They strolled along the sidewalk hand in hand, with Beckett occasionally stealing glances at him.
A part of her mind said that someone from the precinct might see them, but she refused to let go of his hand.
Richard Castle, she thought. Seeing him most days of the week at the precinct, it was easy to forget that this man was a worldwide bestselling mystery writer, with legions of readers.
She wondered how many times he was approached by fans like Rebecca from the cafe, when she wasn't with him. Once a week? Twice? Maybe it even happened every single day, when he was getting their coffees in the morning.
She returned her attention to the people all around them, and she quickly picked out a nearby female face.
Looking at Castle, she thought. There was no look of recognition on the passing woman's face, but there was a small smile. Beckett glanced up at him, and saw that he was lost in thought, not noticing anyone around him.
Then another woman, younger. Then a middle-aged woman. A girl who couldn't have been more than 22, and this one did seem to do a double-take, perhaps recognising him. Then nothing for a third of a block, then another woman, in her early 30s – a redhead. Another smile, and a quick glance down his body and then back up again.
Beckett's eyes widened, consciously seeing it for the first time. And it made complete sense. He was a strikingly handsome man, immaculately dressed in clearly expensive clothes, and he carried himself with confidence. His eyes shone with intelligence and wit.
This is what it's like everywhere he goes, she thought. She forced herself to ignore it when they were working cases, but she couldn't help but notice. If the person they were talking to was female, Castle was the subject of more than professional interest. Come to think of it, there had been a few men who had looked him up and down with a gleam in their eyes too.
She felt a wave of insecurity, then a panicky sort of relief. I almost lost him, she thought. Her grip on his hand tightened, and when she risked another glance up at his face, she saw that he was looking at her with a small smile.
He tugged on her hand and pulled her to a stop, and she looked at him with a question in her eyes.
"Tell me," he said.
Her brow creased, unsure what he meant.
"What you were thinking just now," he added, and she shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but not quite pulling it off.
"I just… sometimes I forget that you're Richard freaking Castle."
He laughed out loud, clearly delighted with the answer. She wrinkled her nose at him, and he swallowed another round of laughter. When he looked more closely at her, he caught the edge of discomfort there.
"What's this all about?" he asked, his tone softer now.
She sighed, and reached up to brush an imaginary piece of lint from the lapel of his coat.
"I… you're just… you. You're Richard Castle. Along with everything else, you're the guy on the book covers. Half the women who walk by on the street check you out, and I don't blame them. And I'm the only one who was stupid enough to push you away."
She dropped her gaze for a moment before focusing on the centre of his chest.
"I'm just a cop, and I've got all this baggage, and sometimes I'm not sure what you even see–"
"Kate," he said, taking her hands in his until she looked up at him. "Do you remember the word I used to describe you in the dedication for Heat Wave?"
A small smile appeared at the corners of her mouth, and she nodded.
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes in mock annoyance.
"Extraordinary," she said, with an endearing note of shyness in her voice, and he nodded, leaning down towards her and speaking so only she could hear.
"You might want to think about how you can walk into pretty much any bookstore in the country, and read what Richard freaking Castle thinks of you, and only you."
A giddy feeling bubbled up inside her, and she instantly felt better.
"You always know the right words," she said warmly, looking up at him through her eyelashes, and he grinned.
"That," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her onwards towards the next intersection, "is my job."
Beckett unlocked her apartment door and waved Castle in ahead of her.
He took a few steps beyond the entranceway, glancing around at the familiar space.
Deja vu, he thought. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd arrived here with coffees and pastries, and they'd had the talk that began to change everything.
"Everything OK?" she asked from behind him, and he turned to smile at her.
"Yep," he replied. "Just thinking."
"Good or bad?"
"Good. What a difference a day makes; something like that."
She nodded in understanding, and he realised she'd been thinking the same thing.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, but he just shook his head then took his coat off, draping it over the back of her couch.
She hung her own coat on a hook in the entranceway, then walked part of the way over to where he was sitting.
"I'll be right back," she said, then she disappeared off in the direction of her bedroom.
A series of scenarios ran through his mind, but none seemed entirely plausible.
A seduction?
Her diary?
Something from childhood?
Something about her mother?
He was still pondering what she could want to show him when she padded quickly back through to the living room area, then took a seat right beside him on the couch, close enough that their thighs were touching.
She set an object down reverently on the coffee table, running her fingers along its surface.
Castle glanced up at her, then returned his focus to what sat there in front of them. It was a simple wooden jewellery box, a few inches thick, polished to a glossy finish but with dozens of overlapping fingerprints on it from regular use.
"This is what I wanted to show you," she said, her eyes still on the box.
She slid it sideways slightly so it was an equal distance from each of them, then she rested one hand on top of it.
"This… way that I feel about you, Rick," she said, making him look up at her face in profile, hanging on her every word. "It's not new. I hid from it. I lied to myself for a long time, and I didn't let you get closer to me – but I wanted to. I've wanted to for a long time."
He listened in silence, giving her time to put the words together.
"I'm in love with you, and up until now I kept it locked away. In here. This was the one place I let myself be honest." She brushed a forefinger over the lid of the box, then turned to look at him.
"I want you to see. I want you to start to understand that… it's been you, for a long time."
He nodded solemnly, then they both returned their gaze to the polished wooden object in front of them.
She hesitated for only a moment before hooking her fingers under the edge of the lid, and opening it.