Author's Note: A very long chapter and another one I think came out well (if I do say so myself). I hope you all enjoy it.
Accidentally in Love
Chapter 37
Castle wasn't sure what made him wake up but wake up he did, reaching out automatically with one arm to find Kate, only for his hand to encounter nothing but bare sheets.
He blinked his eyes open, turning his head to confirm that, yes, his bed was empty except for him and Kate had apparently been absent for long enough that the sheets no longer retained any of her warmth. The light wasn't on in the en suite either so she wasn't in the bathroom. Hmm.
Curiosity and some burgeoning concern had him pushing himself upright in bed, putting on boxers and shrugging into his robe before he left his room to look for her. It was the middle of the night after all.
He padded his way downstairs and then stopped, changing direction, as he caught a glimpse of her, sitting in the living room. His steps paused as he neared, his heart dropping down into the soles of his feet. She was sitting on the couch, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head turned to look out over the water. There was something inexpressibly… sad, bleak, in her still form, making his heart clench, and then as he watched, she lifted one hand and swiped at her cheek in a tell-tale gesture. She was crying.
Oh god. He'd thought they'd had such a good day, thought she was happy, but maybe he'd been misreading it all, wishful thinking taking the place of real observation. Maybe she'd realized she could do better than be with a divorced single father almost ten years older than her and who had a somewhat tarnished reputation as a playboy… Or maybe—oh god—she'd said she was going to call her dad while he was putting Alexis to bed earlier that night. Had something happened to her dad? God forbid, had her dad… relapsed?
Wait, no, some rational thought surfaced, breaking through his panic. Kate had been the one to suggest they have more wine after all and somehow, he couldn't imagine her suggesting such a thing if her dad had just relapsed into alcoholism. And she'd been… contented, a little quiet but no more so than usual (since Kate was never a chatterbox), and smiling at him with so much warmth in her eyes, he'd felt more warmed by her gaze than he had the fire.
It couldn't be the worst case scenarios that his brain had leaped to but common sense said that it wasn't a good thing that his girlfriend had left his bed in the middle of the night to cry alone.
Would she even want him around? She had, after all, left his room which indicated she wanted to be alone. And he already knew that Kate was independent.
But on the other hand, there was no way he could leave her alone when he knew she was hurting.
He stepped closer. "Kate?" he ventured carefully.
Her hand quickly lifted to swipe at her cheeks again and his heart twisted all over again at the gesture, the way she turned her head to give him a faint, watery smile. She didn't want him to see her crying. Oh god.
"I didn't want to disturb you," was what she said, quietly.
"The bed was cold," he responded inanely. He finally closed the distance between them, joining her on the couch, and rested his hand on her shoulder blade, not quite embracing her—at least not yet, unless he knew she was really okay with his joining her. He felt something ease inside his chest as she responded by shifting closer to him, leaning into him, and he took the hint, sliding his arm the rest of the way around her.
But for all that she appeared to welcome his closeness—which was enough, he told himself, at least for now—she didn't speak either, didn't tell him why she'd been crying.
He waited and finally ventured, mildly, "Bad dreams?" It wasn't quite a question. Kate was a cop, after all; she had probably seen things in the course of her work that would give Stephen King nightmares. He thought about the way she'd turned to him after the kidnapping case that had ended badly.
She only sighed a little and nestled her head against his shoulder, which he took as encouragement to continue. He still didn't want to push her (and he had enough respect for Kate's stubbornness to know pushing Kate was likely to be futile anyway). And maybe it would help, encourage her to open up, if he shared something first.
"I've had dreams that scared me so badly I've needed to spend the rest of the night in a chair by Alexis's bed," he went on, truthfully. After Meredith had taken Alexis to Paris, he'd spent every night for a week watching Alexis sleep, had not been able to let Alexis out of his sight even at night. Letting her go back to school after a day to recover from the jetlag had been bad enough.
He shied away from the memory of that day, those hours, when he hadn't known where Alexis was, only that Meredith had taken her and that he couldn't reach Meredith. Instead, he went for an easier memory, one he felt better able to talk about.
She didn't say anything but there was a quality to her silence that told him she was listening. She was listening and she wasn't crying anymore.
"When Alexis was four, we went Christmas shopping at some mall in White Plains. I was trying on a charcoal fedora. When I turned around, she was gone. I looked everywhere."
She made a soft murmuring sound and he tightened his arm around her as he continued, "Mall security looked too and eventually, so did the police. No sign of her."
"Where did you eventually find her?" she asked quietly, the first thing she'd said since he joined her on the couch.
"Behind a rack of winter coats. She got bored so she crawled underneath there and went to sleep."
"Of course she wouldn't have just wandered off," she murmured. "That wouldn't be like Alexis."
"No," he agreed. Thankfully. "But to this day, I still dream about it, those hours I spent searching for her. It doesn't take a mystery writer to imagine all the bad things that could happen. And every time, I've needed to go check on her, make sure she was really okay."
Kate lifted her head just enough to brush her lips against his chin before resting her head against his shoulder again. He turned his head to press his lips to her hair in turn and it occurred to him that maybe this really was enough for now. He didn't need Kate to bare her soul to him entirely—there was time and more for that—but she was letting him comfort her with his presence and his touch, wasn't sending him away. He could wait.
They sat in silence for another few minutes but the silence was comfortable, soothing. He'd never actually told anyone else about that day in the mall or the nightmares he still had about it but talking about it to Kate seemed natural. Who else did he trust so much? And with Kate, he knew he didn't need to play the charming playboy or the bad boy celebrity, didn't need to be anything other than what he was.
But trust her as he might—and did—he couldn't quite help the little nagging spike of fear accompanying the thought of how much he loved her. It was actually terrifying to be in love like this. Almost as terrifying as being a father was and goodness knows, he still wasn't entirely used to that. How did a person get used to the feeling that half their heart was suddenly running around outside their body, vulnerable to all sorts of hurts and accidents? And it wasn't as if being in love had ended well for him before.
Kate was not Meredith. She wasn't even like Kyra, he reminded himself firmly. This relationship was different, more. He resettled his arm more comfortably around her, the solid warmth of her tucked into his side reassuring him as nothing else could have.
They had been quiet for long enough that he had stopped expecting her to speak but then she did, quietly, so quietly he almost had to strain to hear the words. "It wasn't a bad dream."
He blinked, confused for a split second before he remembered, his quiet assumption that a bad dream had been what woke her up, made her cry.
"It was a good one."
Now he was confused all over again. A good dream was what had made her cry?
"It was… about my mom."
Oh. Oh god. Oh Kate. Castle tightened his arm around her, his throat going tight with emotion, keeping him from speaking, not that he had any idea what to say. What could he say that wouldn't sound trite? And he was, too, a little afraid that if he said anything, she might stop.
"I dreamed… she was still here and it just… it felt so real… like I could smell her perfume and hear her laugh and… then I woke up." Her breath hitched on a stifled sob and he wrapped his other arm around her, tugging her just the slightest bit closer until she was almost sitting on his lap and she turned her face into his shoulder, sniffling a little. "I miss her so much."
Oh god. His chest ached as if he'd cracked a rib. He pressed his lips to her hair. "I'm sorry," he said stupidly—and it was stupid, so trite, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. "What can I do, Kate? How can I help?" He would do anything, he thought. At that moment, he had no doubt of that, he would do anything to make her feel better.
She wrapped her arm around him, for the first time doing more than simply resting in his embrace. "Just hold me."
That, he could and would do, for the rest of his life, if she wanted him to. He shifted his hold on her until she was fully sitting in his lap, turning her so her legs were once more on the couch and she was resting more firmly against his chest. She nestled her head against his shoulder, resting her forehead against his neck, the curve between his chin and his shoulder. He ran his hand up and down her back in a slow, repetitive caress that he hoped was soothing. But he couldn't help but note that she wasn't crying. Her shoulders were still, there was no hitch in her breathing to indicate a sob, and the fabric of his robe remained stubbornly dry.
But she was letting him hold her, had asked him to hold her—and from Kate Beckett, that meant a lot.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed in that position but it was long enough that he was starting to wonder if she had fallen asleep. She hadn't stirred or moved in a while and hadn't made a sound.
But then she sighed a little, and he felt her kiss his shoulder, even through the cloth of his robe, before she nestled her head against him again. And after a while, she spoke, her voice quiet. "My mom liked to read mysteries."
His heart leaped at this, such a little thing, but she was talking about her mom and he knew her well enough to know that she didn't speak about her mom easily. "Mm," he murmured gently, encouragingly, after a long pause. "Is that why you started to read them too?"
She shook her head a little, making a soft sound like a snort. "No. I was a teenager and I thought I was too smart to read contemporary mass market stuff, too busy with Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky to read people like Patterson."
Oh. He tamped down the stupid niggle of disappointment since he knew she'd changed her mind about reading mysteries.
"My mom had just bought a new book by an author she liked about a month before… Because of work and the holidays, she didn't have a chance to finish it before…" Before her mom died, he silently filled in the gaps at the end of the sentences.
A new book released around December of 1998. Patterson had released a new book around then. (Patterson always seemed to have a new book either just out or about to be released.) Cannell had released a new one about a month before, which he remembered because he'd been asked to provide a quote for the cover. And Storm Season had been released in November of that year.
Wait. No, it couldn't be…
"The book was At Dusk We Die."
Oh god. He shut his eyes for a moment, the significance of it sinking in. At Dusk We Die, his last stand-alone before he'd started the Derrick Storm books, released in the spring of 1998. Her mom had been reading At Dusk We Die when she'd died.
He couldn't breathe, might never be able to breathe again, he thought inanely, as the weight of this new knowledge pressed down on his chest. Her mom had read his books.
"My mom didn't have time to finish it… So I did. I finished it for her." She paused and then added with a small sniff, "Told her what happened in it."
That was why Kate had started to read mysteries, started to read his books. Oh god. He could guess at the subtext of her admission, that she had started to read his books to feel closer to her mom. He released a shaky breath.
"My mom liked your books. She would have liked you."
His lungs forgot how to function all over again. And he was just wrecked, unmanned completely, by this admission. Her mom had read his books and Kate thought her mom would have liked him.
"I'm sure I would have liked her too," he managed to croak, his voice not sounding like himself.
Kate lifted her head and he saw the small smile trembling on her lips even as he caught a glitter of tears in her eyes. And then she was cupping his cheek in her hand and feathering her lips against his. "Thank you."
"For what?" He hadn't done anything, was all too aware that he really could not do anything when it came to Kate's loss, her grief.
"This. Inviting me here. It… helps."
God, she was amazing. He… forgot sometimes how much grief, how much hurt, Kate must have suffered in these last years, how much grief she lived with every day. She had lost so much, her mom dying when Kate had been so young, her dad's troubles—but Kate had survived all that, like a phoenix rising from ashes. Become a cop, the youngest female homicide detective ever—and if that wasn't enough, she was so good with Alexis, so affectionate, so giving.
Emotion swelled up inside him, the words—I love you—rising to his lips but he swallowed them back. He wasn't sure if she was ready to hear them—and he wasn't sure he should be so ready to say them. Because it was fast, he knew that. Hell, his relationship with Gina had technically lasted longer than this relationship with Kate so far (hard as that was to believe)—but the heart wanted what the heart wanted. And his heart wanted Kate.
Instead, he went with an easier truth.
"You never cease to amaze me, you know that?"
A faint smile flickered over her lips. "You too," she breathed before she leaned in and kissed him again, lingering this time. His mouth opened for her and the kiss deepened as a soft groan got caught in his throat.
She drew back just enough to meet his eyes. "Let's go back to bed," she husked.
That was an invitation he would never turn down. "Yes," he blurted out, too quickly, and he saw the flash of her teeth in another smile before she uncurled her legs and stood up before taking his hand to pull him with her, not that she really needed to.
He was more than eager to retreat to the privacy of their bedroom, all but chased her into it until they were falling back into bed and he proceeded to show her that he loved her with every touch of his mouth and his hands and his body.
Kate slept in the next morning. Perhaps unsurprisingly, considering how late it had been when she had finally drifted to sleep for good (after Castle had reduced her to a blissful, boneless puddle in his bed). She woke up slowly, tugged into consciousness with the scent of coffee wreathing through her senses, and she blinked awake to focus on the mug sitting on the nightstand.
Oh. She felt a small smile curve her lips. Castle.
She had an odd sense of a long passage of time brought on by an emotional upheaval and she felt her smile fade as she remembered her dream—the vividness of it, the brief moments of happiness, of seeing her mom again, smiling at her—and then waking to the brutal reminder that it wasn't real, her mom was dead. She hadn't had such a vivid dream about her mom in a few years and it had ripped away her fragile control of her emotions where her mom was concerned and she'd needed to slide out from under Castle's encircling arm and escape so she could cry.
Until Castle had found her and stayed with her, a mostly undemanding, comforting presence, a strong body to lean against. He hadn't pried, hadn't pushed for a confidence. And somehow, that had made it easier, somehow—that, and the darkness—to talk to him, tell him more than she ever had about her mom. And he had helped, being able to curl into his broad chest, cosseted by his cozy strength, comforted by his unstinting affection, tangible assurance that she wasn't alone.
But now, in the light of day, she felt the first niggle of uncertainty over her own vulnerability, how much she'd shared. She hadn't told anyone so much about her mom in years, not since… not since Pawel, back in Kiev, just over a year after her mom's death—and he had dumped her just after that for being "too sad." And as she already knew, people didn't want to deal with her and her grief. No, when she cried, she cried alone. Her college friends had drifted away after her mom's death too because she hadn't been any fun anymore, had not had any inclination to go out or be sociable. When she'd transferred to NYU, she'd still been left severely alone, everyone already having formed their own groups of friends and she was too sunk into her grief, her worries over her dad, to even try to make friends.
And then she'd met Castle. Had fallen in love with Castle. (Oh god.) And even though she knew—she knew—that Castle was not nearly as shallow and self-centered as Pawel had been, she couldn't help but feel a little chill of nervousness, of fear.
How would Castle react, this morning after he'd seen some of how damaged, how haunted, she was? She couldn't stand pity and if he pitied her…
She made a face, tried not to flinch, as she sat up and reached for the coffee. Some of her tension dissolved almost instantly, not (for once) due to the magical effects of coffee but because Castle had somehow shaped the foam into the shape of a heart.
It should have been—was—ridiculously cheesy but damn if she didn't feel a little flutter of pleasure inside her anyway. Oh, that man.
She gulped down the coffee and then slowed it down to sips, the better to savor it. It might sound absurd but one of the things she loved about him was that he made a really good cup of coffee. She finished the coffee too quickly and then made quick work of getting dressed, eager, now, to see him again and (fine) get another cup of his coffee.
She really had slept in. It was after 9 when she made it downstairs to find she'd been preceded not just by Castle but also by Alexis, who was already sitting at the table with a book, while Castle made waffles.
Alexis greeted her with a sunny smile and Castle a somewhat softer one as he accepted her empty coffee mug, letting his fingers brush against hers.
Kate felt herself flush in spite of herself at the look in his eyes, the emotion, because it wasn't pity. It was… tenderness, what she almost dared to think—hope—might be... love. But all he said was, "Good morning, Kate. Do you want a refill of your coffee?"
She didn't know why but somehow, the mundane question eased her lingering fears. This was still Castle, her Castle, the man who had somehow managed to make her feel better on the Anniversary, the man who'd never seemed to view her as a victim even after knowing about her history.
She gave him a smile and brushed a kiss to his chin. "Yes, please."
She would have stepped back after that, mindful of Alexis's presence, but Castle caught her by the waist and kept her in place, dipping his head to taste her mouth more thoroughly, until the kiss broke apart at the sound of Alexis's groan.
"Daddy, you're being gross."
Castle released Kate as he turned to make a face at Alexis. "Am not. My kisses are never gross."
As if to prove it, he went over to Alexis and bent to kiss her cheek, only to proceed to blow a loud, obnoxious raspberry, making Alexis shriek with protesting laughter and push Castle's face away. "Ew, Daddy, stop it!"
"Yeah, Castle, stop bothering Alexis and pour me more coffee," Kate chimed in, dropping a wink at Alexis.
Castle heaved an exaggerated sigh. "I'm surrounded by bossy females." But even as he pretended to complain, he duly refilled her mug and prepared her coffee as she liked it.
Kate shot him a deliberately flirtatious look. "I thought you liked that about me," she murmured, lowering her voice.
His eyes flared. "Oh I do, I like everything about you," he immediately blurted out.
"I'll remind you of that next time we have a fight," she teased.
He gave her a look of mock dismay. "Why, Beckett, I can't imagine why we would ever have a fight. I am the soul of sweetness and light!"
Kate snorted and Alexis called out, "That's not what Grams says."
Castle pointed his spoon at Alexis in mock threat. "Haven't I told you before not to listen to anything Grams says about me?"
Alexis only smirked at him. "Yes, Daddy, but I know you too well to listen."
"Just for that, you're not getting any waffles," he pretended to threaten.
"But Daddy, it's my breakfast and you always say breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
"Using my own words against me is not fair, you know," he grumbled.
"I'm just too smart for you, Daddy," Alexis returned.
Castle threw her an exaggerated scowl. "Did Grams tell you that too?"
"No, you've told me that." Alexis gave her dad a beatific smile.
Kate dissolved into laughter at the face Castle made. "By my count, that's Alexis: 2, Castle: 0," she spoke up.
"You, stop encouraging her," Castle turned his mock glower on Kate. Only for his pretend displeasure to be entirely belied—predictably—as he proceeded to serve them both with a waffle and then brought over another plate stacked high with more waffles for seconds (and thirds) along with his own waffle.
Their breakfast passed with as much laughter and sheer fun as Kate had come to expect from meals with the Castle family. (It was… a little odd, foreign, to be looking forward to things again but somehow, now, she did, anticipation for every hour she spent with them, tentative hope sprouting tendrils inside her, hope that this relationship—this happiness—could and would last.)
After breakfast, Alexis retreated to the living room to finish her book while Kate helped Castle with the cleaning up.
Once she was done with the dishes, he moved in behind her to trap her against the sink, lowering his lips to her neck and she couldn't help but sag back into him, her head falling forward to allow him greater access. "What—ooh—what are the plans for today?" she asked, the question punctuated by a breathy moan. Really, he should not be able to do this to her after the last night, the last few days—but no, somehow, she always reacted to him, to the touch of his lips and his hands.
He lifted his head and she couldn't help a soft sigh, almost a huff, of disappointment that she knew he'd heard—damn it—because when he turned her around to face him, there was a smirk tugging at his lips. "Alexis was invited to go to a friend's house this afternoon for a pool party followed by a barbecue so I thought that we could go out tonight."
Another real date night with Castle. A silly, giddy thrill raced through her at the thought but she sternly schooled her expression. "Well, if Alexis will be busy, I suppose I can hang out with just you this evening," she drawled.
"Don't be like that, Beckett. You know you want to go out with me," he returned, the smirk more prominent.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Being cocky is really not an attractive look for you." (A lie.)
"Aha, but you are admitting you find me attractive," he all but crowed.
Ridiculous man. And annoying—well, he ought to be annoying but somehow, she couldn't quite seem to grasp the kernel of irritation. Not at him, not now. "Not when you're being cocky," she retorted.
His smirk only grew. Yeah, he knew exactly how attractive she found him to be, at all times, always. Damn the man. He lowered his head until his lips were hovering just above hers, their breaths mingling—well, sort of mingling, since her breathing was getting shallow. "Yeah?" he husked, his voice dropping into his velvety bedroom voice that did funny things to her insides. "I bet I can make you change your mind about that."
Huh, what? Her thoughts were already fragmenting, losing track of whatever they'd been talking about. And why was he even still talking and not putting his mouth to better use like kissing her? Because he was still not kissing her.
She cudgeled her brain back into some semblance of coherence. "You sound very sure of yourself," she returned, although the words came out more breathy than tart.
"It's confidence," he breathed—and still did not kiss her.
Well, he couldn't have it all his way. This not-kissing-her thing just had to stop. She let her tongue slip out to moisten her lips, slowly, and heard his breathing hitch. Then, for good measure, she bit her lower lip.
That did it. His mouth came crashing down on hers and she would have smirked in triumph but his mouth was in the way and then his tongue was in her mouth and she forgot all about the little game of flirtation he had started—she had started, whatever—and just gave herself up to his kiss, loving the taste of him, the banked passion she sensed in him, as he thoroughly ravished her mouth.
God, she loved his kisses, loved being kissed by him. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she never wanted to do this with anyone else, never wanted to kiss anyone else, ever again.
Fortunately (or not), Alexis chose to announce her reappearance with a blithe "Daddy, I finished my book!" which gave them time to break apart, both of them breathing hard.
Kate immediately spun around to face the sink to try to regain her composure while Castle had to cough before he could respond in a voice that was reasonably close to normal, "That's great, pumpkin. Why don't you tell me about it?"
This must be what it would be like to have kids, Kate thought dimly, private moments being interrupted at inopportune times. Wait, kids? As in… Whoa, Kate, slow down! She turned on the cold water for the sink, plunging her hands under the stream of cold water, and proceeded to wash her hands with the thoroughness of a surgeon prepping for surgery, the mindless task and the cold serving to expunge her mind of any dangerous thoughts and her lingering arousal too, before she turned around to rejoin Castle and Alexis.
Courtesy of Alexis's afternoon plans, they spent a somewhat less active morning at the beach, just going for a walk and collecting shells, which Castle proceeded to use as a starting point to weave an involved tale of sea creatures banding together to defeat a sea monster—impressively, since he was clearly making the story up as he went along. He really was such a writer.
God, she was dating—more, had fallen in love with—her favorite living author. Would that ever not sound surreal?
After lunch, Alexis had to get ready to go to her pool party and Kate took the opportunity to soak in some sun and relax while reading another book from Castle's extensive library in a way she normally didn't have time to do.
With Alexis gone, it turned into a quiet, low-key sort of day, the sort Kate almost never had of having nothing to do but relax and enjoy herself. Castle left her alone after checking to make sure she didn't want a drink or anything else and it occurred to her to wonder if he was writing again. She wouldn't have expected to be able to have such alone time with Castle around but she liked it, appreciated that he could give her space, even as it served to make her anticipate their date a little more.
Later, she may have primped a little in preparing for their date, putting more effort into her make-up, and deliberately slipping into the other sexy underwear she'd brought with her, a matching set of bra and underwear made up of lace and satin, before stepping into a sundress. It wasn't quite formal enough if they were going somewhere very fancy but she thought she could get away with it.
And Castle certainly had no issues with her appearance when she stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes going wide and dark with admiration. "You are so gorgeous," he blurted out.
She couldn't help but smile. She kind of loved that too, the way she could make him lose any claim to suavity he had. "You're not so bad yourself," she managed but knew her voice sounded huskier than she'd meant it to as her eyes wandered up and down his form. Not so bad—yeah, right. He looked… um, delicious. He was wearing a nice suit that accentuated his height and his broad shoulders, his chest, and his deep blue shirt almost perfectly echoed the cobalt of his eyes in a way that… um, yeah… She really liked his eyes.
Her eyes made it back to his face to see the smirk on his face. Damn it. "See something you like, Detective?"
She forced herself to shrug. "I'm looking forward to a nice dinner," she said with as much casualness as she could muster.
He huffed a laugh. "I don't think you were thinking about eating actual food."
"Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't," she retorted as she left the room, being sure to put a little extra sway in her hips and smirked to herself as she heard him mutter something about 'evil' behind her.
In spite of the teasing, though, they were both perfectly well-behaved on the drive out to town and the restaurant, which was right by the water (of course) and was elegant but not so formal as to make her feel underdressed.
Conversation was light and easy as they ate and talked about everything and nothing in particular and afterwards, Castle helped her with her wrap and then offered, "We have some time before we should pick up Alexis. Do you want to walk along the pier?"
She smiled. "Sure."
Outside, the ocean breeze and the dark made it feel cool and a little shiver trembled through her and Castle felt it, glanced at her. "Do you want my jacket?"
She shook her head and fit herself closer into his side as he put his arm around her shoulders. "I'll be fine." It was true, too. He was tall enough and broad enough to block her from most of the wind and as usual, he was radiating heat like a furnace.
They walked in silence for a couple minutes and then she broke the silence. "How is your writing coming?"
"It's fine," he answered briefly and uninformatively.
She blinked and frowned a little. He really didn't talk about his writing much at all. Actually, come to think of it, he didn't talk a lot about himself most of the time. He was good at the meaningless patter and he talked about Alexis quite a bit (for obvious reasons and she did love that he trusted her with Alexis) but it occurred to her that he didn't share about himself, at least not the real him, much more freely than she did herself. But she wanted to know him, know his stories and the things that had shaped him, and yes, she wanted to know about his writing, partly because she was a fan but also because she liked his mind, the way it worked. "You know you can talk to me, right?" she offered, rather lamely. "I'm not just asking to be polite."
That made him huff a laugh and pause to brush a kiss to her temple. "I think we're past the stage of polite small talk, Beckett."
She laughed too. "We are. But seriously, Castle, I do want to know about your writing. I am a fan, after all," she added teasingly.
He flashed a grin at her in the darkness. "I could never forget that." He paused and then went on, with a change of tone, "I talked about my writing with Gina." Oh, right, of course, his ex-girlfriend/editor. "It was one of the things that brought us together but after a while, I realized that I didn't like it because I never knew if she was asking as my editor or as my girlfriend so I stopped, or tried to stop, talking about writing when Gina and I were out. And before—" he broke off and Kate tamped down the automatic little niggle of reaction because it was obvious that he was talking about other women he had dated—which was absurd of her because she trusted him and whatever his past, she was his present and that was what mattered.
"Before?" she prompted, mildly.
"Well, writing is my actual job and most people don't want to hear about the work that goes into it, the part that isn't glamorous or fun. They want to hear about the fun stuff, the publicity events, but hearing that I spend a lot of time holed up in my office alone, typing—well, even I don't think that sounds very interesting."
Oh, she hadn't thought about that aspect of it. She had no doubt that Castle would have encountered a lot of women interested in him for his celebrity status and his money (and yes, his looks) but none of those women would really have been interested in the real man.
"Well, none of those women were me," she responded.
He stopped and turned to face her, his hands coming up to cup her face as he met her eyes. "No, you're right. None of them were you." And then he kissed her, softly, tenderly, before he brushed a light kiss to the tip of her nose, quirking a small smile. "You're better."
It was not the most eloquent of compliments but she still felt an absurd rush of warmth in her chest. This was Richard Castle, after all, who could be with just about any woman he wanted and instead, he had chosen her, thought she was better. Not broken or damaged because of her past, her issues. She forced a light smirk that didn't reflect her feelings at all, suddenly needing to hide, retreat from the rush of emotion. "I like to think so," she quipped.
He laughed and kissed her again, just a quick swipe of his mouth across hers, before he adjusted his arm around her shoulders and resumed their idle stroll. "To answer your question, things really are fine. I was stuck for a few days on the climactic scene, the last fight, and when that happens, I can't force it, just have to put it aside, think about something else for a while."
"By procrastinating?" she needled mildly.
He gave a loud, fake gasp. "It's like you already know me."
She nudged him for this piece of silliness, smothering her laugh in his shoulder. Ridiculous man.
He went on, more seriously, "But the words came back, that's why I ran off and deserted you the other evening and now I'm almost done with the first draft of the next book. Which is lucky because it's due at the end of the week and if I'm late again, Gina will probably murder me."
"Good thing you know a homicide detective," she riposted.
"Yeah, lucky me." His tone was entirely serious and she didn't need his look at her to know what he meant. She was glad for the darkness that hid the flush on her cheeks. After a moment, he went on, "Actually, I should mention, the new book is going to be released at the end of the summer."
September 1, she knew because she'd already received the email announcement from his website but she still wasn't about to admit to being on his list-serve for that.
"I haven't reached any agreement with Black Pawn or my agent about whether or not there'll be a launch party for this one but either way, I'll need to do publicity for the book and Paula, my agent, will want me to show my face at some fancy parties, get my name out there. I've been able to mostly fly under the radar lately because I'm in between books but come August or so, I'll need to start making the rounds."
It occurred to her that he sounded… nervous. Why would he be nervous? But then she remembered what he'd said, about needing to go to fancy parties—and more, she remembered some of the pictures she'd seen of him in Page Six from some of those fancy parties, almost always with a different woman on his arm, all gorgeous, all looking more than a little charmed by him. It was all so far removed from her life it was the equivalent of life on Mars. But the fancy parties, the publicity, were all part of his life.
God, they really were from such different worlds, weren't they? He was this multi-millionaire celebrity, best-selling author—and she was just a struggling homicide detective, so new the gilt on her badge hadn't even lost any of its shine.
Wait, would he… not want her to go to these parties? She wouldn't be comfortable at them herself and wouldn't say she wanted to go but it was different, thinking he might not want her to go.
"Okay," she said, just to say something, and then another aspect of this occurred to her. "So do you want me to stay with Alexis while you're going to these parties?" Actually, she would probably be happier staying with Alexis than going to the parties.
He stopped and turned to stare at her. "What? Why would I—no! I mean, of course, if you want to, and Alexis is always happy to see you, but—" He broke off and then sighed, grimacing. "Sorry, let me start again. What I wanted to ask was whether you'd want to come with me to at least some of the parties. I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to," he hurriedly added, "and I get that publicity isn't something you want or that would help you with your job and I'd never want to get in the way of your job but if you want to, if you're okay with it, I'd like you to come with me."
Oh. She hadn't even thought of that, that her ability to do her job wouldn't be helped by becoming fodder for celebrity gossip—but Castle had thought of it. Oh, this sweet man. How could she, with all her issues, her defenses, deserve a man like this, who was so good to her?
On sudden impulse, she rose up on her toes to kiss him fiercely, trying to pour all the love she felt for him into the kiss.
When she drew back, he had to blink a few times before he managed to joke, still sounding a little breathless, "Wow, I had no idea you'd be so excited to go to a few fancy parties."
She tipped forward to muffle her laugh against his shirt, before she lifted her head and sobered. "Castle." For almost the first time, it felt a little… distant or something to be using his last name. After all, the entire point of this conversation was that they were, um, close and about to go public with that fact. "Rick," she tried more quietly and felt him stiffen a little at her use of his first name, his expression softening, flaring with something like delight. He liked it when she called him by his first name.
"I'm not saying I'm comfortable with the idea of publicity but I get that it's a part of your life." She paused, trying to formulate her words. This felt like… a commitment—which, of course, it was, in its own way, and she was committed to this relationship but she hadn't exactly said so before either. It was planning, assuming, that she and Castle would still be together in three months. He already was assuming that. "And since we're in this relationship and I'm… a part of your life now, then I have to accept that some publicity comes along with that." She paused again and wondered if it was only her imagination that he was momentarily holding his breath—and her brain kicked back into action and she managed a small smile. "So I guess what I mean to say is, 'all right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up.'"
He let out a surprised huff of a laugh and then it was his turn to surge forward and kiss her with so much passion she found herself sagging into him and decidedly short of breath when he eventually lifted his head. "Thank you, Kate," he almost panted and added, after a moment, "And I'll talk to Paula, make sure we try to limit your exposure so it doesn't get in the way of your work. I'm not—I don't want to make your life, your job, harder."
"That's fine."
"Okay." He paused and then added, with a change of tone, "You have no idea how many points you just scored for quoting that line correctly."
She laughed softly and kissed him again, softly this time, and for a long minute or two or ten, they stood there, locked in an embrace, not quite swaying but not quite not, exchanging brief, soft kisses.
They could have been in their own little world, a happy lovers' bubble, but then from somewhere, there was the sound of a car door slamming and then someone laughing, and the rest of the world intruded once again. Kate gave Castle one last, quick kiss, just because she wanted to, and then reluctantly stepped back. "Come on, Castle, let's go pick up Alexis," was all she said.
And the way he looked at her, smiled at her, before he closed his hand around hers for the walk back to his car, made her think, maybe he really could—might—love her…
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: As always, thank you to all readers and reviewers!