Dear Beckett,

I'm drinking coffee again, and it only just happened this morning. The aroma surrounded me and I could almost taste the strong bitterness of it on my tongue, even though the coffee grinds were still tucked away in the kitchen cabinet-it still woke me up, though. I guess it was my body's way of telling me to get over it, that I can't live each day angry with you. I shouldn't let the anger I feel towards you, influence my feelings towards everything that reminds me of you-I needed to separate you from everything.

It's that simple. Coffee reminds me of you, and that's something that should make me smile, and not make coffee feel like pure acid hitting my stomach. Life doesn't go according to plan, and I've learned to live with that (I still struggle with it; we're only human). I can exist. I can exist with the anger, with the hurt, and with the feeling that I could've done more. And now the taste of coffee doesn't churn my stomach.

I'm smiling while writing this because I'm trying to figure out when coffee became our thing, but the problem is, is that I can't think of a time when it wasn't. I guess you could call it a ritual of sorts...starting the day off with a Kate Beckett smile, or the less sappy version would be that coffee is a precaution. A contingency plan if you will, to start the day off right. To increase the likelihood of getting through it, without you pulling out your gun and shooting me. The act became ingrained in me: make sure Beckett gets her coffee; it will make her happy. And if an act as simple as being the culprit that aids in your caffeine addiction, puts a smile on your face, I will be there every day-multiple times a day if necessary-even if that's all you will...would let me do at the time (hopefully I can be more, one day).

So I got out of bed and went straight for the coffee beans. I leaned against the counter and waited as the brewed coffee dripped down into the pot. And at the same time I let my mind wander, and surprisingly enough, it didn't go straight to asking the universe why you're leaving me in the dark, but instead I found myself debating over whether you're a morning or night person. On your days off do you brew your own coffee or go pick some up at a coffee shop? This was just the start of my many ponderings.

I then looked out into my family room and I could picture you sitting on my couch in your pajamas, holding a full, still hot mug of coffee. I could see you were concentrating on whatever you were reading in the paper, watched as you knitted your eyebrows, creating small lines on your forehead. My eyes were then drawn to your lips and how you always seem to drag your teeth across your bottom lip, sometimes resting them there.

God, your lips, Kate. I still think about the night we kissed. At first you were hesitant, but then you were so willing under my hands, so open under my mouth. I'll never forget your taste, or the feeling of running my hands across your face and into your hair, or how you sucked on my bottom lip. And that moan...I will spend the rest of my life thinking up new ways to drag out many more moans from you (if/when the time comes, of course). I can sometimes close my eyes and feel your fingers on my skin, the electricity they created...it shot through my entire system, my mind completely focused on your body's response to me, memorizing it...memorizing the feeling. Because at the time I didn't know when such a unforgettable moment in time, would ever happen again.

And then I found myself speculating about the times where we could just enjoy each other's company, where little words are exchanged between us. The only form of communication would be the slight hitch in our breathing as our fingers lightly dance across one another's skin. I can see myself not even caring what we're watching on the TV, I can't imagine that I would be able to focus on anything else, but how my hands ghost over your skin, or how your body might tense when I hit a certain spot in my exploration. And I would be so content doing just that, Kate, tracing patterns on your skin or watching you wake up from a restful night's sleep, enraptured by how awareness slowly seeps back into your eyes.

I sometimes muse on what "sleepy" you is like. Are you a snuggler? Would you we fall asleep in each other's arms? Would you like it if I woke you up with a kiss on your neck, nose buried in your hair? Or even better, would you do the same to me? And I'm fine with these questions, Kate. I don't mind wondering, I don't mind the uncertainty, and I don't mind creating these scenarios in my head (it's what I do best). I like to think it keeps the hope in me flickering because there's no way that what I feel towards you is nothing. This is different, it isn't a phase or something that will fade away with time. Many days or over a year from now, Kate, I need to stay hopeful. I need to believe that whatever your feelings are towards me, hopefully there will come a day where you'll tell me that they amount to what I feel towards you. I'm a man who's hopelessly in love with you, a man who's also frustrated and angry with you, and right now I haven't the faintest idea of what to do about it.

I'm not a foolish man, Kate. I know things don't go according to plan. I know that for some reason I've fallen in love with you and nothing could ever come of it, but I don't have a choice in the matter. I have to learn to live with it...I'm starting to learn to live with it for now.

I know I must have written this before, but you're a part of me, Kate. I carry you with me.

Cheers to many more coffees,

Castle


A/N: This story might be winding down soon...maybe a chapter or two left. Thank you all for reading and any thoughts are always appreciated. I also apologize for any grammatical errors, my second eyes wasn't able to read over it in time and I wanted to give this to you all today. :)