Chapter 1

Usually, Richard Castle loved Christmas: the glitter and sparkle, gift-giving and good food, presents for everyone around him, and most of all, a close and loving (if somewhat weird) family. Usually. This year, Christmas held no appeal at all, and he knew exactly why.

He'd be on his own. Alone. Abandoned. Alexis was with her mother. He'd kicked and screamed about that, but eventually had to concede. His own mother had been invited to Arizona by a friend – or crony with whom she was still on speaking terms, he thought cynically.

So here he was, four days before Christmas, stomping through Bryant Park on the way to Macy's, in a mood so foul that even the urban pigeons were avoiding him. He didn't even know why he was bothering with Macy's, except that it might provide him with some Christmas cheer.

Yeah, right. Cheer wasn't high on his emotional spreadsheet right now. He realised that the only reason he was going into Macy's was because it was warm, and he was cold, as well as thoroughly bad-tempered.

"Watch where you're going!" he snapped, as he walked straight into someone.

"You watch it!" was snapped straight back. "You're the one not looking."

She shoved past him, giving only a glimpse of brunette, choppy hair and a stunning face down which – oh. Oh, shit. He whipped around and went after her, catching up only a step or so outside the doors. He tugged at her shoulder.

"Get your hands off me," she bit, only then turning. "You." She sounded as if he were a cockroach crawling on her coat. "Get lost."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm in a bad mood and I took it out on you. I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't." She blinked hard. "Go away."

"You're upset. I didn't mean to."

"Aren't you listening? It's nothing to do with you. Now get lost and leave me alone." She wrenched herself out of his grip and half ran down the sidewalk.

Castle, shocked out of his sulks by (he still thought) having made a beautiful woman cry, followed, at some speed. He caught up with her just before the subway, and tapped on her shoulder again. She stopped.

"You again?"

"Yeah. Look, lemme buy you a coffee to make up for yelling at you."

Kate Beckett hated Christmas, and everything associated with it. She'd only gone into Macy's in the hope of finding a present for her father, who had everything he wanted and needed nothing except sobriety, which you couldn't buy in the stores, and found exactly that same nothing. She'd turned to go home when some oversize oaf had not only cannoned into her, but had yelled at her when he was the one not looking where he was going. She'd thought about showing him her badge and suggesting he could be arrested, but it was just too much effort to scare the living shit out of him when all she wanted was to go home, curl up under her quilt, and cry.

She hated Christmas. Everyone around her happy and joyful; happy Christmas songs in every store and on every street corner; tinsel, baubles, lit-up trees; celebrations and presents.

She had nothing to celebrate, and the only present she really wanted was her mother back and her father sober, which wasn't going to happen. Somehow, this year, five years on from the last happy, family, complete Christmas that they'd had…hurt harder. She'd thought she was more or less reconciled to the situation.

This year, she absolutely wasn't.

And now, here was some oaf with a not-really-an-apology and poking and prying at her misery. It had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. She tore away from his unwanted, intrusive touch and words, and hurried towards the subway and the train home, where she could weep in solitary peace.

There was a tap on her shoulder. She spun around, saw the same oaf as before, and snapped, "You again?" intending to follow with a tide of vitriolic invective. Before she could speak, he invited her for coffee.

It wasn't until she stood there, gaping at him, tearstains still on her cheeks from the emotional weight of Christmas and her loss, that she realised who it was.

Richard Castle?

What was Richard Castle doing outside of Macy's and behaving like an arrogant, spoilt lout? Though he did seem to be trying to apologise sincerely – now.

"Why?" she said ungraciously. She might like the books, but right now she wasn't seeing a reason to like him.

He blinked. "Uh…I was rude and you didn't deserve that…uh…anyway, I wanna say I'm sorry, but I'm cold and you must be freezing and…uh…I just wanna buy you a coffee and say sorry, okay?"

He was babbling. Beckett recognised the effect from dozens of frightened, confused witnesses in Interrogation. He – Richard Castle, megastar celebrity author – was shaken up. She didn't think that had merely been barging into her. A tendril of curiosity poked through the sludge of her upset.

"Okay," she said, still ungraciously.

He smiled, and his face transformed into that of a happy little boy getting a treat. "Great! Let's go. There's a café just around the corner."

She really couldn't help smiling back. He – now that he'd got his own way – had lit up with enthusiasm. He bounced off, looking back to make sure she was following. She was, but not with any enthusiasm of her own. In fact, she didn't have a clue why she'd agreed. Curiosity was not desirable. She should have rooted out the tendril of curiosity before she got herself into this position. She wanted, once more, to go home. She did not want to listen to an undoubtedly self-aggrandising, conceited, celebrity author. He'd surely talk on and on about himself, which wasn't polite or interesting. She started to consider ways of escaping quickly. Yes, his smile was attractive. Yes, he was handsome – and hot. Yes, he was very nicely put together. But no, she wasn't interested in conceited celebrities.

She wasn't interested in anything, really. Men were a waste of space and her time: if they weren't arrogant louts, they got off on her job in some really perverted ways. Inevitably, this would be the same. She'd have this coffee, say as little as possible, and leave. If she'd had one of the books with her, she might have been tempted to ask him to sign it, but fortunately she didn't. If he knew she liked them, he'd be insufferable, she was sure.

As she walked into the coffee bar behind him, she was just as unhappy as previously, mixed with a generous dose of cynical certainty of Richard Castle's spoilt-celebrity arrogance.

"What would you like?" he asked.

"Plain black," she said. Normally, it would be vanilla latte, but her mood was so black she couldn't be bothered to sweeten it with anything. The caffeine hit would be enough. "Please," she added.

"Okay. Go sit down, and I'll be there in a moment."

Beckett chose a table in the corner, where she could sit with her back to the wall and watch everyone. Even without her gun and cuffs, and her badge in her pocket where it couldn't be seen, her entire attitude and demeanour screamed cop to anyone who might have even a mildly smudged intention. At least one person finished their coffee faster than they otherwise might have, and departed, trailing a smell of herbs that perhaps weren't entirely official. Nobody came near to Beckett. The café was busy, and normally she'd have been asked to surrender the spare chair, or smiled at by any number of men (and occasionally women), but today, when people's gazes crossed her face, they decided that they preferred life unscarred, and dropped their eyes.

"Here you are," Richard Castle's voice announced. He placed a large coffee cup in front of her, put his own down, and sat opposite. "I wouldn't have imagined you wanting to drink neat black coffee, you know."

"You don't even know me. You have no idea what I might drink." She paused. "Thank you." Gratefulness wasn't uppermost in her tone, but she threw back half the hot liquid in one long gulp.

"You really wanted that coffee," he said. Beckett didn't bother replying.

Castle was a touch confused. Normally, people were happy to talk to him, regardless of whether they knew him or not – and these days, quite a lot of people did. He'd been pretty sure, from the widening of the woman's eyes, that she had recognised him, but she sure wasn't making any effort to attract him, or even be friendly – she'd only just about managed civility. Okay, so he hadn't made the best first impression, but he was trying to make amends.

"What's your name?" he asked. "I'm Rick."

Her face briefly twisted, then smoothed. "Kate," she clipped off.

"Uh, well, Kate. I'm sorry I ran into you."

"That's okay." It was just as clipped as her name. She poured down another giant slug of coffee, and made no effort to start a conversation. He might have been offended, but her eyes were still slightly reddened, so instead he was now intrigued. Of course, he wouldn't have been nearly so intrigued if she hadn't been so stunning, but hey, he was a normal adult male, with normal reactions to beautiful women.

"It's not, really. I'm not normally like that."

Her brow rose, conveying utter disbelief. "Of course not," she said coolly.

"I'm not. It's just…my daughter's having Christmas with her mother, and my mother's travelling, so I'll have Christmas on my own. It upset me."

"I see." She drained her cup. "Thank you for coffee."

"Don't go yet." Castle couldn't have said why he stopped her.

Here we go, Beckett thought. Another idiot who's trying to pick me up. Well, even if it is Richard Castle, I'm not interested. A small flicker in her head indicated that she wasn't being entirely honest with herself. Okay. I might be on other days. But not today. She still wanted to go home and hide under her quilt.

"Please?" he tried, and widened his eyes hopefully. "Unless you've got somewhere you need to go?"

"No," she said without thinking.

"Great! I'll get more coffee."

"I could" –

"Nope. I'll get them. Black again?"

"Vanilla latte, please."

"I knew black wasn't your usual thing," he said happily. "Okay." He bounced off to the counter before Beckett could say a single word, such as Don't think you know me or I'm leaving right now, you smug ass.

He returned with two more coffees.

"Thank you." For the first time, she met his gaze properly. Only her cop training allowed her not to react. She'd never seen that shade of blue before: warm, friendly, appreciative without leering or ogling – and completely focused on her. "You didn't have to."

"I did have to apologise, though."

"I shouldn't have snapped at you."

He grinned. "Why not? I slammed into you. I'd've snapped too." The grin softened. "Thanks for accepting my apology. And the coffee."

Rather unwillingly, Beckett smiled back. Richard Castle's expression immediately altered to complete dumbfoundment, rather as if he'd been run over by a sleigh.

"Wow," he muttered. Beckett ignored his words in favour of drinking her coffee. Yes, he had a glorious smile and gorgeous eyes. No, she wasn't going to pay them any attention. She was not.

But she had to admit that her mood was becoming rather less black: nearly grey, in fact. She sipped her coffee, rather than throwing it back, and eased a fraction in her chair. "You're Richard Castle," she said. It wasn't a question.

He shrugged. "Yes, but you knew that. So?"

She stared at him. "How did you know I knew?"

Castle could feel his ears going pink. "Uh…well…I observe. Everything. All the time. I never know what might be useful or spark something for a book, so I'm always on the lookout. And you – when I caught you up the second time – you looked shocked, as well as angry, so…um… I thought you recognised me." He smirked. "I guess that means you like the books."

"More than I'm inclined to like you right now," Kate – she hadn't given him her last name – snipped.

Castle winced. "Okay, that sounded better in my head. But at least you like the books." She raised an exceedingly cynical eyebrow. "You just admitted it."

"I could abhor you and your books, I'd only have to abhor them a little less."

Castle's eyes lit up. "You read my books and you've got a wonderful choice of words. Have dinner with me?"

"What?"

Not for the first, or indeed thousand-and-first, time, Castle's impetuosity had led him far further than would be reasonable.

"Uh…" He had no better words, so he bulled through. "Come to dinner."

"How do you know I don't have plans with a family?"

"Because if you did, you'd just say so." She glared at him, and didn't answer. "Look, I'm not trying to hit on you. I could just use someone new to talk to while my daughter's out of town." He pouted. "She's never been away for Christmas before."

"How old is she?"

"Nine."

Kate blinked at him. "Never been away at Christmas?" she disapproved. "You mean you've never let her stay with her mom for Christmas?"

Castle disapproved right back. "I think you're making some big assumptions there. My daughter lives with me. Her mom moved to California, and doesn't see her more than twice a year, which she – her mom, that is – usually cuts short." He couldn't help the tart tone.

Kate made an apologetic gesture, and lowered the cynical eyebrow. "Hardly normal," she said. "Usually it's the other way around. There's a whole bunch more deadbeat dads than moms."

"Yeah. I know. But that's not me." He drank his coffee.

"I see." Kate drank her own coffee.

"What's your last name?"

"Beckett."

"Kate Beckett. Nice to meet you." He smiled again: open and warm. "Now, how about dinner?"

"I'm not dressed for dinner."

"I don't mean Balthazar or Le Cirque," he said equably. "The food's great but they're noisy, crowded and full of gossips. I mean somewhere quiet where I can talk to you."

"Don't you mean talk at me?"

"Mean. Very mean. No, I don't. I want to talk to you. You're…intriguing. There's a story in there somewhere – and not necessarily yours, either. You might just find me some inspiration." His smile broadened. "Keep my editor off my back. She's always complaining I'm behind." His brow furrowed as he drank his coffee. "Um…"

"Remy's," Kate pronounced. "We'll go to Remy's."

"What's Remy's?"

"Burgers. Milkshakes. That sort of thing."

Beckett considered – from vast experience – Remy's to have the best burgers and milkshakes in Manhattan, but she was pretty close to certain that it wouldn't suit Richard Castle at all. He might not want to go to Balthazar, but she was sure that it was a lot closer to his standards than Remy's.

"Sounds good," he said happily. "Alexis – my daughter – doesn't let me have burgers very often. She says it's not healthy."

"You let your daughter tell you what to do?"

"No, but I let her think she does occasionally." He grinned. "It makes her happy. Of course I don't eat unhealthily when she's around. I have to set her a good example." His eyes crinkled with mirth. "But she's not here and I am, so…Remy's it is."

Beckett boggled. Richard Castle regarded her closely. "You didn't think I'd agree, did you?" She coloured. "That's…" He stopped, and obviously rethought his next words. "Interesting." His focused regard intensified. "Agreeing but then trying to work it so I pull out. Hmm…" He stared at his coffee cup. "I can work with that."

"What?"

"I already said. Everything's inspiration. Even negative things, like manipulation." He grinned. "Which boyfriend did you need to manoeuvre like that?"

"What?"

"Well, I'm guessing that if you had to have dinner with a boss you'd suck it up – most people do – and you haven't said you have a family and you wouldn't be having dinner with me if you did, so…boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend."

Beckett boggled again. She took refuge in her coffee, brain whirling frantically. She had manipulated Will – sometimes, and always to keep him away from her drunken dad, especially near Christmas and through early January. How had Richard Castle seen it so fast? She really didn't want to be dissected as if she were a lab rat.

"Anyway, despite your best efforts to dissuade me, I still want to have dinner at Remy's. I think I'll like it." His face said and I think I like you too.

"I don't," Beckett muttered under her breath. The look on his face made her think that he'd heard that, but fortunately he didn't say anything. Her wish to return to her apartment – alone – and indulge her misery under her quilt reasserted itself. She didn't need the company of overly-perceptive writers, prodding at her feelings and invading her privacy.

He looked at his expensive watch. "We could go now."

"I'm not hungry." Her stomach betrayed her.

He raised eyebrows. "You mean, you want an excuse to evade your commitment."

"Are you always this pushy? Most people would have taken the hint by now."

"Like I said, I'm intrigued. I don't want to hit on you, I want the story. There's got to be a story why you were coming out of Macy's practically in tears, and I want to know."

"I want doesn't get."

"It usually does, you know. People are so shocked by directness that they just agree."

"That doesn't work on me."

"You came for coffee. So come for dinner. I'm buying."

"I can pay my own way," Beckett snapped. "And I haven't agreed to come for dinner either."

"You can't stand me up."

"Sure I can. Just watch." She stood up, and left.

Three strides outside the coffee shop door, he'd caught up. "Okay, you made your point. You don't have to come for dinner. You don't have to do anything at all. But you look like you're about to start crying again" – Beckett blinked furiously – "and I really can't stand the thought that I've made you cry twice in less than two hours. So let me buy you dinner to make up for it all."

"I don't want to!" she cried, and shamingly, appallingly, burst into tears.

Castle, for once totally at a loss, whistled down a taxi and pushed Kate Beckett into it, giving his address. Suddenly, his earlier conviction that her tears were his fault had taken a knock, although guilt told him that he'd given her the last push to send her over the cliff.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

An apology: sorry I didn't finish this in time for Christmas, which is what I'd hoped for. Anyway, it's done in time for Orthodox Christmas, so...Happy Christmas.

Six chapters, Thu/Sun/Tue posting. M chapters will be forewarned.

And because if I don't self-promote, no-one else will - do try my Casey&Carval series if you haven't already, starting with Death in Focus: Kindle, paperback or free on Kindle Unlimited under SR Garrae.