The corner of Canal and Center Street. She's wracking her brain, somewhat flummoxed by what possible significance this rather ordinary corner might hold in his retelling of their story. They've lived a lot of life together in the past five years and though her memory is long she often finds herself staring at him in utter amazement when he pulls out some random fact or anecdote from years before.
It clicks into place when she sees the stall, its walls lined with designer knockoffs. A man stands just outside the door, his voice loud as he converses with a potential customer, attempting to convince the man that the sunglasses he's trying on make him look like Ryan Gosling. Kate laughs and pulls out her phone, thumbs a text to Castle.
Let me guess? I'm here to buy Sarah Jessica Parker's bag?
No purchase necessary. Look around. You'll find it.
Kate moves to the wall of merchandise, waving off the overeager vendor as she scrutinizes the handbags and tries to think like Castle. She dismisses the flashier ones, aware that he knows that's what she would expect him to choose and therefore he went in the opposite direction. There are quite a few smaller options she's able to rule out on size alone. Narrowing in on the likeliest suspect - a row of identical shoulder bags, mid-sized and relatively plain - she runs her hands over them, ears attuned for the crinkling of an envelope. She stops mid-way through the rack, the purse in her hand significantly heavier than its neighbors. With a mental aha, Kate pulls out the battered copy of A Rose for Everafter and finds her next letter tucked inside the front cover.
She snaps a picture of the book with her phone and sends it to Castle before moving away from the smiling vendor and unfolding the crisp paper.
And here we are: the place where I saved your life for the first time.
(Okay, not the exact place because I think sending you to a random person's apartment five years after the fact is probably a little creepy. Plus, I don't know if Diana Edwards still lives there but even if she does I doubt she would have been willing to go along with this little plan considering what we did to her apartment. It's the idea that counts.)
I've saved your life twelve times now. Yes, I'm still keeping count even though I'd like nothing more than to be able to stop. I'd be happy to stay at twelve for the rest of our lives if it means you're never in mortal peril again. We both know that's not in the cards, though, so just rest assured that I'll be there for the thirteenth. And the thirtieth.
I know you're doing the mental math right now, adding up how many times you've saved my sorry ass. The official number is eleven. The unofficial number is astronomical. I was more than a little lost when we met, both personally and professionally. Coming off of my second failed marriage and having just slaughtered my golden goose, I was adrift. I had no idea what I was doing, really. Then you showed up with your badge and your sassy little haircut (I love your hair long but that short cut was pretty damn hot) and your absolute refusal to put up with my shit. You inspired me to write, to create. And then, slowly, you inspired me to be a better man. The kind of man you could love.
You saved me from living a lesser life.
And you continue to save me, Kate. You keep me sane. You stop me from doing stupid things like following my adult daughter around campus on her first day of college. You pull me out of the line of fire and throw yourself in. You protect my heart like its the most precious thing in the world and I love you for that more than I can possibly say.
I might have saved your life for the first time in that apartment but you've saved mine in a million different ways since. In the end, I suppose it doesn't matter which one of us has saved the other more. What matters is that we're always there when it counts. Partners.
(I'm still winning, though.)
P.S. - As a fan of my work, you know that I'm usually brilliant when it comes to segues and transitions but I have quite a few more letters to write right now so you'll have to forgive me for being a little lazy. The book in your hand is your clue. See you there.
Tilting her face toward the sky, she blinks, pushes back the tears prickling behind her eyes. She can't cry. Not yet, at least. She steps around the corner when a crowd of tourists brush past her, the constant shouts of men selling purses, perfume, and scarves an annoying buzz in her ear. She presses herself against the building, looks at the book in her hand again and reads the dedication.
For Kyra Blaine. You make the stars shine.
Kate takes the phone from her bag. Is this when you tell me that you're dumping me to go back to Kyra?
Was this not a good way to tell you?
She's not sure when it was that they started to joke about past loves, about the things that hurt so much in the moment. She was never jealous of Kyra, not really. Fascinated, maybe; curious. She was everything she thought Castle was against back then: real, honest, beautiful in that girl next door kind of way. And then Kate suddenly knows where she's supposed to go. She looks at her car and walks past, deciding to leave it where it is for now. She has a feeling this little adventure of his is going to be sprawling and she really doesn't feel like having to deal with parking issues all over the city. Her phone buzzes in her hand and she looks at his text message, rolling her eyes.
You know I'm joking right?
Are you? I was going to say it's quite a novel approach to breaking up with someone.
You just used 'novel approach' with a writer. I fucking love you. Did you figure out where you're going?
She's about to head into the subway when she hits send on her phone. Still wondering if I've ever torn a picture of a wedding dress out of a magazine?