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He's moping.
He's moping like a little child and it's all her fault. It's been a whole week since he so carefully punched out his details into her phone, checking, double checking and triple checking that he's got the number right. When he handed the phone back to her, all he got in reply was a playful smirk and a 'See ya later' before she disappeared out of the store and into the hustle and bustle of New York City.
A whole seven days has passed since then and he hasn't heard anything from her. He wants to hit his head repeatedly against a wall most days when he realises he's acting like a love sick teenager but he really can't help it. He's Google searched her and found out she's some sort of hot shot Detective with the 12th precinct with the highest case closure rate in the last two years. So she's got beauty and brains. He's even gone and looked up the number of the 12th precinct but every time he picks up the phone to call the precinct, he chickens out.
Coward.
So here he is a week later, staring into an almost empty coffee cup, about to give up on ever seeing the enigma that was Kate Beckett ever again. Maybe she came to her senses. Maybe she found out who he was, looked up all the articles on Page Six about his (overly exaggerated) philandering, playboy lifestyle and decided she doesn't want to waste her time on him.
It's quite likely, he supposes. And he's only got himself to blame. He readily agrees to whatever his publicist sets up for him, a different girl on each arm for every event, not minding the publicity at all – not when it means he'll be able to get generate some talk about his books. He's no saint, definitely not, but his dalliances with the fairer sex are actually way fewer and far between what the papers suggest.
He groans into his coffee, picking it up and downing the rest of it quickly. He needs to get out of this funk. He needs to start writing again. He's got so many pages written about her, paragraphs and paragraphs of words that came so easily to him after their first two meetings. He was on such a roll before and now he's stuck. He can't keep making things up about her, not when he's so desperate to know the real her. He wants to know more, wants to delve deep into her story –
It's ringing.
His phone is actually ringing.
The screen lights up, the words 'Unknown Caller' flashing enticingly at him. He knows it could be anyone. He knows that it's silly to automatically assume it's her – especially since it's been so long, but he dares to hope anyway. He slides his finger across the screen and brings his phone to his ear.
"Hello, this is Rick."
The voice that comes through the other end of the speaker is music to his ears and sends his heart into overdrive.
"Um, hi, Rick. It's Beckett. Kate. Kate Beckett," she stumbles over her greeting and he finds it adorable. "From the … um store?"
He doesn't need the reminder. He's grinning so widely his cheeks hurt. His heart's beating erratically beneath his chest and he tries his best to stay calm as he speaks to her. "Sure, Kate. Hi, what can I do for you?"
"I know this is pretty out of the blue," she starts. "But I was hoping if you could help me out."
If he'll help her out? Dear lord, even if she wanted his help to kidnap the Prime Minister of Timbuktu, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He schools his excitement, hoping his voice doesn't betray the crazy cartwheels his heart is doing underneath his shirt. "I'll do my best, Detective. I'll do my very best. What can I help you with?"
"Okay, great. So my annoying little phone – the same one, it's been refitted and upgraded with the latest law enforcement type applications. Over the air BOLO requests, DNA and fingerprint matching type things – I won't bore you with the specifics. Only problem is I think these apps are kinda messing up the rest of my phone? Nothing else works, I can call and text but no other applications are working."
Castle takes in the information, slightly puzzled and a little disappointed. Did she only want help with her phone? His previous excitement dies a little, reality crashing down on him as he realises that maybe she did only just call to ask for help with her phone.
"Y'know I don't actually work with Eddy, right?" He says a little tersely and almost immediately cringes at his own tone. She didn't deserve that. He clears his throat and backpedals. "I mean, I'm happy to help, but Eddy and his boys are the professionals when it comes to these sort of things."
He hears her chuckle and despite his disappointment, he's smiling at the sound. She really did have a lovely voice.
"Sure, I know Eddy's the professional. But it's your number that's in my phone and you don't seem completely clueless when it comes to this sort of thing. Thought I'd come to you first, maybe you'll have some magic rice fix for me again. Save me the travel time."
"I guess I should be honoured then, Detective. Being the first one you call in such dire times," he's teasing her, and it elicits a tinkle of laughter from her. He's a goner. He's not sure if she's flirting with him, not sure if she's just being nice, for all he knows she's really just after some tech advice – but he's damn well going to try to see if he can meet her again.
"So you'll help me?"
"Anything for you, Detective Kate Beckett," he makes it a point to say her full name, wants her to know that he really remembers her, every single thing about her. He's probably laying it on a little thick, but he'll do anything to see her again. "I'll need to actually work with the phone though. Can't do anything without seeing it in front of me."
"That's fine. I can meet you this afternoon? Maybe around three? There's a café near the precinct that does really good coffee," she hesitates for a beat and then clears her throat. "If you're not busy, that is."
Castle blinks dumbly into space, letting her words sink in.
Coffee? Wait.
Did she just –
"Um, Rick? You there?" Concern laces her voice this time and Castle shakes himself out of his reverie.
"I'm here, I'm here. No, yes, I mean no, I'm not busy. Coffee sounds good. Sounds … precinct. I mean, perfect. Sounds perfect," he finally manages.
Idiot. You stupid idiot. He mentally berates himself for being such a moron. He sounds like an inexperienced teenager and completely and utterly stupid.
He hears her laugh again on the other end, undoubtedly amused at his inability to be cool. He expects her to call him out on it, maybe torment him a little longer – but he's wrong. She pretends he's said nothing out of the ordinary, although there's a hint of mirth and a slight lilt in her voice when she speaks next.
"Okay then, Rick. I'll see you at three. Café's just around the corner of the twelfth precinct. See you soon!"
He barely gets a chance to wish her a good bye and she hangs up, the steady dial tone ringing in his ear before he can register that she's no longer on the other end. Castle stares at the phone in his hand, a little bewildered at the entire exchange.
He's able to reflect on their conversation, able to sift through the bizarreness slowly and logically now that she's no longer taunting him with her sultry voice. He swears she's flirting with him – she'd asked for his number after all – but then she doesn't call him for a week and when she does it's for tech help?
Kate Beckett is such a mystery.
He grins at the thought.
He absolutely loves mysteries.