A/N: I'm feeling like the author's notes are going to be long tonight. I'm just in that kind of a mood. I want to talk to you, my loverly readers. :) If this annoys you for whatever reason, feel free to skip through the fairly obvious italics at the beginning and end of the chapter and just read the part in the middle. Don't skip through the italics that are actually IN the chapter though. :) If you've been paying any attention at all, you'll realize that those parts are rather important.

So my first thing that I want to point out even though there's no actual reason for me to point it out? I love the number seven. It's my favorite number. And I have a very screwy reason why it's my favorite number. I think it's cool that it's the only one digit number that has two syllables. Besides zero, which totally doesn't count. But the universe seems cool with the fact that it's my favorite number, because everything with a seven in it tends to work out well for me. For example? On most of the CDs I own (which is more than most people... I kind of collect them, even though I mostly listen to music on my laptop or iPod), track number 7 ends up being my favorite, although I usually don't realize that's what number it is until much later. And this chapter? Chapter number seven of my favorite story to date? (Which... okay, this is getting a bit creepy. This is the seventh story I've written for Castle.) Anyway, I think this chapter turned out really well. I like it, and I hope you will too. :)

Chapter 7

A Night to Remember

She woke up hit with a wave of inspiration, and the first thing she could think to do was get out her notebook. After she made coffee, of course.

She'd gotten out of the habit of writing every night after her last piece of writing, because she realized that Castle was right. While writing did help her to wind down after a day of work, it had started to become work itself, and that wasn't the idea. Actually, she hadn't written anything at all in the past couple of days. More than once she considered giving up entirely, but she really didn't want to do that. The truth, though, was that she was a little afraid. Afraid that she would once again go too deep, that she'd dig herself so far into the pit that she wouldn't be able to climb back out. With Castle around she was less afraid, because he was such a solid tether to her present that she knew wouldn't allow her to get stuck in the past, but she also didn't want to get into a pattern where she would only write with him beside her. That was a level of dependence that she was not, and would never be, comfortable with.

But when she woke that morning with her idea, she knew it would be okay. This was not a piece that would trap her or cause her pain. It was simply a fun little reminiscence, and she actually found that she was excited to write it.

So, coffee mug in hand, she took her notebook and went to her usual writing spot, on her couch in front of the coffee table. Then she began to remember.

My mom spent a lot of time in the kitchen when I was growing up. As a lawyer she often didn't have time, but she loved to cook, especially for her family. Sometimes she'd come home after a twelve or thirteen hour day and immediately start chopping or sautéing something. My dad could never quite come to terms with this. He was always offering to do it for her, or to order food so that she could relax, but she'd never let him. "This is how I relax," she'd say.

When I was little, like most kids, I imagine, I always wanted to "help" my mom. She humored me at first, telling me to turn on the water in the sink for her or to help her stir when she was also holding the spoon and doing all of the actual stirring, but as I started to get a little older she began to actually let me help, teaching me how to do one thing at a time: measuring ingredients, chopping vegetables, until I had all the skills necessary to prepare most of her meals by myself. Not that I ever did.

Jokingly, my mom called me her sous chef. It was my job to help her, to do whatever she told me to do. I was the only one who was ever allowed to help her cook, always to the confusion of my dad. No matter how much he, or whatever polite houseguests we happened to have over, offered to help, they weren't allowed. Either my mom cooked with me, or she cooked alone.

As I got older I was considerably less eager to help my mother cook, but whether I was willing to admit it or not, I was always proud of the fact that I was the only one allowed to share my mother's kitchen. Since her death I haven't cooked much, but I'm ready to try it again. It seems like a good way to honor her memory, for the right reasons and the right people.

As she wrote that last sentence she couldn't help but try to imagine what Castle would think or say when he read it, and she smiled.

Her heart jumped a little when she heard her door. They're here. She turned down the heat under the sauce she was stirring and answered the door to greet her guests with a smile on her face. Her somewhat fake, polite smile broadened when she saw the three smiling Castles in her doorway. For a moment, she actually considered pinching herself. She'd never thought this day would come, that it even could come. Castle was in the middle holding a bouquet of flowers, flanked on both sides by his mother and daughter. "You guys look great," she heard herself say. It wasn't quite what she meant, it was just the first thing that had come to mind. It was true, though, that they were a welcome sight.

Martha nudged her son impatiently and he looked at the flowers like he'd just noticed them. "Oh!" he said, handing her the bouquet. "These are for you."

"What is it with you and flowers?" she teased, remembering the last bouquet he'd bought her and wondering if these had come from the same place. But before he could answer she waved them inside. "Come on in, guys. Thanks for coming."

"Thank you for having us," Martha said. "We could smell the food cooking all the way down the hall."

"Good smell, I hope?"

"Amazing," Alexis said.

"You three have a seat," she said, showing them her little seating area. "Can I get you something to drink? Castle, Martha, wine? Alexis… I think I have Coke? Water? Sorry, I don't have a whole lot of options."

"Water's fine, but I can get it."

"No, please, you guys sit down."

Alexis and Martha did, but Castle protested. "I'll help you with that."

She raised her eyebrows. "Castle, no. You're my guest too. Sit."

"Yeah, but I've been here before. I know where everything is."

"Sit," she repeated firmly.

He raised his hands in a mock-surrender and sat on the couch beside Alexis. Kate smiled, pleased that she'd won the first battle of the evening, although she was sure it wouldn't be the last, and went to put the flowers in a vase and pour the drinks.

"Get yourself one too," Castle insisted as she passed out glasses.

"I have one already, it's in the kitchen."

"So go get it and sit here with us for a little while. Relax. It smells like you've been cooking all day."

She shrugged. "I haven't, and if we actually want to eat tonight, I have to continue cooking until it's done."

"Fine, but at least let me help."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm doing this. It's my thing, and you're my guest."

Castle rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. But can I at least… watch?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Watch?"

"Yeah. We're all out here. If I'm in there with you, I can at least talk to you while you cook." He shrugged. "That way you won't get lonely."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "I'm positive I won't get lonely in my kitchen, but if you want to come in and keep me company, I won't stop you."

"Good." He nodded, pleased. He turned to his mother and daughter. "Girls? Remember, this isn't our house. Don't get too crazy. Alexis?" He looked at his daughter seriously. "Keep her under control."

Kate laughed and went back to her kitchen with Rick in tow, and then began the final preparations.

"So what's for dinner?" he asked as he took a seat on one of the two barstools at her small kitchen counter.

"Spaghetti and meatballs," she said, opening a box of pasta. "Not so fancy, but it was one of my mom's favorites. And anyway it's not complicated, and since I haven't really cooked in awhile…"

"No need to explain," he laughed, interrupting her. "Simple is fine. And if the smell is any indication, I'm sure it'll be delicious."

She nodded and began stirring the sauce. "So how's the writing coming?" he asked, she could've sworn a little nervously. "Have you done any more since the last time?" Now she was sure there was nervousness in his tone.

"A little," she said with a small nod and a smile that was meant to say she didn't blame him for anything.

He was visibly surprised. "Really? You have?"

She nodded. "I'll show you later."

"Only if you want to," he reminded her. "You don't have to show me."

She shrugged. "I do."

He smiled. "Okay. Later then."

"Later," she repeated.

"Wow," Castle said as he tasted his spaghetti. "If my delicately trained palate is correct, which it almost always is, this sauce didn't come out of a jar."

Kate smiled, rolling her eyes. "No it didn't."

"You made this from scratch?" Martha asked.

She shrugged and then nodded. "My mom's recipe. But this isn't as good as hers was."

"Some cook, your mother must have been."

"Yeah. She was."

A somewhat awkward silence, unlike anything that had occurred during the dinner at Castle's loft, descended over the group. To everyone's surprise, it was Alexis who broke it.

"So how was your day off?"she asked Kate directly.

She smiled. "It was… very enjoyable. I'm glad I got to do it."

"Mm, we're glad too," Castle mumbled, his mouth half stuffed full of food.

Kate laughed.

"Dad, slow down," Alexis scolded, although her tone was a bit mocking. "Or you're not gonna be glad when we get home and you're throwing up."

"Hah, like I'd do that," Castle said, but Kate missed neither the glare he threw his daughter nor the fact that he really did slow down.

"So, were you really cooking all day?" Alexis asked.

"Not all day. Just for a few hours."

"A few hours?" Martha asked. "That's dedication, my girl."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "I probably could've made the sauce last night, but I didn't really feel like it after work. Too tired. Which is part of the reason I don't cook much."

"You'll have leftovers from this for awhile, I'm sure," Martha pointed out.

She nodded. "I will. But please, don't hold back on my account. Eat as much as you want. That's why I made it."

But when she looked at Castle she noticed he'd stopped eating and was turned around, looking in the direction of the kitchen.

"Castle," she said, getting his attention. "What?"

He shook his head quickly. "Nothing. It's probably nothing."

"What?" she repeated.

"It's just, the food's great, but… it smells like something's burning."

Kate's eyes widened as she remembered what she'd forgotten, and she ran into the kitchen, cursing under her breath. With a potholder, she took out the smoking tray of well-blackened what had once been garlic bread and tossed it in the sink, not caring that most of it slid off the tray. She tried to brush it off as one not-so-important flaw in an otherwise successful evening, but she felt her heart sinking rapidly and she knew that she had to get out. Out of the kitchen. Away from the smell of burning bread, away from the three people who were suddenly behind her trying to help in one way or another, but were only succeeding in making her small kitchen feel very, very crowded.

"You guys finish eating," she managed to get out over the three of them, who were somehow all talking without saying anything she could clearly make out, not that she was trying very hard. "I'll be right back."

She figured they'd assume she was going to the bathroom or something, and realized that she didn't much care what they assumed. Instead she went into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed, taking a string of deep breaths in an effort to compose herself. But try as she might to convince herself the dinner was, for the most part, successful, her mind, incapable, it seemed, of leaving out pieces of evidence, kept pointing out the pieces that kept it from being so.

The whole feel of the evening was a little awkward, the conversation lagging, not nearly as lively and comfortable as it had been at Castle's. The food wasn't right. Castle's family was just being polite. No matter how much they insisted that it was delicious, she knew she'd left something out or done something wrong. It wasn't the same, wasn't as good, as it had been when her mother had made it. And she couldn't believe she'd forgotten the garlic bread. In fact, she hadn't merely forgotten it, she'd left it in the oven with the oven turned on. She couldn't tell if it was her imagination or the smoke was actually filling her apartment, but with every breath she took she felt as if the smell filled her nostrils all over again, and it wasn't helping matters at all.

She couldn't tell how long she was sitting there, but she knew she wasn't ready to go back out and rejoin her company yet. It might've been rude to be sitting here by herself ignoring them, but the thought of going back out there and trying to shrug off her failure, which still felt to her like a very big deal, would be worse. Far worse. It was too humiliating. She kept trying to talk herself down, to convince herself that none of the Castles would be horribly upset about the loss of the garlic bread, but somewhere within herself she realized that the reason she was upset had very little to do with garlic bread, and she found that she was stuck. She knew she couldn't stay here forever, but she also knew that she couldn't leave.

Eventually she heard a gentle knock on her bedroom door. Castle, her mind told her. But she didn't respond, didn't even move. Apparently she didn't have to, because within seconds the doorknob was turning. He appeared in the doorway, closed the door behind him, and then sat down beside her on the bed.

He didn't say anything for a long time. He didn't even look at her. He just sat there beside her, staring at the same wall she'd been staring at, not moving any more than she was.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, breaking the silence. "I probably shouldn't have left like that, I just… I couldn't…"

"It's okay," he said gently. "I understand." He offered her his hand, as was becoming a sort of custom between them.

She took it, curled her fingers around his, and, as always, was amazed at how grounded she felt. All her over-thinking about the evening and the dinner began to fade, to seem a bit less important, and the full reality of what she'd done hit her. "Oh God," she murmured, standing up. "Your family must think I'm horrible."

He shook his head and pulled her back down, as their hands were still connected. "They love you," he insisted. "They could never think that. They were a little worried, but I told them I'd make sure you were okay before I left." He paused for a long moment and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. When she didn't say anything, he asked softly, "Are you?"

Slowly, she began to nod. "Yeah," she said after a minute. "I am. I'd better go apologize…"

"They left," he said, interrupting her. "I sent them home."

"Why?" She dropped his hand and turned to him, irritated. "We hadn't finished eating yet."

"Kate, you've been in here almost half an hour. They finished, and I figured you probably didn't feel much like company anymore, so I sent them home."

"But we haven't even had dessert yet," she protested.

He looked at her, uncomprehending. "You made dessert?"

She blushed. "Just some brownies…"

He smiled. "You really went all out for this, didn't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "And a lot of good it did. Nothing turned out like it was supposed to."

"Oh, I don't know. I thought it was going pretty well for awhile there. And the food was certainly a hit."

"You guys are too polite," she said, waving him off. "It wasn't right, I messed something up."

He frowned. "I don't know what you were going for, but I can assure you that everything I ate was absolutely delicious."

She shrugged. "Thanks, but it still wasn't as good as my mom's."

"Well, that I don't know. But I can't imagine it being much better."

She smiled a very small smile. Suddenly she remembered something. She got up and went to her nightstand, pulled out the drawer and handed the notebook to Castle. "Read the last one," she instructed him. "It's marked."

He did, and she watched him. This time, whatever he did as he read, whatever he had to say afterward, she would be ready. But as he read, all he did was smile. But when he finished, he looked up and asked a question. "Was it?"

She frowned, not remembering exactly how she'd ended it. "Was it what?"

"For the right reasons and the right people?"

She considered this for a moment. "Yeah," she finally said. "I think so."

He nodded. "Good."

"So… what did you think?"

"I think you're beyond my help."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you, Kate Beckett, are a great writer. I don't have anything more to tell you. Not about this piece, anyway. I wouldn't have you change it."

She half-smiled. "Thanks."

"This night meant a lot to you, didn't it?"

"Yeah," she said slowly. "It did."

"We'll try it again sometime?"

She smiled. "I'd like that. But maybe… not right away?"

He nodded, smiling as well. "I'll leave that up to you. Now, if I remember, I believe you said something about brownies?"

She laughed. "I guess we could still eat them, even if Martha and Alexis left."

"I'd hate to see them go to waste," Castle said, feigning concern.

"Okay, come on."

He followed her into the kitchen, where she got out two bowls. "Why do we need bowls to eat brownies?" he asked.

"Might as well do something the way I planned," she replied. He was still confused, but didn't argue.

She put a brownie in each bowl and topped it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream.

"Seriously?" Castle asked as she finished each with a spoon. "These aren't brownies, they're sundaes. But they do look incredible."

"Well, come on then. Take one." She took one of the bowls and led him to her couch where they sat down.

"I wish Alexis was still here," Castle said as he took his first bite. "She would've loved this."

"You think?"

He nodded. "Definitely."

"That's perfect, then. I still have a ton of this stuff, you guys should just come over sometime after work for ice cream."

Castle smiled. "Perfect. And it's way less pressure for you."

She shrugged. "Less pressure for everyone. But make it soon or the brownies will be stale."

He grinned. "Will do."

"So, how are you getting home if your family left?"

He shrugged. "Thought I'd take a cab."

She nodded. "Yeah. You could do that."

"I was… planning on it."

"Or you could just stay here for the night and come to the precinct with me tomorrow."

He dropped his spoon and stared at her for a minute. "Are you serious?"

"Well… yeah. If you want to."

"But my mom and Alexis… they know where I am."

She nodded. "And?"

"So if I stay the night…"

"Do you want to or not?"

He set his bowl on the coffee table and kissed her lips.

She pushed him away gently, laughing. "I'm not done with my ice cream yet."

"Ah," he said, grinning. "But this is so much sweeter."

She shook her head. "You are ridiculous." But she put her bowl down and kissed him back. "Does this mean you're staying here?"

"I… don't have anything to wear," he said.

She grinned. "Let that be the least of your concerns."

He gaped. "You… wow."

But when she kissed him again, all traces of confusion vanished from his face. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this," he gasped between breaths.

She thought back to the time before she knew Castle personally, when she'd read all of his books and then stared for longer than she cared to admit at the "About the Author" page, reading the quick bio paragraph but focusing on the picture while willing the part of the paragraph that told her he had a daughter to disappear because she assumed it meant he wasn't available. Not that she believed she'd ever meet him for more than a second or two at a book signing. But, she'd then thought, a girl can dream.

His lips not parting with hers, she led him back toward her bedroom. "Not," she whispered, very softly, "as long as I have."

A/N: Yes, I am aware that I'm a tease. But I'm okay with that. Sorry, but I don't write smut (you're just going to have to trust me that it would not go well…), so this is about as much as you're going to get. *fade to black*

As a point of interest (which I'm choosing to tell you whether you find it interesting or not because it amuses me), I was listening to "A Lovely Night" from the musical Cinderella (the original Lesley Ann Warren version, in case you're into that kind of thing and have any idea what I'm going on about right now...) repeatedly while I wrote that last scene. Good make out music? :P I actually considered titling the chapter after it, but I think this title fits a bit better.

One last thing, because I know some of you who read this story also read Daylight (and if you don't, you should! *shamelessly plugs one story within another*). Yep. Totally just wrote that whole chapter while putting off writing the last chapter of Daylight because I'm not quite ready to see it end. It'll be done this week though, and then hopefully I'll start updating this story more consistently.

Reviews please? Thanks for reading!