There's a bouquet of flowers waiting outside of her apartment when she returns home from work on Monday. All of them yellow and orange: daffodils, lilies, and something that might be marigolds. She spots the little white card nestled down amongst all of the color and plucks it from its plastic holder. Just a little something to brighten your day.
There's no name signed, but after all of these years she still recognizes his handwriting. She isn't sure if he meant to sign it and was too rushed to do so or if he was trying to leave it as an open ended mystery. Either way, she finds herself shaking her head as she bends to scoop them up and bring them inside.
Kate places the bouquet in the center of the table in front of her couch, the card still pinched between her fingers. She should call him, thank him for the flowers. But then she realizes that she doesn't have his number. He probably did that on purpose so she would have to go find him in person. Sneaky bastard.
Sighing, she tosses the card onto the table and grabs her keys on the way back out the door. Kate steps into the waiting elevator and presses the button that will take her to the top floor. As she makes her way off the elevator and towards his door, she starts to wonder if he's even home right now. She looks down at her dad's watch. It's a quarter past six. They're probably just sitting down to dinner. She should come back.
Kate starts to turn back toward the elevator when she hears the door open behind her.
"Katherine?"
She spins back around, forcing a smile onto her face. "Hi, Martha. I was just coming to thank Rick for some flowers he bought me, but then I realized what time it was and figured you were probably eating dinner."
"Oh nonsense, go on in. He's still cooking, but he certainly won't mind seeing you," Martha tells her, ushering her toward the door.
"Uh, where are you headed?"
"To go pick up a bottle of wine from the corner store down the street. All we have is red and what Richard is making calls for white."
Kate laughs. "And he's making you go get it?"
Martha purses her lips and shakes her head. "I volunteered. He said he'd be fine with red, but I for one, am not."
"You always did have sophisticated taste."
Martha pats her on the shoulder and pushes open the loft door. "Go on in, dear. I'll be back shortly."
Kate steps inside as Martha closes the door behind her.
"All right, Mother. What'd you forget?" Rick calls from the kitchen.
"Nope. Guess again."
There's a brief pause where she only hears the sound of sizzling. "Kate?"
"Present," she hums, stepping around the corner so he can see her.
He stares at her confused. "How did you get in?"
"Picked the lock."
Rick narrows his eyes at her and she smiles.
"I ran into Martha as I was getting off the elevator."
He nods, heading back over to the stove.
"So what brings you up here?" he asks. "Need to do laundry again already? Smell my delicious cooking from all the way downstairs?"
"I wanted to thank you for the flowers. I would have just called, but you never gave me your number."
"Why do you assume these flowers are from me? You could have a secret admirer. Or a stalker."
She laughs. "I recognized your handwriting."
"Damn, I knew I should have had the florist write the card."
Kate slips into one of the high top chairs positioned along the kitchen counter. "Why all of the secrecy?"
"Can't a guy want a little mystery in his life?"
"You write mystery novels for a living."
He huffs at that, busying himself with some spices.
"How's that going, by the way?" Kate asks, toying with the edge of a newspaper sitting on the counter. "What's Derrick's next big adventure going to be?"
He's quiet as he continues cooking.
"Rick?" she presses.
"I'm thinking about killing him off," he answers at last.
She blanches. "What? No. You can't do that. Why would you do that?"
He shrugs, his back still to her, as he turns down the heat on the stove. "I'm bored."
"Bored with what?" she asks, still not quite getting it.
"With writing Derrick Storm. I just...I feel like I've told all of his story that I have to tell."
"But people love him. I love him. They're already going to be upset that you're ending the series, but to kill him off? They'll go mad. You sure you want to open that can of worms?"
"Is it bad to say that I'm amused by it? To toy with people's emotions, it's half the fun of being a writer. To kill off a character and have people turn around and hate you for it; it's means I'm doing my job right. I got people to connect at an emotional level with a fictional character. And now I want him to go out with a bang."
"You plan to blow him up?" Kate asks.
Rick laughs, enjoying her distress over this a little too much. "Just a figure of speech, Kate. I haven't decided how I want to do it yet."
"Well, what are you going to do after you kill him off?"
He shrugs, moving over to the fridge. "No clue. Maybe take a break, do some traveling, see where inspiration hits me."
Rick moves back to the counter, watching her slump down in her chair.
"He's not even real, Kate," he smirks.
She's knows that. Of course she does. But…oh. He doesn't know how much his books have done for her. About how she clung to them after her mother died, that one piece of him, that one piece of her past keeping her tethered. He doesn't know.
So he glares at him, choosing to take this another route. Not wanting to get into another argument about her mother and her case. "Says the man who still cries when Mufasa dies in The Lion King."
"Okay, Alexis should not have told you that."
"It's a cartoon lion, Rick," she teases. "I'm allowed to be upset about Derrick if you can care so deeply about an animated movie."
"I never said you weren't allowed," he counters. "I created him after all. I want people to care."
Kate inhales a deep breath, taking in the scents wafting around, and in return her stomach grumbles rather loudly.
Rick laughs. "I take it you haven't eaten dinner yet. Want to stay?"
She shakes her head, pushing herself out of the chair. "No, I have some leftovers in my fridge I need to eat before they go bad."
"Oh come on, waiting one more day to eat them won't cause them to mold over. You're here; eat with us."
"No, Rick, I don't want to impose. I already crashed your dinner on Saturday."
"It's not crashing. My family likes you. I like you."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "What are your plans here exactly? Buying me flowers, feeding me food?"
"No plans. You're hungry. I have food."
"And the flowers?"
He hums. "Think of them as an apology for what I'm going to do to Derrick Storm."
"Rick –"
"Honestly, Kate. This is just me being friendly."
She narrows her eyes at him. "You never bought me flowers when were dating."
He laughs, pulling plates down from the cupboard. "I was broke back then."
"Well if that's your excuse, you have a lot to make up for," Kate smirks.
"Don't worry. You'll be able to open your own floral shop by the end of the week."
She groans, trying to figure out where she could even display more extravagant bouquets.
"Or," Rick starts, bringing four plates to the table. "You could spare both of us seasonal allergy problems and just stay for dinner."
"You just don't give up, do you?"
"No. But I know you're more stubborn than I am, so if those leftovers are really calling your name you can go home and I'll see you later."
Wordlessly, she pulls out a chair at the dining room table and sits down, keeping her eyes trained on his. He nods and starts bringing the food out to the table and calls up to Alexis that dinner is ready.
"You should know that I'm only staying because I have a thing or two more to say about you killing off Derrick."
He smiles, sitting a wine glass down in front of her. "I should have known that conversation was far from over."
After dinner, he leads her into his office and she's taken aback about the amount of books lining his shelves. Honestly, she shouldn't be surprised. He's always loved books; read everything he could get his hands on.
"Were you being serious on Saturday when you said that you've read all of my books?" he asks, watching as she runs her fingers across the spines.
"Yep, every one." Her lips curl into a smile when she finds the book she bought him from a thrift store their senior year. Something that had looked like a mystery novel to her, but had ended up as a romance novel complete with descriptive sex scenes. He used to read them out loud to her, teasing her that this was the kind of relationship she wanted since she had subconsciously picked it out. "I can't believe you still have this."
"Midnight Sky?" he asks, sidling up beside her. "How could I ever get rid of that gem?"
Kate shakes her head, pulling it off the shelf and thumbing through it, finding their favorite sex scene still dog-eared.
"Did we actually think this was well written?" she asks, her eyes skimming over the words.
"We were young," Rick shrugs. "Now can we go back to you reading my books?"
She smiles, slipping the paperback back into its spot on the shelf. "Why are you so intrigued by that? I read what you wrote in high school, and you've come a long way since then."
He shrugs again. "I guess I just assumed with the way we left things…"
"You know, when I read Derrick Storm, I picture him as being you. I hear your voice so clearly in it. More than I did in Hail of Bullets or any of the others. I think that's why I like it so much. It's kept me close to you."
"You wanted to stay close to me?" he asks, the faintest of smiles spreading across his lips.
This time it's her turn to shrug. "You just remind me of happier times. Back before my whole life turned upside down. And you never really forget your first love, even if you met them back on the playground."
Rick nods. "The swings. You were swinging really high. A lot higher than the rest of your friends and I remember thinking that you were some sort of dare devil so you must be cool."
Kate smiles at the memory, shaking her head.
"Hey, you don't need Derrick Storm to hold on to me anymore."
"Are we –" she starts, but trails off, the rest of the thought getting caught in her throat.
"Are we what?" he presses.
"I just admitted to still having thought about you after all this time. Did you ever think about me?"
He nods, reaching for her hand and letting his eyes meet hers in the lamplight.
"I told you. You're the one that got away."
She squeezes his hand in response.
"Do you remember the last time we kissed?" Rick asks softly.
"It's when we were breaking up, wasn't it?" Kate asks, scrunching up her nose.
"Yeah. I cheesily told you I needed one more kiss to remember the taste of you or something like that. I just wasn't ready to say goodbye yet."
"And do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Remember the taste of me?"
He brings the hand up that isn't holding hers and runs it across her lips. "I like to think that I do."
"Are we really considering doing this, us, again?"
"Kate, just stop talking."
He bends his head and captures her lips with his. Her eyes slip closed and she kisses him back. He's familiar. A good familiar. He tastes like their dinner and the red wine he insisted on drinking anyway out of his own stubbornness. But beyond that it's just like she remembered. Only now he's a better kisser, they both are. Experience with age all of that.
Rick pulls her closer, his arms banding her waist until her hips are pressed into his. He keeps one arm there and the other brushes over her cheek before tangling into her hair. She's the one to deepen the kiss, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip until their tongues meet. Her hands lace at the nape of his neck, scraping at his tuft of hair there.
He starts walking her backwards, and when her back connects with a wall, she breaks the kiss. She half expects him to protest, but he only brings both hands up to cup her face and smiles down at her.
"Yeah," he starts. "I remember how you taste."