Disclaimer: I don't own any cantaloupe, which is unfortunate, since it sounds good right about now. I don't own anything else in this story either.
A/N: I don't know where this came from. But it wouldn't go away and kept blocking other stuff.
Richard Castle thumped the cantaloupe, held it to his ear. What exactly was he supposed to hear? This was the dumbest way to pick produce he'd ever heard of.
"You're Richard Castle, aren't you?"
Rick suppressed a wince. Random spottings happened less than he claimed, but often enough to be troublesome. Why did they usually happen when he was doing something embarrassing, like listening to a cantaloupe?
Probably because he was usually doing something embarrassing.
He put down the offending melon, looked up at the woman who had called out to him. She stood opposite him, holding a lemon. She was tall, with long blond hair, and large, striking and slightly masculine facial features that framed an attractive face. The look in her eyes was open and amused, rather than creepy, and he relaxed a bit.
"Guilty. Rick," he said, holding out his hand.
"Kara," she said. She put down the lemon and shook his hand, her grip firm. "I've read everything of yours."
He hated that phrase, since it was rarely true. It seemed like platitude number four in the meeting an author handbook. But the confident way Kara held herself made him think she might be telling the truth.
"Hmmm... Always nice to hear. Any particular favorites?"
"Well, In A Hail of Bullets was always my favorite, but Heat Rises does hold a special place in my heart."
He unconsciously moved around the produce counter to stand closer to her. She had an air about her, like she could knock you on the floor with one punch, and then could crawl down on the floor with you and screw your brains out afterwards.
Okay, so he had a type.
"A special place in your heart?" he asked. He wasn't flirting, he told himself, just asking.
"Met my husband because of that book," she said.
He chuckled, "Yeah, my writing has gotten me down the aisle, a few times actually, but hearing it helped someone else is a new one."
"Well," she said, "Don't give yourself too much credit. My husband saw me reading it, used it to pick me up, and then it turned out he hadn't even read the damned thing."
"Hopefully you've been trying to get him to correct his sins, ever since," he said.
"His sins... I like that," she said, her eyes flashing briefly to a spot behind him. "Maybe you can help me guilt him away from his wicked ways. Tom!"
He turned to where she was looking, saw a tall man turn and walk over to them.
Seriously?
"Richard Castle, this is my husband, Tom Demming," Kara said as Tom came up, possessively put his arm around her shoulders.
"Castle," he said, looking as surprised as Castle felt.
"Demming."
"Seriously?" Kara asked. "You two know each other?"
"We worked a case, together, years ago," Demming said.
Kara hit him in the arm. "And you never told me?"
Castle tried not laugh, though he liked any situation where Demming ended up getting hit.
"So you two met because of my book," Castle said. He didn't really want to continue the conversation, but he couldn't just bolt, either.
"My folks have a place out in Asbury," Kara said. "I was staying out there for Memorial Day, few years ago. My friend got stuck in the city, so I was having dinner alone, just me and a good book," she said with a smile towards Castle. "Tom was there alone too. He came up, hinted that he had secret knowledge about the book, and so I let him sit. The rest is, as they say..."
"As they say...," Castle continued, with a smile. Next to Kara, Tom stewed. "So he admitted that Schlemming was based on him?"
"Oh. My. God. He did not! I can't believe..." she said, turning to her husband, "but you aren't THAT big a doofus."
"Thanks, Castle," Demming said.
"Oh, you didn't admit that?" he asked, knowing that Demming didn't know that little detail. He knew it was petty, but he'd spent weeks being tortured by Demming's presence. A few seconds of discomfort on Demming's part seemed a fair trade.
"I'm going to have to go home, re-read the Schlemming stuff all over again!"
Okay, so more than a few seconds.
"Maybe now he'll read them too," Rick said to her.
"Never cared for fiction," Demming said, floundering to get the upper hand.
"I think he's just worried that I like the sex scenes too much," Kara said, conspiratorially.
"Like I said, fiction," Demming said again.
"He's sort of right," Castle said with a wink, "My wife always does make me claim that I 'made those bits up,'" He refrained, barely, from making air quotes. Of course, in the first three books, he had make it all up. But after that... not that he needed to share that distinction with Demming.
"Your wife is the basis for Nikki Heat? I thought I read that, somewhere. Do you know her too, Tom?"
Castle looked over at Demming. The man's jaw was clenched so tight he could chew diamonds.
"Like to meet her?" Castle asked. "She's around here, somewhere..."
"No," Demming said, quickly. "We've kept you enough. It was ... good... to see you, Castle. Come on, honey, we should go."
Kara's face fell, but she looked over, finally recognized the tension in her husband's face. "You're probably right," she said, regrouping. "Anyway, it was a pleasure, Mr. Castle."
"The pleasure was all mine, Kara Demming. All mine. Tom," he said, warmly shaking Kara's hand and nodding at Demming.
Demming led them off quickly. He watched them abandon their cart and hustle out the front door, the whole time, Kara whispering questions into her husband's ear.
"Who was that, Rick?" he heard Kate ask as she came up behind him.
"Just karma," he said, turning to her.
"Karma? Picking up a stripper in a grocery store?"
He ignored her, looked into the basket she was carrying. "That's all you got? You are eating for two, after all."
"That 'two' is currently the size of a pencil eraser, Rick. If you're going to be like this..."
He was in too happy a mood to argue. "Nope, no argument. You know better than me, I didn't say anything."
"What are you doing over here anyway? We don't need any produce."
"Oh, just, you know, looking at grapes, oranges, cantaloupe..."
"Why do all of those expecting books you read compare the baby to fruit? It's creepy. Writers are creepy," she said, turning away from him towards the checkout.
He nodded, though she couldn't see. It was creepy, in a way, since it made him hungry. But then an idea flashed in his head, from some place he could not identify.
"Hey, Kate, do you think I could ever convince you to try wearing a sari?"