She watches Rick's face as she turns the engine off and takes the keys out of the ignition. He still looks weary, and he's noticed the empty parking lot, so disappointment has settled lightly over his features.
As if he's okay with leaving and just driving home.
Kate can't help the smirk that plays on her lips when he turns to tell her Ah well, next time. She shakes her head at him and opens her door. "Come on, Castle."
"It looks closed."
She ignores that and gets out of the car, shuts the door softly behind her. When she steps up onto the sidewalk in front of Capp's Corner (of San Francisco, the sign boasts), Castle eases out of the car and follows her.
"The sign says they're closed," he says, that confused look suffusing his face.
"I know," she says simply, and pulls out her phone, sending a quick text. She's had the text in her phone since the waiting room, ready to go, ready to hit send the moment she had him here.
"Kate?"
She says nothing, just waits.
The door swings open and a man in pressed navy pants, a startling white shirt offers them both a smile, a handshake. Kate is pleased that the handshake doesn't even make Castle hesitate; he smiles back and looks to her for help.
"Mr. Burnett?" she says, smiling.
"Call me Capp."
She laughs. "They told me you'd say that. Not your name."
"No, but it makes people feel better to think it is. Still, it *is* my family name. Cappelli. My uncle has the original restaurant in SF-"
"Seriously?" Castle twists around and glances to the sign, then back with a grin. "I *have* been there. North Beach, right?"
Mr. Burnett, Capp, laughs and nods. "You got it. Little Italy."
"I knew it," he hisses at her, nudging her arm. "Awesome."
Of course, she knows that already. She called and asked about the connection because Castle only mentioned it a hundred times in the last three weeks, every time they'd come out here for another therapy session.
"You guys ready for dinner? Mama C, our cook, was pretty thrilled about your request, Ms. Beckett."
"Kate," she says with a warm smile, because every time she's talked to the people at Capp's, they've been like this - friendly and cheerful and untouched by darkness. He rubs his hands together and gestures them inside.
The restaurant is typically Italian, red and white checked tablecloths, olive oil and parmesan cheese on the table next to empty wine bottles with candles melted down over their necks. A table in the center of the room has a basket of bread she can smell from the door; she lets Capp take her coat and gloves and nods her head for Castle to take his coat off as well.
He glances at her, surprise and confusion giving way to a soft kind of happiness. And that, of course, always comes with his best smile.
She smiles back at him.
Capp takes Castle's coat. "I wanted to set you up by the windows looking out over the sunset, but Mama C said it's too drafty and moved everything to the middle. It's her food, so-" He shrugs as if to say What can you do?
Kate smiles, ducking her head. "I'm sure it's fine." She threads her arm through Castle's and lets Capp seat them.
Castle waits to sit until she's got her place, then he lowers himself across from her, a look of appreciation and amusement on his face, making his eyebrow arch, making that old scar above his left eyebrow dent like a dimple. The one that shows itself when he's especially pleased.
When he was six, he lost a race with a heavy piece of stage set from one of his mother's plays; the scar is there because no one took him to the hospital to get stitches - they were in the middle of an afternoon production. The stage manager bandaged it with electrical tape that Rick was then too afraid to take off until weeks later. He likes to recount the story and magnify the amount of blood there was.
"What did you do, Kate Beckett?" he asks her, his lips in a teasing frown of disapproval.
"I rented out the restaurant." She watches the pleasure spread across his features, the delight in his eyes.
"You did."
"I did."
"Um. Maybe I'm overlooking a really important anniversary. . .but why?"
She quirks her lips, lets him think for a moment that he really has missed an anniversary, and then she shakes her head. "You haven't missed anything. Except-"
"Except?" He looks taken aback that he might have missed anything at all.
She likes playing with him; he's so dramatic. His whole face reacts. "Except we never finished our first date, Castle."
His mouth drops open; he has nothing to say to that. She finds herself far more pleased than she should be.
"When did you arrange this?" he says, tilting his head.
"Mm, a month ago."
"A *month* ago?" he yelps, then lowers his voice and leans in. "Such confidence, Detective Beckett."
She grins at his line and helps him mirror their first-date's conversation. "Just hope."
"Were you wearing me down?"
She laughs, finding it a relief to hear her own laughter in the quiet of the empty, warm restaurant with the rich smell of bread in the air. "I didn't need to wear you down, Castle. I've already got you."
His lips spread in that full, beautiful smile that makes her breath catch.
"Touché, once again. You get all the points."
Just like then, as now, she slips her shoes off and slides her foot to his ankle, hooking it around the back of his leg as he grins wider and wider.
Everything she wants to say to him builds up behind her answering smile; she suddenly can't wait to tel him, can't let it go by-
"Castle?"
He raises an eyebrow, but Capp comes back out bearing huge, steaming plates of spaghetti, their appetizer before the main course. A meatball the size of a fist is heaped on top of the thin noodles; the sauce smells rich and mouth-watering.
Capp leaves the plates at their table and nods once to Kate with a wink, then makes himself discreetly vanish.
Castle digs into his plate immediately with a gusto she's not seen in him for awhile. Six weeks to be exact. He looks better; he looks like he believes her when she said this was a new start.
Of course, she's lost her moment to say the words, but she's starving now and the spaghetti smells so good. She eats a few bites, relishing the meatball's spice, the Italian seasoning, the tomato and garlic sauce. Castle is gulping his food down, practically moaning with delight.
She shakes her head at him with a smile, so very glad to see his enthusiasm back. Earnestly.
Every time he lifts his head to look at her, Kate has her mouth partly open as if she's about to say something profound. Only she never does; she just smiles at him and goes back to her dinner.
They've had a light salad and then broiled tomatoes with parmesan cheese and artichoke spread drizzled in olive oil. Amazing. Kate keeps up with him, though she eats far less than the serving size, but she grins and licks her fingers and jokes with him as he relishes every course.
He's just finished a story about his physical therapist's wife and her random texts during their sessions when Capp brings out lasagna to their table, family style. He places clean plates in front of them and bows out.
Castle grins at the huge casserole dish of lasagna and then glances up at Kate. "How did you. . .how did you do all this?"
She smiles back, bats his hand away from the serving knife and spoon. "Let me get it."
"I can use my hands-"
She silences him with a soft look. "Let me serve us both." She stands up and comes over to his side of the table, too close, nudging his shoulder, practically bending over him to cut into the lasagna.
He feels her chest brush the top of his arm, the heat of her body against his side.
She takes up the thread of their conversation as if nothing's happening. "After you mentioned it a second time on our drive home, I realized we were gonna have to come here."
"I can be persistent," he agrees, trying to keep his mind off the round shape of her hip. But he can't. He puts his hand at her waist as if to steady her, lets his thumb brush her hip bone.
"That you can," she murmurs, bringing a square of lasagna to his place with the serving utensils, then reaching back to cut herself a piece as well. "So I called and said I wanted to rent the place for the night. This night. . .well, late afternoon, specifically. Capp's people have been really helpful with getting this whole thing set up."
"A month," he laughs.
"I didn't want just a repeat of our date, even though it was pretty great-"
He grins at that, pride swelling in his chest, and she rolls her eyes and leans towards her own plate to serve herself. His hand is still on her hip and she hesitates at his side.
"And I thought it would be. . .romantic. Here."
Because she knows he likes the grand gestures, that romance matters to him. And he's pretty sure that somewhere in there, it matters to her too. "This is perfect. And the food is amazing. But. . .how are you paying for this?" He wonders if he can maybe slip a thousand dollars into her bank account without her noticing.
Yeah, probably not.
She shrugs at him, but doesn't move enough to dislodge his hand at her waist. "I have some money, Castle. It's my treat this time."
"And next time?"
She smirks at him, moves to her own seat. The touch gone. "Next time you can pay."
"I'll hold you to that."
She pushes her hair back behind her ear. "You won't have to hold me to anything. I'm already here."
It's amazing how much she's saying without saying much at all.
Kate takes her last bite of lasagna and leans back, watching Castle from under her mostly closed lashes. She feels warm and a little drowsy and a lot turned on.
He's been trying to seduce her all dinner long, not so much with touch, though there is that, but with words. Stories. The sun has long set, and the darkness outside is obdurate with stars. She can see them even from the middle of the restaurant, even with the lights of suburbia glowing around them.
"Is there dessert, or can I take another helping?" he says.
Kate turns her head back to him. "There's dessert."
"Ohh, yummy." Then that childish delight is swept from his face and he keeps hold of the serving spoon to give her a saucy look. "Unless *you* are dessert. In that case, I may need another piece to keep my strength up."
She presses her lips flat to keep the grin from destroying the look she's trying to cultivate. "Let's just say that I'm not your *first* dessert."
His eyes grow dark and all trace of childishness is gone. Her whole body thrills to that look.
Capp interrupts again with tiramisu that reeks of brandy and coffee and oh, chocolate. He disappears just as quickly. She grabs one of the forks and spears the dessert, giving Castle a look.
"There's just this one, Castle," she murmurs, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Pull your chair next to mine so we can share."
That's not just surprise on his face, that's desire. Arousal. She's seen it banked in him before, but never seen it flame to life before her. Not like this. She keeps her eyes on him as he drags his chair around to her side, picking up the second fork. She watches his fingers handle it deftly, without even a moment's hesitation, and it's the most beautiful sight in the world.
The tiramisu is drizzled in chocolate, and chocolate shavings sprinkle the top. A coffee-flavored cream holds together the layers of cheesecake-like sponge cake. It is truly amazing. Capp's Mama has outdone herself.
"This is so good," she moans, and licks the cream from her fork. Coffee. Always does it. And chocolate. Best combination.
Castle's warm hand on her thigh startles her for an instant, but when her eyes dart to his, he's watching her mouth, her tongue against the fork, and she realizes she's pushed too far, unknowingly.
Well. Not too far. Just. . .further than she expected to go right now.
She touches her tongue to the corner of her mouth, licks away cream, and Castle's hand squeezes her thigh, his thumb rubbing up and down, his pinky finger twitching, making her stomach flutter.
"You are so. . .hot," he says finally, shaking his head. "I have no words. You just. . ."
He drops his fork and leans in, brushes his mouth over hers lightly at first, then takes her top lip between his and works the cream from the corner of her mouth. His tongue sweeps her bottom lip, his taste like rich coffee and Italian seasoning; a hand is caressing her cheek so very softly, his fingers at work.
She loves the feel of his fingers against her cheek. She can't get enough of their soft tips, the curl of his index finger, or the ease with which they stroke her skin.
And then his mouth opens over hers, she feels it - everything - vibrating in his body, and she pulls back.
Not yet. He was going to push it further, and she wants the time to be exactly right. She's got it all planned.
"This dessert first," she reminds him, putting a finger to his lips when he unconsciously leans in for more.
He kisses her finger, traps her wrist to kiss the pulse fluttering there, then leans forward in his chair with her hand trapped to his chest.
"All right. You're in charge." He brushes his thumb over the back of her hand. She sees the scar around his throat convulse as he swallows. It does something to her sense of balance, dampens her joy just a little bit.
"I have more to show you," she says finally, needing to give him something more than a hot kiss at a dinner table, even if the tiramisu is amazing and the lasagna like homemade.
"You have more to show me?" And an eyebrow lifts, a quick perusal of her wardrobe, her lack of open buttons at the top of her dress shirt pop a couple more, and she grins back.
That's what she was going for. A little sexiness, a lot of humor. A way to regain their balance and start anew.
She slowly pops a couple of buttons on her dress shirt with one hand and a smirk, leaning over to brush her lips along his cheek.
"I have lots more to show you, Rick Castle."