Fine, I guess. I've only seen him at work since we had that talk a few weeks ago, so. It still isn't normal between us, whatever the hell that's supposed to be, but I'm still glad I did it."

"Girl, I'm sorry, I can't help it. I'm still so happy I could cry."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. You know, you don't know him like I do. He really is a nice guy, Lanie."

"He's just a shitty boyfriend," Lanie grumbled. "If that's even what he was. I still don't know what in God's name you two were up to, no matter how many times you've tried to explain it to me."

Kate thought on it a moment. "Neither did I, after a while."

Lanie reached over and tapped her affectionately on the knee. "So, does this mean I finally get to set you up with a proper man?"

"You mean the kind that likes to do it in supply closets?" Kate quipped. "No, thank you."

"Hey, do not knock it till you've tried it. I'm just saying. And let's not forget that I know a few things about you, too, okay. Yes, I do." When Kate came back with nothing, Lanie threw up her fingers and snapped in her face. "Earth to Kate. Too much wine for you, tonight, or what?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something that happened at work, today."

"Ryan hit on you again? I swear, that boy."

Kate moved beyond the comment without acknowledgement. "Richard Castle came into the shop this afternoon."

Lanie returned a blank stare. "I give up. Who's Richard Castle?"

"The writer," Kate said pointedly. "Richard Castle."

"Girl, you can keep saying his name all you want, but it's still not going to make me know who the hell you're talking about. Do we like him? Has Oprah recommended him? What?"

"You know, Lanie, you really need to come out of the supply closet and pick up a book, once in a while. He writes mystery novels, or he did until recently. They were pretty major."

Lanie set down her glass and picked up her phone. "I work all night and I sleep all day, Kate. When is it you'd like me to squeeze in time for a book, exactly?" She began typing into her phone. "Is he hot? I'm looking him up." He was hot, and Kate already knew it, but she wasn't about to say so for fear she'd never hear the end of it. "Ooo, yes, he is fine. I'm going to order me some of those books right quick." Her face still buried in the search results, she asked on. "So, what happened when he came in?"

"Nothing. I mean, we just talked for a couple of minutes about the shop and stuff."

"Scintillating, Kate," Lanie said with a roll of her eyes. "This sexy man came into your bookstore." She pushed the phone into Kate's face, Rick's blanketing the entire screen. "Sorry, this sexy man who, apparently, is now single came into your bookstore, and you, who are also now single, talked to him about what?"

Kate pushed up off the sofa and grabbed Lanie's glass as she headed for the kitchen. "He also asked me out, actually."

Lanie flew out of her seat and took off after her. "And this is the lead you bury? You read way too many books not to know what the good details are, Katherine Beckett. The famous author asked you out?"

"He did."

"And what the hell did you say?"

Kate threw her a look like she was crazy for even asking. "Seriously? I said no. Lanie, I talked to the guy for, like, five minutes. He doesn't even know my name. It was just weird."

Lanie's face screamed disbelief as Kate emptied what little remained in the bottle of wine into their glasses. "When was the last time you looked in a mirror, Kate?" she asked to a quizzical brow. "You are a drop-dead gorgeous woman, whether you like to acknowledge it or not, and that means men are going to ask you out-five minutes, five hours, or five days."

"It doesn't even matter. He lives down in the city, anyway."

Lanie, still with phone in hand, began quietly typing, again, clearly on a mission. "You make it sound like it's another country, for crying out loud. Need I remind you the city is only…" She took a pause to flash the evidence she collected. "Fifty-six miles from here. And don't even try to pull that he-could-be-a-serial-killer crap, either." Taking notice of Kate's sneer, she continued with a far gentler tone. "I'm just saying, Kate, at some point, you're going to need to start creating some of your own stories, and as scary as it is not knowing what the ending is going to look like, sometimes things really do work out."

"Okay, fine," Kate agreed, though with audible reservation. "You can set me up one time. One. So you better make it good."

xxxx

Rick spent most of that week following his impromptu afternoon stop in Cornwall listening to archived recordings of Kate's reading nights from the radio station's website. They had six months of them stored and available, hours upon hours of her melodic voice delivering the words of masters, and if not for some worry about what her husband's reaction might be, he surely would've showered Dot with gifts to high heaven for mentioning the weekly event to him in the first place.

He already knew all the stories, of course, had read and studied them before, both in and out of school, but he'd never heard them aloud, filtered through a person who had an undeniable passion for them and their art, and it was almost as though he was experiencing them for the first time.

The loft was quiet with Alexis gone, though his mother was still in town for the next couple of weeks before her own summer jaunt up to Connecticut, and when Friday arrived, Rick had himself planted on his bed, computer in his lap, ready to listen live to Kate's newest installment.

As soon as it began, he felt the smile hit his face, and very few things of late had managed to elicit one of those from him. As she read on about Atticus and Scout, he found himself wondering about Kate and her father, about what sort of relationship they might have, as he often did about people he came into contact with, given his own family circumstance.

"All right, darling, I'm off," Martha said breezing into the room via his office. "And clearly you're not. Bed already, Richard?" She tossed her airy scarf over her shoulder. "It's Friday night. Honestly, you need to get out of this place and have some fun, and are you even listening to me? What is that that is so much more important than your mother?"

"What?" Rick asked her having absorbed nothing of or following her entrance.

Martha's shoulders slumped dramatically. "I'm going out, kiddo," she sighed. "Ice cream's in the freezer."

He didn't flinch. In fact, the only time he moved at all during the entire two-hour show was when he practically dove off the bed to get to his desk for his phone, which he'd left in the other room. It was that part of the evening, those few moments when outsiders had the opportunity to participate-also known on that night as Rick's time to try again.

He dialed the station's number correctly, finally, after two failed attempts brought on by his fumbling haste, and was rewarded with a busy signal for his effort. He recalled the number several times, like a teenager trying to win concert tickets in some on-air contest, until he managed to succeed and get through.

"Oh, hi, hello? Is this Kate's show?"

"You've reached the screener for the show, yes. Do you have a question about tonight for Kate?"

Shit.

He didn't. He didn't actually have a question prepared. Well, certainly not one about what he'd just listened to, so he quickly tried to improvise, and it seemed he had about as much skill at it as his mother.

"I, uh, I do, of course, yes. It's about the book and the, uh, the characters in that book." Rick swore he could hear a snicker that followed, but, frankly, he'd well earned it.

"Okay, well, what's your name? You're going to be up third."

He had no idea why he did it, but, like an idiot, Rick answered "Steven."

"I'm going to put you on hold, Steven. It's just going to be dead air while you wait, so don't hang up thinking I have. The next voice you hear will be Kate's."

Steven and Rick had to come up with something-fast.