Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

They're at the bottom of the second bottle when Beckett, licking an errant drop of wine from the corner of her mouth, leans in toward Castle until they're almost nose-to-nose. "Know what I think?"

"No, what are you thinking?" He thinks he might know what she's thinking, but he's not sure. Maybe he's just hopeful. He's a hopeful kind of guy, after all.

"I think this is like Forbidden Planet."

"What?" Wow, he really doesn't know what she's thinking. His brain must be a little fuzzy.

"Last winter."

"What?" He can smell the wine on her breath. It smells fantastic. She smells fantastic.

"Are you suffering from echo, echolalalalee. Echolalia, Castle?"

"What?"

"See that's the third time you said that. You said 'what?' three times. Echolalia."

"Um, okay. Well, why is this like Forbidden Planet?"

"Last winter."

"Forbidden Planet last winter."

"You told me you hadn't seen it but you really had. That was a big fib. You'd seen it a lot. A lot of times." He can tell that she's trying to look stern, but she's actually smiling as she draws back just enough to pick up her copy of Pretzel. "See, I think this is like that," she says, waving the book and then leaning in even closer than she had been, so close that he can't bring her face into focus. "I think you read this before, Castle."

"What?"

"That's four times. You said 'what?' four times. C'mon, fess up, you read it, didn't you?"

Why wouldn't he fess up with a mouth like that just a tongue tip away? "It's true. I did. I read it."

"Aha! I knew it. How come you read it? You can tell me."

Oh, he'll tell her anything now if she'll stay here. The password to every one of his bank accounts, brokerage accounts, and security systems. His most embarrassing adolescent moment. Anything. But maybe not right away. "Because it has such a cute cover, with, you know, Pretzel on it. How he, uh, stretches around the back. His backside is on the back, did you see?"

"I saw. I read this about a thousand times, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." And until the fiery pits of hell consume me for having fibbed, I will remember just how gorgeous you are right this minute. That's what he really wants to say, but doesn't. All he can manage is, "That's more times than I did. Have. Have yet. Read it."

She's still there, hovering. "You can't tell a book by its cover, right, Castle? You know that. You write books and they have a naked woman on the cover. Me. Wait, not me. But sort of me."

She wrinkles her forehead and shakes her head. Her hair moves across his face, brushes his left cheek, then his nose, and then trails away over his right cheek. Damn. Gone. Oh, but she's still there. Here. In front of him.

"Whydja really read this book? A lot of times. Not a thousand though, yet."

He cannot tell a(nother) lie, so he finally, truly fesses up. "Because you love it."

Her eyes blink, hard. And then again. And then they look very soft, and he knows that even with all those muscles in her unbelievably fit body she must be softer than the soft cashmere sweater that he wishes she would take off.

"Beckett?" he whispers into her winy mouth.

"Yeah, Castle?"

"I would really, really like to kiss you."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Because I would really, really like to kiss you back. If you kiss me."

He doesn't wait, not after waiting almost three years. Just grabs her and kisses her with every bit of everything he can summon, and then a little more that bubbles up from somewhere he can't even identify.

And what does she do? Exactly the same.

"That was even better," he finally says, still getting his breath.

"Than what?"

"Than the one last year, on January 26th."

"You mean the, uh, the fake one. When we had to distract that guard?"

"Wasn't fake."

She chuckles. "You're telling me."

"Wish you'd told me then."

"On January 26th? And how the hell do you know the date, Castle?"

He pushes her hair off her forehead. "Brain burn. Never gonna forget it. That was some kiss, Beckett. Especially now that I know you weren't faking it."

She looks a little bit shy again, as if the affects of the wine might be wearing off. "Yeah. But—but you said this was better. You gonna remember this?"

"Aren't you?"

"Yes. Oh, yes." She presses her forehead into the center of his chest. "Castle?"

"Mmmhmm?"

"Are you drunk?" she asks, speaking directly into his sternum.

"Maybe around the edges."

"You have nice edges, Castle."

"I think you're drunk, Beckett."

"Not too drunk to notice your edges."

"You accusing me of edging?"

She snorts, and smacks him lightly on the bicep. Before he can respond, his phone goes off, the ringtone unmistakable. Shit. He wiggles until he can get the phone out of his pocket.

"Hi, Alexis."

Beckett can't hear what his daughter is saying, but it's obvious from his end of the conversation, and his expression, that he's supposed to be at home.

"I'm so sorry. I'm on my way right now. Just lost track of the time, you know, talking shop with, uh, Beckett." He winces. "Reminiscing about old cases. See you in a few minutes."

"You have to go?" She hates herself for sounding forlorn, her head still lolling on his chest.

He puts his hand under her chin and tilts her head up. "I do. I hate it, but I do. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Nothing."

"Want to do nothing with me, instead?"

"I'd rather do something with you, instead."

"You're definitely drunk. I'm driving you home."

"You can't. You're drunk. I'd have to arrest you. Handcuff you."

"That a promise?"

She snorts again, rolls away from him and stands up. "Time to go," she says, sadly.

Castle stands, too, and passes her the book. "Don't forget this," he says.

"Not a chance," she says, taking it, running her hand across the cover and then wrapping the red paper around it again before putting it in her bag. "While you're doing whatever you have to do with Alexis, I'm going to read this again."

He doesn't have to do anything with Alexis. She's going out and he has to take care of Pretzel, but there's no way he's telling Beckett. "For the thousand and oneth time?"

"Thousand and twooth. Thousand and oneth was when I read it to you."

To the (unexpressed) surprise and delight of both, they go up the stairs hand in hand. When they reach the top she lets go, but the moment they're in the cab, she takes his hand again.

"I'll walk you up," he says dreamily, as the car stops in front of her building.

"No, you need to get home. See you tomorrow, Castle." She kisses him quickly, and gets out. Halfway to the door, she turns and waves to him.

"It's a date, Beckett," he calls through the window.

"I guess it is," she says quietly, with a smile, as the car turns the corner.

When Castle comes through his front door, he is greeted by a full-body wiggling dog and a mildly annoyed daughter, who has already put on her coat.

"Dad."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I hope you're not late."

"Not, too." And with that, and a quick kiss on the cheek, she leaves to meet her friends and he's left with an excited puppy and a whole evening to plan tomorrow's date. Wow, he hadn't seen that coming.

Wow, she hadn't seen that coming. She's home, too excited to eat, but smart enough not to drink any more wine. She makes herself a cup of very strong coffee. She has a whole evening to think about tomorrow. What she should wear, what they might do. Stretched out on the sofa, she picks up her phone, puts it down. Picks it up again. Is it too soon to call him? Maybe text? What are you, twelve? she asks herself. Yeah, she thinks.

He has made himself a cup of very strong coffee and is sitting at his desk. Pretzel is on his lap, gnawing on a toy, and Castle has his phone in his hand. Is it too soon to call her? Maybe text? What are you, twelve? he asks himself. Yeah, he replies, happily. I'm twelve and I'm calling my girl. Wait, I'll text her. Be more nonchalant. Cool. Mr. Cool.

"Hi, Beckett."

She jumps when she feels the ping in her palm. Oh, thank God, he made the first move. Made the first move in his office too. Maybe a little provoked, she admits. "Hey, Castle."

"What time I should pick you up tomorrow?"

"I dunno. Maybe first thing in the morning?"

"Best time ever."

She has to stop before she does something really stupid. "Night, Castle."

"Night, Beckett. Tomorrow."

He checks the time. It's 9:52. "We got work to do, Pretzel," he says, as he gets up and puts the dog on the floor. "Follow me, buddy."

In the kitchen, Castle retrieves the frozen dough that he had made a few days earlier and pops it in the microwave to defrost it. "I was going to do this later," he tells the dog, "but now is better." He turns on the oven and dusts the counter with flour before he rolls out the dough. "See this?" he asks Pretzel, holding up a dachshund-shaped cookie cutter that he had taken from a drawer. "I bought it the other day, in your honor."

By eleven o'clock, there are thirty cookies cooling on a wire rack. "Hey, Pretzel," Castle says. "I know you're not supposed to have sweets, but a little bit won't hurt. It can be our secret. We won't tell the vet."

The dog appears to agree.

"You know this isn't cannibalism, right? It's just a cookie that we're eating here, not an actual dachshund." He breaks off a bit and stoops down to let the puppy have it from his hand. "You like that? Okay, time for our bedtime stroll."

They walk around the block twice before coming back in. The cookies are room temperature now, so Castle gets a small bakery box from an under-counter cabinet, lines it with wax paper, and carefully fills it with two dozen cookies. He scoops up the puppy and takes him to the bedroom. "Time to get in your crate, Pretzel. I'll be right back." Castle has learned not to turn to look at him when he leaves the room, so he's not pierced to the heart by the piteous gaze.

A few minutes later, the squawk of the intercom jolts Beckett from a particularly enjoyable, highly erotic daydream. She stomps to the door, knowing it's that jerk from 2C who leaves his lobby-door key at home at least once a week. Wishing, not for the first time, that she had a doorman, she presses the TALK button. "Who is it?"

She pushes LISTEN and waits until there's a staticky one-word response. "Me."

Right, she mutters, using the OPEN button to let him in. She has barely gotten back to her sofa, where she hopes to resume her very satisfying daydream, before she hears a knock. Jesus, he forgot his apartment key, too. She's going to give it back to him. She's tired of having to be his mother. She wrenches the door open, ready to hand him his stupid key and tell him off, in her best kick-ass detective voice.

Except it's not the jerk from 2C.

"Castle?"

He looks as happy as she's ever seen him. "Ready for our date?"

"It's, it's—" she looks at her watch.

"Twelve oh one. I got here at twelve on the dot, but had to walk up."

She's gaping. Smiling and gaping at the same time.

"You said first thing in the morning, and it is. First thing." He taps the face of her watch and holds out the shiny cardboard box. "Made you these."

TBC

A/N Thank you all: readers, reviewers, followers and favoriters!