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

No sooner has Beckett taken the box from Castle than he produces a small shopping bag. "Can't have cookies without milk," he says, tilting the bag to show her the quart bottle. "Figured you probably didn't have any."

Beckett is utterly flustered. "Right. Yes. No. I mean, I didn't have any, but now I do." She looks down at the box, which she is grasping by the red-and-white striped string that's wrapped around it. "You baked cookies for me? When?"

"Just now. Listen, may I come inside? Call me crazy, but I think it would be nice for both of us to be in the same room for our date."

"You are crazy, but all right." She moves back to open the door wide, and he comes through.

"Beckett!" He points to her feet. "You have bunny slippers?"

And just like that, she unflusters, and tosses her head. "You saying they're too informal for our date?"

He looks her over carefully, from pony-tailed head to bunny-slippered toes, his head cocked to one side. "No, I'd say they're perfect. They complement your adorable pajamas, too."

"My adorable pajamas?" she says, glancing down as if she expects to find herself inexplicably dressed in Dr. Dentons.

"Well, the top part. The Runaway Bunny tee shirt part. Goes with the slippers."

She ricochets to a flustered state, almost dropping the box of cookies as she tries to cross her arms over her chest. "Oh, God. I forgot that I put that on. Please. Please promise you won't tell anyone that's what I sleep in."

"Sleep in? Why Detective Beckett, I just got here. I had no idea you were so forward."

She laughs at that, laughs so hard that she can't quite control what she's saying. She's beyond grateful to him for putting her at ease. "I could kiss you for that, Castle."

"You already did. Quite a lot, in fact. But I wouldn't mind if you did it again."

She stops laughing and looks at him for a long moment. "I think we should have our milk and cookies."

"Okay," he says, taking off his coat and hanging it on a hook by the door. "We could read Pretzel again while we do that. Or maybe Runaway Bunny."

"I don't have my copy anymore," she blurts out. "It blew up, too."

Before she has a chance to feel wistful, he says, "Doesn't matter. Pretzel is more suitable for the occasion anyway."

She looks a question at him, but he just gestures towards her kitchen. "You have a plate? And some glasses?"

"I may not be as…domesticated…as you, Castle," she says, "but I believe I can come up with a plate. And two glasses. That match, even." She opens a cabinet door, and holds up a pair of glasses with a flourish. "Now hand me that box. I want to see what you made. Chocolate chip, I bet."

"Totally cold, Beckett," he says, plunking down on a kitchen stool.

"Really? Okay. Peanut butter?"

He shakes his head.

"Oatmeal raisin?"

"You're getting colder. Why don't you untie the string and see."

She sets the box down properly, and undoes the string as carefully as she had untied the ribbon on the book a few hours earlier. When she lifts the top of the box and bends it back, she gasps. "Gingerbread! Pretzel-shaped gingerbread! These are incredible." She lifts one out and holds it up, examining it, turning it over in her hand. She bites the cookie in two and chews carefully, then swallows. "Wow," she says, smiling at him. "Wow, Castle."

He can't remember ever having seen that expression in her eyes, a mix of astonishment, delight and sparkle. It occurs to him, in his gooey state, that probably no one has made cookies for her in years. That such a simple gesture should open up such a complex person is painfully touching. Afraid that his voice might shake and give him away, he waits for her to eat the other half before he says anything.

"So, you like 'em, huh?"

"Oh, I do." She fills the plate with them, stacking a dozen with great care. "Here, have one," she says, offering him the plate. "You want some milk, too, right?"

"Mfcrs." He swallows. "Sorry. I meant, of course."

"You want to have these in the living room? More comfy than that hard stool."

He slides off, picks up his glass, and follows her to the sofa. And for the next 45 minutes they just talk easily, laughing and punctuating their sentences with the crunch of a cookie or the faint slurp of milk.

"That was a perfect bedtime snack, if I do say so." Castle stands up, takes their glasses and the empty plate to the sink, and walks towards the door.

"You going somewhere, Castle?" She looks confused again, as she rises from the sofa.

"Home to bed."

"You're going home?"

"Yup. This is our first date, you know. Don't want to rush into anything."

"Rush? Oh." She's standing so close to him, and looks so small, that he wonders if he could just button her inside his coat with him and they could stay that way for a long time.

"You okay, Beckett?"

"Yes, I just." She's looking at the floor. "I thought our date would be. I dunno."

"Oh," he says, taking her face in his hands. "You must be thinking about our second date."

"Second?"

"Yeah. At eleven. I'm picking you up at eleven, which gives you about nine and a half hours to get ready." He gives her a quick but very thorough kiss. "Night."

"Night, Castle." She closes the door behind him and puts her fingers to her lips. "Night," she says again, before turning to go to the kitchen for one more cookie. She brushes her teeth, props up the gingerbread against her bedside lamp, and gets into bed. "Night, Pretzel," she says. "Oh, my God, I'm talking to a cookie."

It's almost two o'clock in the morning when Castle gets home, lets Pretzel out of his crate. and gets down to play with him. "Told ya I'd be right back. I'd never leave you in here for more than four hours, you know." He scratches the dog behind the ears. "Want to hear about my date? I think it went really well." He replays some of the conversation that he and Beckett had had, and when he winds down, Pretzel licks his hand. "Taste good? I bet it tastes of your gingerbread and Beckett, which is a pretty great combo, let me tell you." He yawns. "Sorry, buddy, got to go to bed. Big day ahead." Five minutes later, the dog is curled on the duvet next to the knee of his human. Both are asleep.

At ten fifty-nine Castle is standing in Beckett's hallway, counting down from sixty. He has seventeen seconds to go when she opens the door.

"Morning, Castle," she says.

"Oh! Morning, Beckett. You have on, uh, shoes."

"I do. Good for you, Junior Detective. You coming in or going to stand out there, gathering dust?"

"Definitely coming in."

"Would you like to take off your coat?"

"Trying to undress me already? I thought we went over this."

"Well, it's our second date. I thought the rules might have changed."

"Point taken. But I'm taking you out, so there's no time for undressing of any kind. You ready?"

His coat is unbuttoned, so she can see that he's wearing a shirt, pullover sweater and jeans. Since she's dressed almost identically, she figures she's good to go. "Yup. Just grabbing my bag."

And they're out the door. As soon as they're in the street, she reaches for his hand. "Where we going?"

"Brunch. Little German place. Incredible sausage. Good, here's a cab." He asks the driver to take them to Seventh Avenue and Thirty-fourth.

"Interesting choice of crummy neighborhood, Castle," she says when they're almost there. "You know something I don't?"

"Yup. You'll have to torture out of me while we have brunch. Ah, here we are."

Beckett looks around, somewhat puzzled, since she sees no sign of a little German place. He tugs on her hand.

"Right over here."

"Here" turns out to be a hot dog cart five yards to their left. "We'll take two, please," Castle says to the man wielding the tongs. "With everything. And two pretzels, extra mustard. And two waters." He hands over a fifty for the food, tells the stunned man to keep the change, and nods to a vacant bench nearby. "Let's sit," he says happily. "You don't mind eating outside, do you, even though it's twenty-four degrees? Food like this should be savored in the fresh air, don't you think?"

Beckett has been silent throughout. When she finally opens her mouth, she promptly closes it. And then opens it again. "Fresh air? We're sitting right by two idling buses."

"Authentic New York City experience," he says. "Have a hot dog."

After the third bite, she looks sideways at him, then turns so that her knees are pressed hard against his thighs. "You a friend of the chef, Castle?"

"Mr. Sabrett? Old, old friend, Beckett."

"Thought so." She finishes the hot dog, and starts in on the soft pretzel. "Hmm."

"Hmm? What's that? Something wrong with your pretzel?"

"No, it's perfect. It's just that I have detected a bizarre theme."

"Theme?" he asks, oozing innocence.

"Yeah, theme. Pretzel the book. Dachshund wine. Dachshund-shaped gingerbread. Hot dogs. Soft pretzels. Sounds like a theme to you?"

"Sounds like circumstantial evidence to me."

"Huh. I'm going to figure this out, you know." She prods him with her knee. "Any chance we're getting dessert?"

"Every chance, but it'll have to wait. Come with me." He gets off the bench and pulls her up.

"Where are we going?"

"Right there," he says, pointing to a marquee opposite Penn Station.

"The Hotel Pennsylvania?" She stops walking. "Boy, Castle. You really know how to romance a girl."

"My intentions are purely honorable." He's bouncing on his feet. "You're going to love this, I promise."

"I think I'd like dishonorable intentions a lot more," she mutters, rolling her paper napkin into a ball and tossing it into the dented wire trash can.

When they're in the lobby, he reaches into his coat pocket, takes out two tickets and consults them. "Okay, we take this elevator to the eighteenth floor, the Penn Top Ballroom."

This calm utterance also brings Beckett to a halt. "Ballroom? Are you kidding me? I left my ball gown at home, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Won't need it. C'mon." He nearly drags her to the elevator, then down a corridor to the ballroom where the floor is filled not with dancers, but roughly a hundred dachshunds of every possible kind. "What do you think, Beckett? It's the Knickerbocker Dachshund Club Dog Show. Happens every year. We're gonna meet all the dogs and everything."

She is almost incandescent with joy as she claps her hands. "How did you even know about this?"

"Looked it up," he says, matter-of-factly, thought there was nothing matter of fact about it. He had hunted this event down like a, well, hound.

"It's magical," she says. "Let's go see the dogs."

Two hours later, after she has spoken with half the trainers, breeders and owners there, he's still surprised by just how excited she is. "I should have brought you here ages ago," he says.

"You didn't know I had a thing for dachshunds ages ago," she replies. "And besides—"

That's it. She says nothing more, just bites her lip, which is either a very good or a very bad sign. "And besides?" he prompts at last.

"And besides." She takes a deep breath. "And besides, we weren't dating ages ago."

He wonders if hearts can explode naturally. His feels as if it's about to, and he doesn't want to die now, even the most joyful death, which is what his would be if it happened this instant.

They make their way out and down to the lobby. "Where to now?" Beckett asks.

"I dunno. Want to get dessert?"

"Yeah, I do. And I know just the place."

"Where?"

"It's a surprise. My turn for that."

"Do I have to close my eyes?"

"Wait until we get in the cab."

He slides in first while she waits outside, motioning to the driver to open his window so she can quietly give him an address. Once she's settled in the back seat she says, "Close 'em, Castle,and don't open up until I tell you."

For once, he does exactly as instructed. He thought it would drive him crazy, but it doesn't. With his eyes closed, he can concentrate on how she smells, and how it feels to have her hand on his knee.

When they reach wherever it is they're going, she reminds him not to open his eyes, and helps him out of the car. They walk a few steps and come to a door. "Hold you nose," she says.

"Why? Are you taking me somewhere weird? We going to see alligators in the sewer or something?"

"Nope. I just don't want to give you any sensory clues ahead of time."

"Ooh, I like the sound of that, Beckett."

"Good. Now hold your nose, too."

She guides him to an elevator and after a very short if creaky ride, down a hallway. Wherever they are, she has a key, because he hears her turn a lock, and then she pulls him inside and closes the door behind them. "Stand right here. Now let go of your nose but hold your breath while I get your coat off you. When I'm done, hold your nose again, okay?"

"Yes, sir. Ma'am."

She removes his coat and then walks a short distance away. He hears a slight rustle of paper, but nothing else that he can identify, and then hears her walk back to him. "Open your mouth, Castle. And then you can let go of your nose and open your eyes."

Goddamn, if he isn't standing in the middle of her apartment with a gingerbread dachshund sticking out of his mouth. He chews it, swallows and smiles. "Delicious, Beckett."

"You through savoring that part of dessert, Castle?"

"Is there more to savor?"

"Oh, yeah."

"What?"

"This," she says, and kisses him as indecently as possible for two people who are standing up with nothing to support them but their legs. Or in her case, one, since the other is now miraculously wrapped around his waist.

A/N One chapter to go.