Throughout the month of December, she comes by every Saturday, wearing a gorgeous coat and her prettiest smile. She finishes his book in a matter of hours on her couch by the window while he's at his desk across from her, writing what he hopes she would read with the same fervor and dedication. They spend quite a lot of time upstairs, making plans for the coffee shop, sharp minds working as one. Quickly, they settle into an easy and effortless friendship. He says friendship, because he doesn't know exactly what they have; they get closer with each passing week, a morning wave quickly turns into holding hands or looks that last too long to be considered friendly - hands brush, and lips find each other's cheeks on multiple occasions. So, no, he doesn't know what they are, what he knows is that he actually witnessed the darkness that usually loomed in the back of her eyes fade away the minute her feet stepped inside his bookshop. He hasn't asked, didn't want to push too hard and jeopardize what they had.

Perhaps he should have.

It's been four months now...

Four months since he's last seen her bright smile and fierce eyes, four months that her laugh hasn't rung and echoed through the silent shop, too many months since he's last seen her roll her eyes at him, and yet hide a smile behind her hand or with a puckered mouth. He remembers that day she had cast him downstairs when he wouldn't stop messing with her plans. She had pushed him downstairs with a firm finger on his back, pinning him with a stern look until he was sitting at his desk - pouting. He thought she loved it there, he had found in her a partner along the way, and now he feels betrayed. Four months have gone by and not a single text, or call. Four months he's spent staring at the door on Saturday mornings, or waiting for that chime he'd started to associate with her to ring. Buddy, too, had to learn the hard way that she wouldn't be coming back any time soon. The quiet dog had waited by the door every Saturday for hours, either lying down on his belly, muzzle rested on his paws or sat on his haunches, looking expectantly at the door - whining when she never came. Eventually, he stopped waiting for her when a few weeks turned to months, but Castle didn't.

He decides not to open today, and while the sun is bright and warm outside, he hasn't left the loft once. He misses her, the coffee shop will soon be ready now that only the new facade is missing and she is not here. It feels wrong. It was her idea, mostly her plans and a stubborn part of him refuses to launch it without her. She had told him that he should do something special for the opening, a little stand outside with free cookies or pastries, have the dog wear a red bowtie - something joyful and welcoming like him, she'd said.

He doesn't feel joyful, doesn't want to have to fake it.

"Dad! Buddy ate all the grass."

The whiny voice of his daughter chases the vicious thoughts away as she bursts past the door of his office, the dog in tow.

"Did he, now?" He shakes his head at the dog with a small smile as he spots the dog's very green muzzle, his equally green tongue hanging out and dangling on the side as he breathes hard. He does look pretty proud of himself.

"Yes. I told him not to, but he doesn't listen!" Alexis unclasps the leash with a scowl only she can muster, tearing another short laugh out of him. "That can't possibly be good," she adds looking at him, alarmed.

"I'm sure he'll be good, sweetheart." The dog has always had a thing for grass, whenever he's near any, he just has to throw himself in and tear it up.

"Did you stay here? You should go take a walk." He hears the judgement in her voice, but shrugs anyway. He's good here, he's got everything he needs; food, entertainment, a blank page staring at him.

"I don't feel like it." He shrugs, though the girl sees right through him. Her eyes narrowing suspiciously, she clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

"Is it because of Kate?"

His eyes widen the moment the name reaches his ears, and he doesn't know whether it's because she remembers or because it hurts him to hear her name. When has his child become so perceptive? "Ah, no, why?" He feigns not to know what she is talking about, but she is arching an eyebrow at him and crossing her arms over her chest. For an 8 year old, she's pretty damn intuitive.

"Oh I don't know, Dad. Perhaps because you've been sulking for the past few months."

"I have not" He exclaims in a very real outrage, sits straight in his desk chair and huffs. He has not been sulking. It's true that he's been at the loft more than usual, cutting the open hours of the shop to pace around the loft instead. He's been...thinking, that's all.

About sending her the book, signed. A reminder.

Something that would make her come back.

"If you say so. Why don't you call her, then?" She's frowning now, a little crease between her eyebrows that shows just how much his situation is beyond her understanding. She's too young to know what's going on in his head, and he's very glad about that.

"Why doesn't she call me?" It's petty and pitiful all at once, and while he's a bit ashamed of showing that to his daughter, he can't quite control it. It's his heart that he feels straining to pulse harder, but unable to do so, it's his chest that every day feels tighter without her.

She's not impressed, though, and rolls her eyes at him with a "Really, dad?"

He averts his eyes, watches his cursor blink thoughtfully. "She's the one who deserted me, why should I call?"

"Because you miss her," his daughter states. It's hopeful and innocent, sounds so easy from a child's mouth.

Yet, he feels it weigh on his chest, boughs interlacing and weaving a shield around his heart although it's too late.

"Yeah, well, that's not enough," he says mournfully, giving her a small smile as she considers him.

She seems to be thinking deeply, narrows her eyes and shuts her face in that way she does when she's trying to solve a problem. But suddenly, she sighs very dramatically. "You adults are way overdramatic"

He huffs, mumbling. "Am not"

She drops in the chair across from him, gives him a bemused look. "Have you even thought about the possibility that maybe she couldn't?"

Why couldn't she? Wh- oh.

Something snaps into him at that moment, suppressed anger and frustration leaving place to dread, and panic. He's on his feet before he can say a word, his spine stiff under the tension that's seizing him.

"Do you think something happened?!" His heart is pounding now, hard against the wall of his chest as the braided twigs recoil, his heart exposed.

Her head jerks up from where she was looking at the dog lying at her feet, doing a double take. "What? Dad, that's not what I said. I'm sure she's fine."

"But what if she isn't?" he counters, his throat going dry, pulse racing.

She's at the police academy - so many things could go wrong. What if she fell off a climbing wall? What if some brute hit her too hard? What if someone's gun went off-

"Dad, please, calm down."

His mind is reeling, millions of outcomes playing out before his eyes, each and everyone of them terrifying.

He has to know.

"I'm gonna call her." His fingers quickly find her, punching the button call with a sharp jab before bringing it to his ear.

The blippings are daunting, never ending, everlasting. The even tone sets his nerves on fire, his pulse so strong he can feel it drum inside his ears.

He hates it.

"Daaaad-"

He shakes his head. "No, no. You're right, I should have called her, I'm an idiot."

She rolls her eyes, but waits with him.

"So?"

"Nothing," he mutters.

Whatever adrenaline had been pumping through his veins drastically drops, along with his stomach.

Alexis gives him a small smile he doesn't find the strength to return, and walks up to him, hugging his side. "Okay, dad, come on. Let's have lunch out."

The opening day is a success; Alexis is outside wooing every single passerby with her smile and a basket of pastries she baked herself, the bookstore is full - more than he's ever seen it - the orders keep on coming, keeping him busy.

Busy enough to forget that something, someone is missing.

"Here for you, thank you for coming!"

The flow seems to slow down now, although the place is full, everyone is quietly chatting and looking around. He likes it, loves the background noise that's no longer a deafening silence. Now that everyone seems to have received their order, he begins cleaning the coffee machine, putting away empty card boxes when he sees someone entering out of the corner of his eye.

"Hi! I'll be with you in a sec, what will it be?" he mumbles from under the bar as he fumbles with the dozen syrup bottles stocked here.

"A grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla."

His hand instantly freezes around the bottle, everything inside him rousing in a rush of contradictory emotions the moment he hears her voice.

He would know her voice anywhere.

She came back.

He's purposely hiding at this point, he knows he is, but he doesn't know what to do, or say. The too proud and bruised part of him wants to spring up and yell at her for leaving him, but that softer side of him that she brings out just wants to hug her and never let go, bury his nose into her cherry blossom-scented hair.

He does neither.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and stands, starts the coffee machine without a single look in her direction. He wants to; see if her hair grew out, or if she cut it, what she's wearing now that it is warmer, the look in her eyes. But the ball in his throat is too heavy, and his chest too tight and he's- he resents her.

"You've got yourself a real charmer. No wonder this place is full."

Her voice is soft, careful even.

Starting the creamer, he nods. "Yeah, uh, that's my daughter."

"Mm, she's beautiful," she says laying a hand on the counter. "Looks like it's going well."

It is, and she did this.

He gently pours the cream in, shuts his thoughts away for the moment, because if he's a little mad, he can't help wanting to see that smile she gives him when he draws random patterns in her latte.

He missed it.

"Tell me about it, I never thought it would be so much work" he says around a short huff, laying the steaming mug before her, eyes meeting at last.

They stare at each other, searching for answers or forgiveness.

"Hey, uh. Do you think we could talk, somewhere?"

He blinks, taking a closer look at her as she bites into her lip, her eyes hard and almost imploring, but shy - a hint of insecurity hiding in the green.

She's just as beautiful as he remembers; her hair is a bit longer, though not by much and lighter, too. The royal blue top makes her eyes look so green in the dim light, he can't help but stare again.

Talk - they probably should.

"Can you wait? I've got my hands full here, I just need another ten-"

"No, no, of course. I'll wait, don't worry about me."

He nods shortly, giving her a small smile because she'll wait.

She looks into her mug, and cradles it into her hands. "Thanks," she says with a shy smile that she traps between her lips as she walks away.

Because this time, he drew her a heart.

She feels his eyes on her from the stairs.

He seems to pause, though, doesn't move as if he would trip if he took another step, doesn't say anything either. He's been quiet and distant ever since she showed up, and while she can't say that she's surprised - still - it throws her off. She doesn't know how to talk to him, remembers the quiet but devastating anger in his eyes the day they had first met when she had mistaken him for someone else and lied. It's not exactly the same, he's not pushing her away.

This time, he's the one distancing himself.

She didn't think her being gone would change so much. Didn't think he would care so much. But he does, and he's hurt, she saw- sees that.

Seems like apologizing to him is all she knows how to do - now that the damage has been done.

Even the damn dog hasn't come near her, yet. He saw her, heard her call him, but hasn't done so much but throw her pitiful looks as if to say, you abandoned me.

Surprisingly, that hurts, too.

When Rick finally gets to her, she sits and watches him shift and look around as if he doesn't know what to do. He's never seemed so uncomfortable around her, and her heart climbs in her throat. Still, she tries a smile and pats the cushion next to her in invitation. His eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise as he seems to weigh his options. At this point, she expects him to stay right where he is, but he surprises her and comes closer, sits next to her at a reasonable distance.

He still won't really look at her, his eyes on his daughter and dog playing outside.

She still has this small floating heart-shaped cloud in mind.

"I'm sorry I disappeared on you," she says her eyes on the side of his face. She really is sorry. She missed him, missed the feelings he so easily ignites in her. She hadn't wanted to stay away, had almost ran back to him many times, when she needed his voice in her ear, his hand on her back. "I know I told you I would help you here, but something came up." He doesn't shift, holds himself still and stiff.

She owes him an explanation. "My dad, I had to send him to rehab," she croaks, staring at her thighs as she thinks back on the last few months. It had probably been the hardest few months she's had since her mother's death, and while she'd rather not talk about it - she knows he needs it.

His fingers twitch at her admission, his face angles slightly toward her - he's listening.

"It was a tough decision, but I had to." She can hear the tremor in her voice, and by the way his pinky curls and brushes her thigh, he does, too. It's a small gesture, but it's everything she didn't know she needed. "All this time, I was taking care of him, but I realized it was not enough." She has no control over the moisture that pools in her eyes, can only blink to keep them at bay, and when she looks up, he's watching her with serious, pained eyes. They stroke her face slowly, and while he remains silent, his hand searches for hers and holds it firmly - anchoring her.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.

The corner of her lips lift in a small curve as she stares at him. "But that's not all." Her smile widens when his eyes focus on hers, his smile mirroring hers in a way she doesn't think he's aware of. "I'll graduate from the Academy next month, and I've already been assigned to the NYPD."

His lips stretch into a wide smile, blue eyes sparkling in a firework. "Really? Kate, I-" He doesn't finish just yet, just stares at her in wonder while one of his hands rise and a finger touches her jaw. It's not a caress, barely a touch at all as if he doesn't exactly know what to do, as if he just needs to touch her, and her heart jumps. "That's amazing."

I'm proud of you.

He doesn't say it, but she can read it all in his eyes.

She nods eagerly, his excitement fueling her own. "Will you…" His eyebrows arch up as she bites into her lip. "Will you come?"

She didn't ask anyone else. Hell, there's no one she wants there more than him. Her dad hates that she chose the police academy, and would be in no condition anyway, but Rick. She knows he'd be there, sitting in his assigned seat and looking at her with sparkling blue eyes and a wide smile. Would probably clap too loud, and embarrass her, too.

"Where?"

"My graduation?" She doesn't mean for it to sound like a question, but she doesn't know where they stand now. He still hasn't said much, had barely moved at all, and perhaps he wants nothing to do with-

Her train of thought is halted by a hand cupping her shoulder as he draws her into his side. She stiffens unintentionally, but his smell quickly relaxes her muscles, makes her heart race as his chin dips into her hair. She can almost feel him smile. "Of course I will. Tell you what, why don't you come have dinner with us at the loft tonight? We'll have an early celebration."

He pushes her back just so he can see her face as she gapes at him, wonders if she just made it all up, or if he really invited her over to his place. She prays her heart to stop pounding so hard, and for her head to stop turning it into something it is not.

They're just friends. 'Celebrate', he said.

"Sure." It's out before she can think about it, because if she does, she knows she will freak. She already deserted him for months, the least she can do is have dinner with him.

"Oh, and," she says taking his book in her hands, "Thank you for sending me this." She received it two months ago, at the Academy, and while she didn't really like receiving mail there, it'd been worth every suspicious look.

It's signed.

With a strangely personal note, which leads her to ask. "So, you do know him."

The curve on his lips is almost cheeky, his eyes laughing and teasing all at once. "I'll tell you all you need to know tonight."

And just like that, she knows they'll be alright.

Thoughts?

As usual, thank you for your kinds words x