Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

Castle gets a piece of paper and begins to scribble down ideas for his chart while Kate does some exercises, insisting that this particular workout is one that she can do on her own. Even from the porch he can hear the occasional "son of a bitch" or "how many more?" coming from her room, and twice he gets up from his rocking chair to make sure that she's all right, but thinks better of it. When "I cannot fucking believe how much this hurts" reaches him, he has to do something. With uncustomary resolve, he continues to leave her alone, but does go inside to make a pitcher of fresh lemonade. By the time she emerges, pale beneath her flushed skin, it's ready. She's dressed in a faded blue tee shirt now, Rosie the Riveter apparently consigned to the hamper, but she still hasn't put any pants on. Thank you, God.

"Thought you could use this," he says, raising a glass that he has topped with mint from a pot by the back door. "Want to sit out here for a little bit?"

"Sounds nice. Thanks," she says, easing into the other rocker. They sit in the shade, chatting off and on about relatively safe topics—books, movies—both sharply aware of their new, still-fragile peace. He fills the interstices with unvoiced thoughts of them doing this for the rest of their lives, here, in the Hamptons, watching their kids run around on the grass with sparklers. He hopes she's not reading his mind, the way she apparently had been earlier when he was in bird mode. When he sees her eyes close, he tiptoes to his car to get his computer bag.

What a nitwit, he says to himself. You remembered this but not any clothes? Still, he's ecstatic that he has it because his brain is buzzing about his chart and he's itching to get to work. He sits down at the table, opens his laptop, and creates a new file. There's no wifi here, but he doesn't need it, not yet: he starts typing, stopping and starting and stopping, deleting, chuckling, frowning, fist-pumping. "Got it!" he whispers jubilantly. "Twenty-one!" After peeking out the window to see if Kate is still snoozing—she is—he checks the time and is stunned to see that he's been at this for an hour. He hasn't nailed down every detail, but he has the bulk of what he wants, and he smiles as he stretches. He hasn't been this excited about making something since he and Alexis did the baking-soda volcano when she was in elementary school. Huh, volcano. That was the project that had led to his mastering chocolate lava cake. His stomach grumbles at the memory: maybe he should make one for Kate, put a few ounces on her.

His dessert reverie is interrupted by the sound of the screen door closing. "Hey. Was I out long?"

"A while," he says vaguely, pulling down the lid of his laptop. "You hungry?"

"A little."

"We missed lunch. Those omelets were really late breakfast. Are you in the mood for chocolate lava cake?"

"Whoa, that's specific. What brought that on? Is there one lying around here somewhere?"

He'd just as soon not reveal the chain of thought that ended with the cake, so he answers only her second question. "There could be. I can make one in half an hour if you have the ingredients."

"Like what, besides chocolate? I doubt it. My baking expertise is pretty much limited to those slice-and-bake refrigerator cookies, which I usually eat after the slice part. You know, right from the tube. No oven required."

Castle is horrified. "You're kidding. You do that?"

"Says the man who squirts fake whipped cream from an aerosol can straight into his mouth."

He waves away her remark. "How far away is the nearest town? I know there is one, but it was dark when I was driving up, so I couldn't really tell much. And by town I mean one with an actual supermarket and other amenities."

"It's about ten miles. Williams. And yes, it has an actual supermarket. Also running water and electricity."

"So, at least a two-horsepower town, then?"

That makes her laugh. "Yes. There's a post office, a liquor store, a little all-kinds-of-unfashionable-clothing store, pharmacy."

"How about a computer store?"

Sweeping her arm in the direction of his Mac, she says, "Seems you already have a computer, Castle. Doubt they have an upgrade on that one, since it's probably about five days old. Even if there were a computer store, which there isn't."

"I just need to print something out. Oh, and go online for a few minutes."

"The library, you can do that in the library." When she notes how surprised he is she adds, "The Library Services and Technology Act. Thanks to it, little libraries in little towns like this all across the US of A are wired. Sea to shining sea. Mountains to the prairies."

"That's sort of a mixed metaphor, Beckett. You're quoting two different songs. Both patriotic, but not the same." Oh, not smart. She's glaring. "Sorry, I didn't mean. I wasn't—are you making fun of me?"

She shakes her head. "You really need to get out more, Castle." And then a laugh bubbles out of her. "You are so easy."

"Keep that up," he says with a sniff, "and you'll get no chocolate lava cake. Which, you should know, is one of my specialities."

"Sending me to bed without my supper, then?"

He gives her such a look. "Sending you to bed without me, anyway."

"Line, Rick. Line."

Oh, she might be reading his mind again. Line. It's why he needs to get to a place with wifi. "If I make you a little snack right now, will it hold you until dinner? I want to go into town, hit that vaunted library of yours for a couple of minutes."

"I can make myself a snack."

"Which will be half an olive and one potato chip. No way. One of my jobs over the next three weeks is to make sure that you're properly nourished."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she grumbles.

"You've moved on to the Beatles, I see. Good song," he says over his shoulder, as he opens the fridge and takes out the ingredients for a small blueberry smoothie. Two minutes later he gives it to her. "Now drink this, please, and give me the instructions for getting to Williams."

"Turn right at the end of the driveway, go half a mile, turn left on to Farm Road Seventy-Eight—""

"You're kidding. There's a street called Farm Road Seventy-Eight?"

"Yes, and you might be banished there for all eternity if you don't wipe that smirk off your face. Just listen to the instructions."

Castle nods and attempts, not entirely successfully, a look of remorse.

"Follow it—you paying attention?" He nods again. "Follow the road with the name you seem to find so hilarious until it comes to a fork. Take the left one, which is Croft Street, straight into town. Now go and let me drink my smoothie."

He clears his throat and holds up one finger.

"What?"

He waves his finger.

"One?"

He nods enthusiastically.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of dragging this out, she stops to try to share his brain, a trick she's gotten fairly good at. "One hour," she says. "You'll be back in one hour." She can almost feel his grin. Bingo!

"Right! Back in an hour, Beckett." On the way out, he remembers to grab his wrinkled, coffee-scented tee shirt and pull it on.

It takes eighteen minutes to get to Williams, and another minute to find the library. He's smitten the instant he sees the wood-shingled, one-story building, its windows framed by green shutters. The kind that actually shut. WILLIAMS LIBRARY. ESTD. 1887 it says over the sturdy front door, which is propped open to let in the late-afternoon breeze. The interior is split into two rooms, both crammed with bookshelves that run almost to the ceiling.

"Hello," he says to the librarian—he assumes she's the librarian—a no-nonsense type in a flowered blouse and blue skirt. She's roughly his mother's age, but all resemblance ends there.

"Hello, Mister Castle. It is Mister Castle, isn't it?"

"Wow. Yes, it is. I am. I'm afraid you have the advantage, Ms.—?"

"Cooper. Susanna Cooper. May I help you?"

He's definitely out of his depth here in rural America. "I was hoping to use your computer? I mean printer? I brought my own. Computer that is, not printer. It's just a short document and I'm sure there's a fee which of course I am happy to pay. Delighted. Whatever it is. Cash? I should pay cash, right?"

"Cash is fine, Mister Castle."

"Rick, I'm Rick. Please."

"Rick. Thank you. And it's fifteen cents a page." She points to the corner just behind and to the left of him. "The computer station is right over there. You'll find everything you need, I trust. If not, just holler."

"Right. Will do. Thank you. Um, I have to look up one or two few things first, to add to my document, so I'll just avail myself of your wifi, too, if that's all right. I'll use my own laptop. Won't monopolize your computer."

She fixes him with a look that would rival any of Beckett's. Maybe there's something in the water up here. "I wouldn't worry about that. There's no horde of Visigoths waiting to use it."

"Good," he says weakly. "Good. I'll get started then. Be out of your hair in no time."

"My hair can take it, Mister Castle. Rick." And with that she returns to her book.

A quarter of an hour later he has finished his research, completed his chart, and printed out three copies. He walks to the librarian's desk and holds up his papers. "I made some extras. Can't be too careful. So, six pages, ninety cents?"

"Correct."

He opens his wallet and hands her a twenty-dollar bill.

"Afraid I don't have enough change for that. Have you nothing smaller?"

"No, I'm so sorry. I came up here in a hurry, and. Sorry. Why don't you just keep the change? A small contribution to this wonderful library."

"Really? That's very kind. We can use all the help we can get." She opens the top drawer of the desk and slides the twenty into it. "I'll put this in the bank at the end of the week."

"Mind if I look around, Ms. Cooper?"

"Not at all. Nineteen dollars and ten cents buys you as long a look as you'd like."

He chuckles. He likes her. Sometime later he's deep into a collection of Eudora Welty short stories when Susanna Cooper taps him on the shoulder.

"Sorry to disturb you, especially since you're reading one of my favorite books, but I'm afraid it's closing time. Would you like to check that out? Borrow it?"

"Oh, no, I don't have a card."

"I'm sure you're trustworthy. I can just put it on Jim Beckett's card. If you don't return it, I'll send him after you."

"Jim?"

"You are staying at the Becketts' place, aren't you?"

"I've heard that news travels fast in small towns, but how did you know? I got here only this morning."

She smiles. "I didn't learn it from the jungle drums. Just assumed, which is a bad habit of mine."

"May I ask how? How you, er,"

"Knew? First, I recognized you from your books. Second, I know that you work with Katie. Third, I'm aware that she's recuperating here. It's not hard to connect the dots when there are only three of them. Now, would you like to take that book with you? If so, be sure to read 'Why I Live at the P.O.' It's in that collection and for my money it's the best American short story of the twentieth century."

"I wouldn't disagree."

"I'm preaching to the choir, then."

"I guess you are. Um, I hope, well—this is shameless of me, but you recognized me from my books?"

"You're no Eudora Welty, but I've read and thoroughly enjoyed your books. We have all the Derrick Storm ones here. Very popular."

He feels as if he's just won the Nobel Prize, even if Susanna Cooper doesn't put him on the top shelf with Eudora Welty. He wouldn't, either. "I'm flattered, thank you. But no Nikki Heat? You don't have Heat Wave?"

"We do not. It's our Katie. Page one oh five was kind of the talk of the town, as you might imagine. I thought that she'd be embarrassed if we had a circulating copy here. Her father, too."

He's the one who's embarrassed now, feels as if he's let down the Beckett family as well as the librarian whom he'd just met. He touches her elbow. "You know it's not her, right? Kate isn't Nikki. It's just my imagination. She's been so helpful to me, but it's her work that interests me, the police work. Detective work." Geez, he's lying to a librarian. It's as bad as lying to a priest. But so help him, what he's even more interested in is undercover work with Kate. Maybe in 22 days.

"I understand," he says, and means it. "I will borrow the Welty book, and I pledge to return it. I'm going to be here for a while, keeping Kate company."

"Mmhmm," Susanna Cooper says.

"I've another favor to ask. Could you tell me where the clothing store is? I need to pick up a couple of things since I underpacked." He's telling another lie. He could go straight to hell. "Truthfully"—atta boy, he tells himself—I didn't pack anything at all."

She smiles indulgently. "Right across the street, four doors down. It's Harry Meets Sally."

"Really? That's the name of it?"

"What can I tell you? The owners love the movie. It came out a couple of months before they opened the store. At least they didn't call it I'll Have What She's Having."

Castle quickly reassesses Susanna Cooper. She's more like his mother than he'd thought. He looks at her, she looks at him, and they both crack up.

"Good night, Rick."

"Good night, Susanna. And thank you."

He makes his way to Harry Meets Sally, which is Kate had described as unfashionable. Not entirely. He finds a package of three pairs of Jockey shorts, another package of cotton socks, and three plain Champion tee shirts, one each of blue, green, and dark red. They're not unfashionable, they're classics. He pays the gangly kid at the front desk in cash. No need to be spreading his name around town. No need for his credit card company to know he just bought a week's worth of clothes for $51.78, either.

There's an ice cream cart in front of the pharmacy, and he treats himself to a chocolate mint cone. He's on his third lick when he remembers that he hasn't gone to the grocery store, which he spots at the end of the block. He runs as fast as he can and grabs the ingredients for the cake—two kinds of chocolate, powdered sugar, vanilla extract. He know there are eggs and butter at the cabin, but he's not sure about flour, so he tosses a four-pound bag in his basket. The cashier—how old is she, twelve?—is ringing up his items when his phone rings.

"Beckett? Are you okay?"

"That's my question for you, Castle. Where the hell are you?"

"In Williams. Buying stuff for the cake."

"You said you'd be back in an hour. I've been terrified."

"It's only been." He looks at his watch. "Shit. Three hours? I'm sorry, I'll be right there."

"What happened?"

"I fell in love with the librarian."

"Susanna Cooper?"

"The very one."

"I thought you were in love with me."

TBC

A/N Thank you all for reading. I hope you've noticed that I haven't been stupid enough to announce (again) when this story will end.