Looky! Another update!
I have been struck with an increasing urge to write, a compulsion to put pen to paper, fingers to keys; to bring my internal monologue to life.
While the impulse strikes at any hour of the day, I find it easier during the wee hours of the morning. While sane folks are snuggled warmly in their beds, I'm idly watching over the store, chugging obscene amounts of coffee and typing with a fury I didn't know I was capable of.
I'll spend a few moments staring dejectedly at a blank screen, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I've lost my inspiration, that I will never again write anything more than a grocery list, and then a tune on the radio will inspire me, or a glimpse of lovers, passing hand-in-hand by the storefront. The way the sunlight slices between the two buildings opposite mine, creating a glimmering shaft of brilliance in an otherwise bland sea of gray and black, concrete and glass. Before I know it, the words are flying onto the screen; thoughts and feelings cohesively arranging themselves as if by a force outside of my control. The edges of my vision blur, the handful of conversations I am subtly eavesdropping on become a distant hum, and I find myself consumed, surrounded by my characters and the world they inhabit.
Kate has inspired me, I'm sure of it.
But I'm not writing the next Nikki Heat. I'll leave that to Rick; and to the legions of die-hard fans putting their own visions of Rook and Nikki out on the internet for all to enjoy. Bless them. I'm not ashamed to admit that I enjoy reading it almost as much as I do the original. Those writers sure know how to ramp up the sexual tension. Even better, they know how to resolve it. In style. And in great detail.
No, I am writing a historical drama; a tale of two lonely souls meeting by chance amid the shadow of a brutal and protracted war. A strong and caring officer, haunted by demons from the past, a love lost, and his courageous and virtuous nurse, trapped in a bitter and loveless marriage. As her marriage ends and her life once again becomes her own, against her better judgment, she sends the officer away, claiming honor and a twisted sense of being unworthy. Fate will - naturally - bring them back together and force them to confront the monsters under the bed, the electricity that crackles and sparks around them. There will be much drama. And perhaps a small dose of erotica.
My original story idea, of families and the ties that bind, lost out to a good old fashioned love story.
Those books I most certainly don't read may have provided their fair share of inspiring as well.
I'm firmly back on the night shift, only covering on mornings when an employee calls in sick or it's a holiday weekend and the store is sure to be swamped and in need of an extra hand. And so, it is Kate who I have been spending most of my nights with. It is Kate who has kept me apprised of their latest cases and, unbeknownst to her, the glacial pace of her and Rick's relationship.
I've decided that I may grow old and die waiting for either of them to make a move.
Neither of them seems too eager to dip their toes in the water. Kate is skittish at best. And for all of Rick's gushing and fantasizing about the woman, he is just as gun shy about starting anything as she is.
For a few weeks after the 'incident' as I now call it, Kate had retreated into herself. Our blossoming friendship stalled out and I was greeted with shy smiles and thank-yous laden with deeper meaning; an acknowledgment, and yet no further discussion. I had begun to lose hope that I would ever find out what kept her up late at night, what spurred such deep pain, and kept her from reaching out and confiding in someone.
A gesture of solidarity one night, a cookie and companionable silence while we read side-by-side is what finally brought about the rekindling of our late night chats.
"Thanks Jess," she had said quietly.
"Hmm?" I had replied, not really paying attention, heavily invested in the drama playing out between the pages of the novel I was reading.
"I just wanted to say thanks, again, for last month," she said, causing me to drop the book into my lap. "For not asking this month. And for the cookies," she had smiled, waving a white chocolate-chip in salute.
I had tipped my mug to her in return with a nod of acknowledgment, and ever so slowly we had once again resumed our late-night chats.
She'd told me of her mother's murder, of Rick digging into the case and his offer to help. How it had all gone wrong and she'd been forced to shoot the man who had killed her mother, the man who might have had answers. Suddenly, Heat Wave became a whole lot more meaningful; Rick's reticence when it came to starting something with her making more sense.
After thanking me again for the place to hide, she'd told me about meeting Joe Torre and I saw a whole other side to her; girlish, young and excitable.
She told me about torturing Rick at a sex shop and later at a dungeon called 'House of Pain' and it was then that I realized we were kindred spirits, united in our passion to get a rise out of Rick and burst a few bubbles of that sometimes overly inflated ego.
Tonight, she strides in looking flustered. It's been a little over a week since I'd last seen her, when we had giggled over which celebrity would look better in assless chaps. We'd decided it was Gerard Butler, with Ryan Reynolds coming in a close second.
Rick doesn't count; we can ogle his ass anytime we like. He'd probably oblige the chaps if we were so inclined as well.
"What can I get ya?" I ask as she strides up to the counter.
"My apartment blew up," she says with a look that intones she doesn't quite believe it. She looks a little shell-shocked.
"Coffee it is," I say, getting the espresso started, not quite believing what I just heard. "You want a kick with that? You look like you could use it."
"Hmm… actually… yes, please. As long as you're joining me?"
Don't have to ask me twice. And the shop is near empty at this ungodly hour of the night anyway. I grin and grab two mugs, scanning the liqueur shelf for something suitable. Settling on Grand Marnier, I breathe in the fragrance of oranges and toffee, my mouth watering as its scent meets the espresso, as the rich aromas mingle and combine into a delicious and silky combination.
"Make yourself useful," I grin, nodding my head in the direction of the pastry cabinet. "Anything you like and a brownie for me, please."
She grabs two brownies and some napkins; I bring the coffee and we settle into our usual spot.
"So... it blew up?" I raise a skeptical brow. "You mean, like... boom? How?"
"Swear to God, Jess," she says, raising her palms. "Crazed serial killer with a Nikki Heat fixation. Wait, don't you watch the news? And hasn't Castle told you any of this?"
"I haven't seen him in weeks. Someone is keeping him busy all hours of the day and night." I fix her with a pointed stare and she blushes, her eyes sparkling but mouth staying firmly shut. "And unlike you and me," I continue, "apparently he needs his sleep to stay so pretty."
She snorts and chuffs out a small laugh. "Yeah, he was sleeping when I left," she murmurs.
I'm sorry? What?
"Whoa, Kate! Back up now." I demand, slightly stunned by this apparently unintentional slip, at least if the look of mortification of her face is anything to go by. "When you left? His place?"
My mind immediately supplies all kinds of sordid details. I wonder when they finally admitted their feelings, when they first kissed; whether they'd christened the grand piano. Or the shower with its multiple heads and massaging streams. He'd spent an inordinate amount of time telling me about when he'd had the system installed.
Well then… What the hell is she doing here when Rick is waiting in bed? He's probably wondering where she is. Surely they couldn't have screwed things up this quickly.
She blushes a deep crimson and sputters for a second before recovering and harshly insisting, "Oh God! No! It's nothing like that."
I cock my head and sneer. Sure it's not.
"Shut your mouth and quit giving me that look, Jess" she insists. "He just offered me a place to stay, since, you know... Kaboom?"
Damn. She's telling the truth.
"Mhmm," I smirk. Although her voice, her demeanor, and her pleading eyes are revealing to me that she's speaking fact, I'm not above giving her a little bit of shit over it anyway.
God knows those two could use a little push, or a hefty thrust.
Quit it before you get any dirtier, Jess. Focus!
"Okay, so your place blew up, there's a serial killer on the loose, and you're staying with Rick. Quite the week you're having."
"Well, we caught the killer at least," she smiles.
"Yeah? Safe take down I hope?"
"Actually," she fiddles with her watch a second, then smiles wide and happy, looking almost proud. "Castle took him down. Shot a gun right out of the wackjob's hands."
"No kidding, that's pretty cool! Of course, Rick will never let you hear the end of it," I say, grinning, also a little proud of him. "You know that right?"
"Oh, he knows better than that. I won't make him anymore bacon if he doesn't."
She's staying with him and cooking, huh? "Nothing like that," my ass.
"You cooked him breakfast?" I grin.
"Shut up."
"How very domestic of you, Kate. Sharing loads of laundry too?"
"Jess…"
"Shutting up," I laugh, knowing that I've pushed far enough for the time being.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping on our spiked coffees and enjoying the quiet. She reads the paper and I people watch and doodle in my journal.
"So why are you hiding out here," I finally inquire, not able to help myself from one last dig, "and not luxuriating in that gorgeous apartment of his?"
"He found my dad's watch in the wreckage of my place and… he got it fixed."
She's giving me a headache. The man in question is a saint. "And this is a problem why?"
"It was sweet."
She fiddles with the watchband, biting on her lip and reminding me of a teenager struggling with her first crush. It's a complete juxtaposition to the image of a strong, confident woman that she usually projects.
"Again, Kate… A problem. Why?"
"It's complicated, Jess."
"Doesn't sound too complicated."
"Everyone says that. And I get it, I do. He's a good man, and there's definitely something between us, but it's almost… it's too much. I don't know if I can handle him, his life. You know?"
Her eyes shine with moisture and she takes a deep breath. I watch as she carefully steels her emotions, tightening her jaw and wringing her hands. I feel a sting of sorrow for her; for the circumstances that made such a remarkable woman so fearful of anything real or meaningful when it comes to her personal life. She spends all day comforting families, dealing with everything so painfully real, truly awful, and yet never allows herself to feel the happier flip-side of real.
But by closing herself off from the pain, she's missing out on all the joy as well.
The mood is somber. It's heavy and laced with unvoiced emotion.
Perhaps she's right though; it is complicated.
Rick, and all the baggage that comes with him, would be a handful for any woman. Money, celebrity… His highly fabricated, yet no less imposing, reputation. And she'd have to deal with it all in the public eye. I know she already struggles with Nikki Heat, with being on the periphery of fame herself. There are probably a few months more worth of him proving himself to her before she will even entertain the idea of starting a relationship with him.
I have faith in them though.
I've yet to see them in the same room together yet I know almost every minute detail of their daily lives. I don't think they realize just how much they talk about each other, how much their lives already orbit around their other half. How when I ask them as they order a coffee how their day was, instead of getting an answer about themselves, I get a rundown on the other.
"Kate said this today." "Rick did that."
I realize I've been pondering too long, and that she's looking to me for an answer; maybe she's even asking me if she should give it a shot.
And as much as I'd like them to dive in, to have their happily ever after, something tells me that now isn't it. Not yet. The tail-end of a life and death situation probably isn't the best time to start a relationship. It leaves to many opportunities, in harder times to come, to question motives and causation. Something tells me that they both have to do a little more maturation before this relationship is ripe for the taking.
I don't want to tell her not to pursue something. God knows, she'll take that and run with it for years. So being the pain in the ass that I am, I instead go in for another dig. I aim for a laugh and hope to deflect her away from relationship discussions.
"So... bacon, huh? And what else did you cook for him? Was it pancakes? Ooh! Waffles?" I smirk over at her with an eyebrow waggle and a leer.
"Shut up and find me an apartment," she growls, throwing the newspaper in my direction.
Worked like a charm.
Yada, yada, yada... review, review! Feed my ego!
Big thanks to Trish for the last minute beta. Muah!