A HAUNTING IN MANHATTAN
A CASTLE HALLOWEEN BASH 2022 FIC
MEETING AU
RATED T
CHAPTER ONE
He almost walks right past the door that changes his life.
He's looking down at his phone, navigating an unfamiliar neighborhood in the city he calls home, when something bumps into him hard enough that he spins around. He looks up, the apology dying on his lips when the street is empty.
Huh.
He catches motion in his peripheral vision, and he turns his head just in time to see a woman step out of a window back into a store. There's no decal in the window, so he looks up at the dark, worn sign swaying in the slight breeze.
Once Upon a Crime
He glances at his watch; he has to meet his publisher soon, but he has time to poke his head in.
A bell jingles above his head when he opens the door, and he pauses for a moment as the door closes behind him, shutting with a soft click.
The overhead lights are dim, and the windows don't let in much light, which adds an air of mystery to the store. He takes a deep breath, the slightly musty scent of old paper and ink and something else, something sweeter, almost fruity. Cherries, perhaps?
Once his eyes adjust, his jaw drops. Instead of shelves taking up the entire floor, the center of the narrow room is relatively empty save for a few small tables. But what blows his mind is the walls. Every square inch is covered with books - hundreds, if not thousands, lined up neatly on the shelves that go from the ceiling to the floor.
He's never seen anything like this.
He goes to the left first, his eyes roaming over the book spines, meticulously alphabetized by author's last name. They're primarily mystery and crime, he realizes, and he skims to the C's, smiles when he sees his own books just above eye level. He takes one off the shelf - he hasn't seen Hell Hath No Fury in a store in ages - and flips through it.
"Help you find anything?"
He jumps a little at the voice at his side, so engrossed in his own words that he didn't hear anyone approach. He finds himself face-to-face with the woman he'd seen in the window, tall and thin, just a few inches shorter than him.
Her eyes flick to the book in his hand, and the corner of her mouth quirks. "Or did you find what you're looking for, Mr. Castle?" she adds, a teasing lilt to her voice.
He feels his face flush. "I don't see this one in stock very often," he explains. "It isn't exactly my best work."
"No," she agrees with a chuckle that's music to his ears, "but I still sell a copy every once in a while."
"Well, that's a pleasant surprise." He tucks the book back on the shelf and turns to face the woman. A shadow passes over her shoulder, and he shifts his gaze to try and follow it. He doesn't see anything else, so he gives his head a light shake and turns his attention back to the woman in front of him. "Do you mind if I sign my books?"
She seems to hesitate at his request, and as she opens her mouth to respond, the lights flicker.
He glances outside, curious if it happened to the whole street - not that he'd be able to tell since it's daytime - but when he looks back at her, she's rolling her eyes, that smirk still on her lips.
"Sorry, does that happen often?" he asks. Considering her nonchalant reaction, it's probably an unnecessary question, but he's still surprised when she just shrugs and steps toward the counter at the front of the store.
"Oh yeah," she admits. "Usually when I'm about to do something stupid."
He furrows his brows at her comment. Why-
"Anyway," she continues, seemingly oblivious to his confusion, "I generally only let authors sign as part of events - had a bad experience a few years back - but you can go ahead and sign yours." She returns to his side and holds out a pen.
He just blinks a few times before taking the pen and opening the book. "Thanks. For what it's worth, most authors I know are happy to sign their books any time." He scribbles his name and reaches for another, glances up at her before he signs it. "Minimal bad experiences, I promise."
The slight lift of her lips returns, and he's struck with a sudden desire to brush his thumb across her cheek, kiss those lips until they're both breathless. Before he can do something stupid, like kiss a stranger whose name he doesn't even know, the shrill ring of a phone jolts him from his thoughts.
She moves back towards the front, so graceful and fluid he wonders if she was a dancer in a past life - with those long legs she could be anything, he muses - and he watches as she picks up the phone.
"Once Upon a Crime, this is Kate," she answers, and he stores her name in the back of his mind, committing it to memory. She rolls her eyes and hangs up the phone, and when she catches his eye, she shrugs. "Prank call."
"Does that happen a lot, too?" he asks, continuing to sign his books. The store has an impressive collection, with at least one copy of all but the most recent Derrick Storm book. He gets into a routine, signing one book after the other.
"Often enough." She returns to his side and takes the book when he finishes signing, places it back on the shelf, and hands him the next one.
Rick hums, but he doesn't respond, and he signs the rest of the books in silence, working with Kate as she shelves them. When he signs the last one, he caps the pen with a flourish, and he holds it out to her, a wide grin on his face. "All done," he announces, immediately kicking himself at how silly it sounds. She can see that he's done; he didn't have to tell her.
She reaches for the pen, her fingers brushing his as she does. Sparks fly up his arm at the contact, and his jaw drops, his gaze meeting her equally shocked one. She recovers faster than he does, though, and she tucks the pen into her pocket.
"Thanks," she says, her voice low and a little husky. She takes a step back, but her foot catches on the ladder right behind her, a ladder he hadn't even seen.
The world moves in slow motion as she pitches back, a look of shock on her face, her arms flailing in their attempt to grab something to break her fall.
He reaches out and his hands find her waist, catching her, tugging her into him before she tumbles to the floor. Her fingers curl around his biceps as he rights her, and their faces end up so close that he can see every speck of green and gold in her eyes.
Her eyes meet his, wide with surprise, and as her fingers clench his shirt, it takes every ounce of manpower not to turn them so he's pressing her against the shelf. This close, he can tell that the sweet, fruity scent he'd picked up comes from her, and it is most definitely cherries. He barely resists the urge to bury his nose in her short hair and take a deep breath, so instead, he memorizes how she feels, how she looks, how she smells.
"Sorry," she whispers.
He clears his throat. "No worries."
Her eyes flick to his mouth for the briefest moment before her cheeks flush and she steps back. "Right. Stupid ladder."
She reaches out and pushes it, but Rick barely notices it slide past him. All he can see is the darkening of her pupils as she'd looked at his mouth, the way her own lips slightly parted and her breath seemed to quicken.
Rick starts to move towards her, wanting to feel her in his arms again, but his phone interrupts, vibrating in his pocket. He takes a deep, annoyed breath to calm his nerves before answering his publisher's call. "Hi, Gina."
"Where are you?" his ex snaps. "You're late."
He glances at his watch. Shit. "I'll be there in a few," he promises, hanging up before she can respond. He looks up just in time to see Kate turn her attention to the shelf. She takes a book off, looks at it for a long moment, then shakes her head slightly and puts it right back.
"Well," he says, breaking the silence, "I have to get going. I'm late for, well, for a signing."
Kate lifts her brows. "I see." She leans back against the shelf and tucks her hands in her pockets. "Thanks for stopping by. I'm sure your readers will love their surprised signed copies."
"Any time." Rick starts to walk away, but his foot kicks something, and he bends down to see a hardback of the latest Patterson. He holds it up, lifts his brow in mock offense. "Really?"
She shrugs, and that smirk appears again. "He's popular," she retorts.
He nods in resignation. Patterson may be a friend and poker buddy, but he's nothing if not popular. Before he leaves, though, another thought enters his mind, hammering until he can get it out. "You mentioned author signings. Who can give me information on having one?"
"That would be me."
"You're the owner?" He can't quite keep the surprise out of his voice, and his cheeks warm. "I didn't mean that. You just..."
"I look too young to own a dying bookshop in the middle of Chelsea?" she teases, pushing herself off the shelf and walking with him towards the door. "I inherited it."
"Oh."
She grabs a business card and hands it to him. "Have someone give me a call. I'd be happy to have you." Her cheeks flush a deep pink. "Host you," she adds.
Rick stares at her for a long moment, committing her to memory, the light from the window playing off the deep red highlights scattered throughout her dark hair. He holds out his hand and clenches his teeth so he doesn't react to the spark when they touch again. "It was nice to meet you, Kate," he says in a low voice.
Kate draws her bottom lip between her teeth, and oh, what he wouldn't give to caress that lip with his.
"I'll see you soon, Mr. Castle."
He has an outline due in just a week, an outline he's barely started. But he finds himself taking the A train uptown, getting off at 14th Street and walking the three blocks to the bookstore. Even though it's ingrained in his mind - the sign, the walls of books, and especially the pretty owner - he can't find it.
He has his phone in one hand and the business card in the other, and he looks around, sure that this is the right street, when a gust of wind catches him by surprise, ripping the business card from his hand. He rushes after it, managing to grab it before it flies into the street, and looks up as he tucks it back in his pocket.
If he didn't know any better, he'd think that the gust of wind was magical, that the glare of the sun illuminating a familiar sign was fate. But he's far beyond believing in mystical signs of the universe. He does, however, believe in the fallacy of technology, and decides that he couldn't find the store because the GPS was acting up.
The bell rings when he opens the door, revealing the already familiar scent of books and cherries, and the sense of joy that rushes through him every time he steps into any bookstore is magnified when he spots Kate in the back, organizing a table.
She looks up, and her face lights up with a smile when her eyes meet his. "Mr. Castle," she calls out, abandoning the table to approach him.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly nervous to see her. He was here just yesterday; is he coming on too strong, showing up two days in a row?
"Please, call me Rick," he insists when she's a few feet in front of him and he doesn't have to yell.
"I don't have any more books for you to sign," she says, apology lacing her voice. "Something I can help you with today?"
Rick pauses. Not really; he didn't have much of a plan coming here, simply wanted to see her again, wanted to make sure he didn't dream her into existence. "I didn't get a chance to browse yesterday."
Kate holds her arm out in a welcoming gesture. "Please, don't let me stop you. Feel free to buy everything you see," she teases.
He chuckles and steps forward, twisting a little to brush past her. His shoulder catches a display stand on the counter that he didn't see, and he stumbles as he tries to right it, ends up knocking it to the floor instead.
Kate lunges to catch it, but her arms tangle with his. He grabs her waist instead of the stand, tightening his grip to keep her from falling, tugging her into him.
"Déjà vu," she whispers, her eyes locked on his, pupils darkening.
He tries not to notice how perfectly her legs fit between his, how her fingers grip his shirt, how the tip of her tongue trails across her bottom lip as her eyes flick to his mouth.
"I promise I'm not trying to come onto you," he says in a low voice, hoping she can't tell how his body is reacting to her proximity. "Just trying not to let you get hurt."
She chuckles; or, he thinks the low, throaty sound that comes from her is a chuckle. Whatever it is, it sends desire rocketing through his bloodstream, and it takes every ounce of self-control to stop himself from kissing her.
"Well," she says, her eyes locked on his again, "things tend to happen when there's a cute guy in the store."
His brows fly up his forehead. "Things?" he repeats, his fingers tightening around her waist. "Things like lights flickering, or a ladder tripping you?"
"Something like that." She takes a deep breath and steps out of his arms, and he sees her throat bob with a swallow.
"Do cute guys often come in?"
She chuckles again and shakes her head. "Not really. Pretty sure my mom's just trying to set me up."
Rick blinks in confusion. "I'm sorry, I thought you said…I assumed by inherited you meant she passed."
"Oh, she did," Kate says. "Both my parents did, several years ago. But I'm pretty sure she's still here."
"I…" Rick can only shake his head. "Sorry, I don't quite understand. Are you saying the store is haunted by your mother?"
She shrugs. "I can't say for sure, but it's more likely to be Mom. Dad never thought anyone was good enough for me. I can't really see him trying to set me up with someone in the afterlife."
She glances at him, and he obviously needs to work on his poker face, because she crosses her arms and narrows her eyes in defense. "I know how it sounds. But I swear, ever since I took over the store, weird things have happened. You've seen it yourself," she reminds him. "The lights?"
"Power surge," he argues.
"The ladder I tripped over yesterday, wasn't there."
"You just didn't see it." He shakes his head, unwilling to admit that she might be onto something. He can explain away everything that's happened: the bump on his shoulder could have been by someone who darted across the street or into a doorway. The shadow in the corner could have been a trick of the light from a car driving by. Today his GPS was acting up.
One instance, maybe even two, are coincidences…but three?
He shakes his head again. "I'm sorry, Kate. I like ghost stories as much as the next person, but that's a lot."
"You don't believe in ghosts?" she asks, leaning back against the shelf, her eyes locked firmly on his, dark with a challenge.
He leans his hip against the counter and mirrors her pose. "No," he says simply.
"Alright." Kate shrugs and pushes herself off the shelf. "Let me know if I can help you find anything."
She retreats to the desk at the back of the store, and he can't help but feel like he said something wrong or offended her. But the bookstore, haunted by the ghost of her mother? He doesn't buy it.
Ghosts aren't real. If they were, then he wouldn't feel such loss when he thinks about his dead fiancée; he'd feel her presence instead.
He sighs. It's been a long time since he thought of Kyra. For years after she passed, he saw her everywhere: the linens they'd picked out for their apartment, the picture that she'd painted hanging in the hallway. He even smelled her perfume in their bedroom long after he threw out the last bottle.
He starts to browse the tables in the middle of the store, which he sees are themed: new releases, and female authors. The latter makes him smile wistfully. Kyra had always loved his writing, and had joked that if she had an ounce of talent, she'd give him a run for his money.
He freezes when he spots a book by an author with the last name Blaine. Kyra's last name. She would have been Kyra Rodgers had she not passed. And maybe he would have kept Rodgers as his legal name, and used Castle as a pen name. Maybe they both would have changed their names to Castle. Maybe they'd have kids and live in Brooklyn or Queens like they'd talked about.
Maybe, maybe maybe.
A soft weight settles on his left shoulder, and he swipes his fingers across his cheeks, surprised to find them wet. He looks up, expecting to see Kate at his side, but she's still at the back of the store, apparently reading something. Her words about her mother echo in his mind, and he sighs.
Well, add this moment to the list of weird things that have happened here.
Doesn't mean this place is haunted.
He picks up a few random books and catches Kate's attention. "I'm ready to check out," he calls out.
Kate gives him a tight smile and follows him to the register. "Have you given any more thought to having a signing here?" she asks as she scans the books. "You'd be a big draw. $63.24."
Rick hands over his credit card. Actually, he hadn't; once he'd rushed to the signing the previous afternoon, he'd forgotten all about that aspect of the visit. "Sorry, I didn't. Tell you what, I'll text your info to my publicist right now. She's a lot better at keeping track of my calendar," he adds with an embarrassed smile. He pulls out his phone and does just that, looks up to see an amused smirk on Kate's lips. "What?"
She shakes her head. "Let me guess: as soon as you left yesterday, you forgot about the store. It happens all the time. People say they'll come back, but they never do."
Rick shakes his head. "That's not it. I-" He pauses, then, his cheeks burning, decides just to tell her. "Truth is, I couldn't stop thinking about you yesterday. I wish I didn't have to leave. I got caught up in the signing I had, so I forgot to tell Gina about this place. But you? I could never forget you." He takes the bag from the counter. "See you tomorrow, Kate."
He glances back when he opens the door, and the jingle of the bell seems to jolt her from the frozen state his words put her in.
"We're closed tomorrow," she calls after him.
He levels his gaze at her. "The next day, then." At her nod, he flicks his gaze to her mouth, lets it linger for a long moment before forcing himself to leave. As he shuts the door behind him he swears he sees the lights flicker, and hears Kate mutter a "shut up, Mom."
And despite his misgivings about the whole haunting thing, he smiles.