Chapter 25

"So, what'd you make me?"

The smirk in his voice was evident- but the twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable. He knew what this meant to her—or-at least he had some semblance of understanding. Kate didn't even know the full meaning of the feelings she had herself, so really how could this man really have a complete understanding of them if she didn't?

Then again, if anyone in the world might ever have an understanding of her, it was this twinkle-eyed man-child before her.

"Tradition," she whispered.

"This is my new favorite meal. What is this?"

Castle had barely swallowed and gotten the words past his lips before he shoved another generous bite into his eager mouth.

He chewed.

Swallowed.

It was...

Fantastic.

A merry melody that danced along his taste buds.

The single best thing that he had tasted in his entire life.

Single?

He looked down at his plate and tried to determine if he'd sampled more than one dish at a time.

Hm... Actually he couldn't tell. That orange stuff could either be a part of that other partially devoured mound...or it could be a side dish? Maybe? Did that bread looking stuff go with that? Had he eaten any of that bread looking stuff?

Perhaps he should slow down but it was so good and he couldn't possibly get enough of its tantalizing goodness and...and no one else was eating. Actually, they were all staring at him. His daughter blushing, eyes wide in near horror, his mother barely keeping a lid on laughter, and Kate... Kate blushing with something else entirely.

Interesting...maybe he should feel some embarrassment for his eagerness to partake in this offering of his gi-gifted friend. They hadn't really talked about it. He probably shouldn't assume. Though...

Wow. He was correcting himself in his head-which would be something he should contemplate, though probably best not while his three favorite people were staring at him like he'd grown three more heads.

Oh. There he went again.

He ran his tongue across his upper lip. Went for nonchalant, "What is this?"

Martha laughed and jokingly scolded him, "Manners, Richard. Surely I brought you up better than that." She then patted Kate's arm and stage whispered, "Darling you could tell him it's liverwurst and sheep's brains and he would still clear his plate and claim it to be his favorite."

Castle wrinkled his nose and shook his head as Alexis made a disapproving noise. Kate blushed and hid her eyes. But when she lifted them she watched a curious expression cross his face.

The one that accompanied his discovery of a bit of unsought after yet entirely enlightening and welcome information.

Something had occurred to him. Perhaps something he hadn't expected. He may as well have shouted "Eureka!" with the intensity of his gaze in her direction. And now her ears were catching fire.

Thankfully this went unnoticed by the other two as they were speaking animatedly to each other. Martha laughing as Alexis explained something about "Actually did you know that sheep's brains are a delicacy in..." Kate thought she said something about the middle east but was having a difficult time concentrating on anything other than the way his eyes were practically oozing emotion. She wanted to freeze this moment and tuck it away.

Actually-that was true of most of this vacation.

Time in a bottle.

She watched as his expression softened as he lowered his fork and took a settling breath,"Kate."

She motioned for everyone to take their respective seats and waited until she had their attention. "This," she repeated, "is tradition. Or it used to be- but. .." and stumbled to a halt. She hadn't considered that she might have to explain her contribution. Meal. Gift. Whatever. What was this really? Did he mean: what different dishes did you prepare for us to consume, Kate? Or, in a more Castley-sly way did he mean that plus: what does the act of doing this mean to you-to us- Kate?

Probably the latter.

Well, they could talk about hidden meanings later. In private. Hopefully after she'd sussed out what, exactly, it actually did mean to her.

To them.

For them.

Kate took a deep breath and released it slowly. Every fiber of her being hyper-aware that three pairs of eyes were intent on her.

"Okay," she pointed to each plated dish in turn, "dinner consists of sarma, ajvar—which is meant to be eaten on the pogacha, pasticada, and," she laughed, "Beans a` la Beckett. Then for dessert we've got fritule, filza strudlu stresnjama ili visnjama, and suhe smokve s orasima. The Bozichi kruh..." she trailed off as she noticed the three very different expressions directed at her.

Martha looked like she was lost but attempting to save face. Alexis, red faced and trying not to laugh—as if she'd expected something like this out of her father's...what? Partner. And Castle... Castle looked like she'd just handed him the world on a platter. Or said something dirty.

He pursed his lips and cleared his throat. "Yeah. That's...that's what I thought. Delicious."

Martha fumbled with her silverware and Kate started again. "Sorry, dinner consists of cabbage rolls, an eggplant/pepper spread, also known as 'vegetarian caviar' to be spread on the bread, Dalmatian pot roast, and, uh," she swallowed, "Beans a` la Beckett. The only dish my dad could contribute. Desserts are fritters, walnut fig delight, and sour cherry strudel. And Castle, I know she's underage, but I'm a cop and you're her father and we're in your home—one of anyway- and the grappa does have an alcoholic content..." Kate stopped talking altogether and sat wasn't what she'd wanted to say really, but it was an accurate list of the dishes that she had labored over.

Kate watched as the cloud of confusion lifted from their faces and they inspected the dishes before them more thoroughly. Except Castle. His fork was poised to deliver more of the ajvar-minus pogacha- to his mouth but seemed frozen just before meeting its mark. His eyes were instead focused on her. His gaze flitting between her face and the feast set before him. His face not quite calculating, but rather more cataloging. Cataloging what? She hoped it had been a sufficient enough answer.

And it seemed to be. At least to the two females at the table it did. Martha gushed over the complexities of the dishes while Alexis was complimenting her on the presentation. But Castle. Castle wasn't saying a word.

And that was a bit worrisome.

He didn't know what to say. His brain had made some connection whilst his concentration was elsewhere and he was trying very hard to catch up.

His fingers twitched around his fork. Of its own volition his free hand came to grasp the wine glass in front of him and the next thing he knew he was raising it as if making a toast. His mother and daughter followed suit. And Kate, still blushing, raised her glass as well.

A toast.

This, he could work with.

Castle cleared his throat and tried to keep his eyes from watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His brain stuttered. He still didn't know what to say.

"To family," she said, filling the silence. There was something about the way she said it. Something that caught him off guard. Desire? An anticipation? Something in her tone and the slight pallor of her cheeks as she regarded him from across the table almost shyly. As if she weren't sure how he would react.

Absurd.

She was family. This was her family.

"Family." He smiled warmly noticing no adverse reactions from the rest of his family. Their family. This was his family. Her glass remained steady in her hand as she returned the smile. He clinked the edge of her glass, unable to keep the giddy smile off of his face. The one that held no secrets. The one that said 'of course we're family. Of course that's the perfect toast' and then some. Some of which she may not be ready to hear just yet.

Alexis was making a toast, of which he heard the tail end of. Something about fun and snow and being together. Sounded good to him. They all clinked glasses once more. His mother would begin waxing poetic next about times past and whatnot, but he needed to return the conversation to safe and carefree, and no other tactic worked like a bit of holiday trivia.

Castle cleared his throat once more earning him a look from his mother, a laugh from his daughter, and a raised eyebrow from Kate. The 'What are you up to?' one. He grinned and dove in. "Did you know that the term "Toast" didn't come into being until the 16th century, and possibly earlier, when it became customary to put a piece of toasted bread or croûton into the drink to either improve flavor, or as sort of a built-in snack. Imagine, a food/drink combo before smoothies!"

His hands were going crazy as he spoke and motioned and tried not to spill his drink. "People had added flavorings to drinks for a while. You know, spices, aromatics, honey, raisins, saffron, mint, sea water, rose petals, pepper, violets, and who knows what other additives had been used to alter or improve the flavor of wine. Kinda like we can get flavored beer nowadays. Mmm. That pumpkin spice one..." He licked his lips and shook his head. "The toast craze, however, caught on, and soon anything found floating in a drink was called a toast."

He laughed and motioned to his glass. "Imagine finding a fly in your wine. Ew. Do you think they called that a toast? Anyway "Drinking a toast" to someone or something became hugely popular in the 17th and 18th centuries, to the point of excess. When a gathering would run out of attendees to toast, it became custom to toast absent friends, thus prolonging the drinking. Those must have been very expensive parties. It was during this period, the heyday of the toast, that the position of Toastmaster came into being. A sort of party referee, the Toastmaster's duty was to make sure that everyone got a fair chance and equal opportunity to offer toasts. Elaborate drinking games and toasting competitions became popular, as well as some rather gruesome customs. Impressing the ladies (or perhaps the other guys) seemed to be the motivation for most of these. Young men would sometimes stab themselves in the arm, mix their blood with their wine and drink it when toasting a young woman to prove their devotion and prowess, and then the practice of drinking to a lady's beauty from her shoe came into being, though I can't imagine any lady being particularly amused by that." He imagined trying to drink from one of Beckett's stilettos. Could prove challenging, but he'd do it if he thought it would impress her. Happily he knew that the contrary was true. If he did try drinking from her shoe, he'd probably be locked up.

One quick glance across the table confirmed this theory-though she did look amused. He continued his story, "Predictably, this excess eventually led to a backlash. Anti-toasting movements and laws began to appear, although they were largely unsuccessful. Eventually, the boisterous excess calmed down and toasting returned to its original standing as an intellectual affair. Toasting clubs began to emerge and toasting evolved into a way to promote moral doctrine and patriotism, making toasting a social custom instead of a drinking one. Some of the great toasts of time have been men besting one another on a new battlefield. For instance, Former Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan once toasted the British Navy with a glass of water, saying, 'Gentlemen, I believe your victories were won on water.' British Ambassador rose and toasted, 'George the Third, who, like the sun in its meridian spreads a luster throughout and enlightens the world.' He was followed by the French minister, who toasted, 'The illustrious Louis the Sixteenth who, like the moon, sheds his mild and benevolent rays on and influences the globe.' Franklin then rose and toasted, 'George Washington, commander of the American armies, who, like Joshua of old, commanded the sun and the moon to stand still, and both obeyed.' I mean can you imagine?" He laughed and raised his glass a little higher. "We just don't get great toasts like that anymore. Ha!"

Kate tilted her glass towards his, "Then again, nobody is asking you to thrust a bayonet in your arm to prove your manhood, so perhaps we should count our blessings. To family," she repeated.

"Family." It was the single best toast he'd ever heard.

AN: I'm back on the writing wagon-[!*!*!*LIFE!**!*!*!]-though can still make no promises as to an update timetable. Reviews are welcome and sometimes much needed encouragement, but with or without them this story will continue. Huge thanks to anyone who hasn't given up on me and is still with me.