Author's Note: And now for what was bothering Beckett in the last chapter.

The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 31

Kate had tried to return to the book she'd started yesterday but gave up after half an hour in which she'd stared blankly at the page but not actually processed anything she'd read.

Damn Castle anyway. She had been feeling better when she woke up that morning, restored to herself. Why did he have to bring up last night and then pry for more when she had just managed to push it out of her mind? Okay, so obviously he would have recognized that she was using sex as a means to distract herself, wanting to forget, be taken out of her emotions, and it had worked. It had been amazing but she knew by now that sex with Castle always was. He had already helped so why couldn't that be enough for him?

There were some things that talking about couldn't help and she didn't want to talk about it with him, didn't want to ruin his mood and spoil the happiness of their time out here. Not now, not ever really, not when he always did so much to make her happy like the way he'd gone all out to surprise her with dinner their first evening here. He liked making people happy and was good at it too. It still amazed her sometimes that she, who was so prickly and wounded and who dealt with death on a daily basis, had somehow attracted him, although she supposed he had his own fascination with the morbid, considering what he wrote about. But she wanted to make him happy, make him even half as happy as he made her. And she absolutely did not want–refused–to make him grieve, make him feel the gnawing helplessness of knowing that nothing could bring her mom back.

Missing her mom was an old wound and one she was used to handling on her own, as it was. And while it sometimes, still, surprised her a little how fresh and new the wound could still feel sometimes, she knew now how to work past it, just accept the hurt as a part of her and move forward. The grief for her mom just crept up on her sometimes and others it seemed to spring out and ambush her like a sucker punch but in either case, she knew how to deal.

Last night was no different, really. And it had only been a dream, after all, just a dream. A vivid dream but still a dream with nothing substantial to it. It was hardly the first time she'd dreamed about her mom and it wouldn't be the last either. She wasn't even sure why this dream had, in the moment, when she'd jerked awake from it, seemed to hurt so much more viscerally but it had, enough that she had needed to move, get out of bed, so as not to risk disturbing Castle sleeping peacefully beside her.

Except maybe it was because she had dreamed about her mom meeting Castle and the dream had reminded her forcefully, all over again, that such a meeting wasn't possible. That her mom would never get to meet Castle or he to meet her mom. She tried to tell herself it was absurd to feel such a sense of loss at the thought, especially considering her mom had never met any of her colleagues–not Captain Montgomery or the boys or Lanie or anyone–and she'd never dwelled on that but even as she tried, she knew it was different. Her mom hadn't met Will either but that too was different. Castle was different because she loved him.

She remembered talking to her mom about the boyfriends she'd had in high school, remembered her mom holding her as she cried over some boy or another. Remembered her mom intervening to temper her dad's grumbled mutterings about her high school boyfriends.

And now, oh, she wanted her mom to be able to meet Castle. It meant a lot that her dad had met Castle and liked him but she wanted her mom to meet Castle too. She could picture it so easily.

And her dream about her mom meeting Castle had been so vivid, had for the moment felt so real. She could swear she could smell the well-remembered scent of her mom's lotion and her perfume, could hear the sound of her mom's laugh, just as she could see the sparks in her mom's eyes when she smiled. And oh, her mom would have loved meeting Castle. Because she had enjoyed Castle's books and Kate could picture her mom trying not to act like a fangirl on being introduced to him, could imagine how quickly her mom would have taken to Castle. And Castle, on his best behavior, would have charmed her mom so easily, so naturally.

It had hurt so much to wake up to the reality that her mom would never meet Castle. Had hurt more to think of how much she just wished she could talk to her mom about Castle. A different, sharper, more poignant hurt than her usual wish to talk to her mom even one more time because now, she wanted, missed, the sort of woman-to-woman talk she had never had with her mom. She wanted to talk to her mom about Castle, about what she felt for Castle, wanted to ask her mom how she had known that she loved her dad. Wanted to ask her mom how she'd known that her dad was 'the one.' Wanted desperately to talk to her mom about all these new doubts and fears and joys that centered around her relationship with Castle.

Oh, she knew she could, if she chose, talk about it with her dad. And she loved and treasured that she and her dad were comfortable enough in their relationship that they could talk about such things. But it wasn't the same. Her dad was, well, a man, and it was different and awkward, too, to talk about relationships, to even skirt around the topic of sex, with her dad. Not that she would have discussed sex with her mom either but it would still have been easier.

She remembered conversations about her adolescent crushes with her mom, wondered now how much her mom would have needed to school her expression into sobriety as the young Katie agonized in adolescent fashion over some boy or another. How much deeper, more personal, would her conversations with her mom have been now, when she too was an adult and really, truly, in love for the first time in her life?

Now, when she was starting to imagine and hope and want a relationship with Castle that would last not just for the next month or even the next year but the next, well, always. It seemed–was–such a big thing, such a long time, such a… commitment. And it was terrifying. Thinking about it, wanting it, was terrifying because it was so… uncertain. She of all people knew that the future was not guaranteed, that there was no way to know how people would change over the years in a relationship.

And it was all the more terrifying to think of a real future with Castle because Castle came as a package deal, with Alexis. And that was a whole other question. It had been one thing to accept starting a relationship with Castle, a single father, when her main concern had been how Alexis would react, if Alexis would be okay with it. But thinking about a life with Castle meant accepting a life with Alexis and while she cared about Alexis, she had to wonder if she was ready to be… a stepmother. (Oh god. But that was what she was thinking about. The m-word with Castle and all that entailed…) She had never really thought in terms of having kids of her own, not at least in the reasonably near future, knew nothing about babies or kids and while Alexis was not a baby (thankfully), she wasn't an adult either and Kate was realist enough to know that any long-term relationship with Castle would mean becoming a big part of Alexis's life too, taking on a maternal role with Alexis.

She wanted desperately to talk to her mom about all of this. Her mom, who had gone through all of this before, falling in love, deciding to marry, being a mom–and to a teenage girl too. (Although Kate had to admit that Alexis was a far better behaved teenager than she herself had ever been so that was something.) At least, Alexis was safely away at Princeton for the summer, giving Kate more time to adjust to the new reality of her feelings for Castle, her tentative hopes for their relationship, before she had to really deal with playing a role in Alexis's life.

It was all so… much and she couldn't help but wonder in a moment of weakness and terror if she could really do this, make such life-changing decisions, without her mom.

The fact that she would never be able to talk to her mom again was not new to her, was one of her ever-present sorrows. She just wasn't sure why the thought clawed at her so much deeper now, now that she'd admitted she loved Castle, but somehow it did. Maybe it was, at least in part, due to witnessing Martha's near-constant presence in Castle's life, the somewhat oddly baiting nature of their exchanges that did little to conceal the very real warmth and strength of their relationship.

She wasn't sure but the fact remained that when she'd awoken from her dream, the emotion, the grief she felt at missing her mom, all the talks she would never be able to have with her mom, had swamped her and she'd simply needed to move, leave the bedroom, and for a while, simply wallow. She knew by now that if at all possible, simply riding out the wave of emotion was the best way to get through it. The wave had already crested and begun to subside when Castle had joined her and his presence, his closeness, had given her emotions another outlet, one she'd been all too happy to seize.

And now he had stirred it up all over again by his prying over brunch.

To her horror, she felt a sob rising in her throat and clamped her lips closed, shutting her eyes against the prick of tears. And as usual, when she was upset, she felt restlessness rise, surged to her feet, needing to get out.

She had made it just one step outside before she stopped, hesitated, and then turned back. She wasn't alone here and she knew Castle's imagination well enough to know that her essentially disappearing without a trace, especially considering the fraught nature of their last exchange, would immediately send him jumping to increasingly terrible, catastrophic scenarios–he wasn't a mystery writer for nothing–and scaring him wasn't something she cared to do. As befitting his status as a writer, she had already learned that he kept pads of paper and pens stashed in just about every room of the house and so it was quick work for her to locate those items in one of the kitchen drawers and dash off a quick note.

Gone for a walk on the beach. Back soon. -K.

That done, she turned and hurried out of the French doors leading to the back yard and down the steps to the beach. Someone was having a barbecue–she could smell it–and heard the faint sound of music as from a party. She steered her steps in the opposite direction, although given the holiday and the clear, fine weather, she knew the beach would be busy in any direction but avoiding the noise from a party would suit her mood better.

So she walked, letting the stiff ocean breeze whip away the threatening tears from her eyes, letting her turbulent emotions power her quick steps across the sand. Gradually, as tended to happen, the physical movements, the outlet for her emotions, served to calm her, allowing a form of peace, of clarity, to sink in.

She was still sure and determined that she could not, should not even, have told Castle what was upsetting her. There was no point in simply upsetting him too as she knew he would be, on her behalf. She didn't want to be the one to bring his mood down, ruin his spirits on this holiday weekend.

But she could admit now that she could hardly expect Castle not to have inquired. Of course he would ask, would be concerned, even worried about her. She should have expected as much and come up with something, some partial glimpse of the truth in order to placate him. But she hadn't thought, was, she supposed, just not used to having anyone around who cared enough and who would dare to try to press for answers to why she might be upset. The boys might notice but they, especially Esposito who tended to read her better because of the similarity in their characters, wouldn't pry. And with Lanie, who would certainly pry, she tried as much as possible to keep a certain measure of an emotional shield up to avoid the inevitable interrogation and even Lanie knew her well enough to give up after a point. She was too careful to show much of any negative emotion to her dad and he was, still, even now, cautious enough not to press her much. Castle was different, not only because he knew her well enough by now to sense or know when she was upset, but he also wasn't at all intimidated by her. (It occurred to her that his not being intimidated by her might be one of his more irritating traits, even as she appreciated it too.)

Ahead of her, she heard a shriek, pulling her from her thoughts, and she jerked her gaze up, relaxing as she realized the shriek had been from a girl who had, apparently, just been dropped into the cold water of the bay and was now already moving to retaliate by splashing the young man who'd dropped her.

Her eyes moved on to wander over the beach, noting half-absently, that unsurprisingly, it was crowded, although fortunately for her, just about everyone was scattered over the expanse of sand closer to the water rather than along the edge of it where she'd been walking. And she was, she realized quickly, the only solitary person on the beach. Everyone else was part of either a couple or more usually, a group, some families and others that were apparently just groups of friends. It was a picture of social, communal relaxation and entertainment in which she, not dressed for any sort of aquatic activity and being alone, stood out.

Everyone looked so happy, so carefree. She was too old and too cynical not to know perfectly well that appearances were deceiving, that these people must all have their own private troubles and worries, but something about the stark contrast between their own cheerful state and hers struck her sharply.

Since her mom had died, she hadn't sought out anyone else's company when she was upset in any way. Both by necessity and inclination, she had been used to seeking solitude when upset, hiding away from anyone else. But now, maybe because she was so obviously alone and surrounded by people who were not alone and apparently so much more cheerful, she wondered if maybe there wasn't something to the whole togetherness concept too. Not only as a distraction but as a form of comfort. The presence of other people could at times provide a level of comfort, she knew that. She was familiar with the camaraderie in the bullpen, the way people often congregated after one of their own was wounded in the line of duty or after some big operation went down, had felt it herself, that wish to be with other cops in times like that, people who understood. In cop fashion, she and her colleagues never put into words the comfort they sought and found in each other's presence at such times, masked it behind the usual graveyard humor and ribbing, albeit sometimes more subdued than usual, but comfort was there.

But that had been work. In her personal life, when she was roiled up over personal things, she always retreated like some, oh fine, some burrowing animal. Had grown used to that because in those first years after her mom had died, when her dad had been struggling, she always had been alone. But that wasn't the case anymore, was it. For the first time since her mom had died, really, she had someone else in her life she could turn to, someone she trusted.

Even when she'd been with Will, she hadn't shared much. He'd been law enforcement too, too immersed in that same law enforcement mentality of not openly talking about emotions, hiding behind graveyard humor. Besides, Will hadn't been given to open expressions of emotion anyway, any more than she was. And beyond that, in some small corner of her, she had always been careful to avoid letting him see her as a victim; his sympathy about her mom had, to her, whether rightly or wrongly, shaded too closely to pity for her own comfort so she'd shied away from ever provoking it.

Castle was, in every way, different. For one thing, he was more open about emotions than either she or Will had ever been but more than that, she already knew he didn't pity her. Somehow, no matter how much he found out about her mom and her dad, his reaction had never approached pity. No, as he himself had told her, he thought she was extraordinary, only saw strength and determination in what she'd already endured, not something to pity.

Maybe she didn't have to even tell him openly what had upset her but just being with him would help. Rather like, she thought, what she had done after they had dropped Alexis off at Princeton. For all Castle had referred to Alexis as his baby girl, it wasn't as if he had really put into words all that was bothering him, if only because it hadn't been necessary. But she'd been there for him anyway, stayed with him to help however she could, with her touch and her distracting conversation and above all, her presence.

But when she'd been upset, she'd retreated into old habits and sought out solitude. Not even allowed him to comfort her, beyond the immediate distraction of his body last night. She'd said she wanted to take down her wall, she abruptly remembered, but at the first real challenge, she'd… forgotten, relapsed, hadn't even tried. She could do better, should do better, wanted to do better.

On the thought, she turned on her heel, setting out to return to Castle's house, suddenly eager to be back there. She didn't know if he would still be working on his edits but even if he were, she could check and see how engrossed he looked and if he didn't look too focused on his work, she might intrude, seek him out. She knew him too well by now to think he would mind. Knowing him, aside from his wanting to help her, he was likely to welcome the excuse to procrastinate.

In her agitation, she had walked faster and further than she'd realized so it was more than half an hour before she finally reached the short flight of stairs that led to Castle's yard. She was hot, sweaty, and thirsty by the time she slipped inside through the French doors into the dining room and turned to the kitchen.

To see Castle in the kitchen having apparently just read her note, still held in his hand.

Her steps hitched and she suddenly felt absurdly self-conscious, aware that her hair was a mess due to the wind and she was flushed and sweaty and generally gross–and the last time they had seen each other, they had essentially argued until he'd walked out of the room.

"Oh, you're back," was all Castle said, as easily as if nothing at all were wrong. "Was the beach crowded?"

"I–yeah," she managed, forcing her feet to carry her into the kitchen so she could at least get a drink of water. "Someone's having a party down that way," she gestured with a hand in the direction where the barbecue had been going on.

"Probably the Langfords," he guessed. "They throw a lot of parties."

"You would know, I suppose." Why were they having this inane conversation and why wasn't he sounding or looking upset with her? Had he forgotten, just shrugged off their argument so quickly? How could he just not care anymore that something had upset her last night and she hadn't told him what it was? Irrationally, paradoxically, the fact that he was no longer trying to push for answers made her more inclined to tell him, at least a little. Without consciously deciding she was going to do so, she found herself blurting out, "Last night, I had a dream that upset me."

He stilled, his expression shifting, softening, and then he nodded. "I understand. I've had dreams about something happening to Alexis that scared me so much I've had to spend the rest of the night in her room watching her sleep."

That was it? He wasn't going to ask for more, ask what her dream had been about?

She wasn't sure if he saw her confusion in her expression but guessed he must have because he moved closer, lifting his hands to grasp her arms lightly. "You'll tell me the rest when you're ready. And when you are, I'll be here for you."

When, not if, she was ready to talk to him, she noted. Oh. Oh wow. He really did trust her, didn't he? That was what he was telling her. That he trusted that she was trying, would keep trying, to take down her wall and he could and would wait until she did. She didn't think anyone had ever done anything that showed so much… understanding of her, so much faith in her–no, wait, she knew no one had ever done anything like this for her before.

Her throat closed on a rush of emotions she couldn't immediately identify. She couldn't speak, even if she had any idea what to say–she never could seem to find words when she felt the most, one way in which they most certainly were not alike, wordsmith that he was. But she found she could move and she did, stepping into him, her arms going around him as she buried her face in his shoulder. His arms closed around her immediately, holding her snugly, and she thought, not for the first time, that she loved the way they fit together when she wasn't wearing her heels, loved the way the height difference allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder and made her feel so surrounded, shielded, by his greater bulk and strength.

She felt him press a kiss to her hair and turned her face up so he could kiss her mouth as well, an invitation which he readily accepted. And tried to show him with her kiss all she couldn't yet say, how much she loved him, how much she appreciated his trust and his faith.

He eventually gentled the kiss, drawing back just enough to drop kisses on her nose and then her forehead. "I was thinking, we could spend the rest of the afternoon in the pool?"

"Did you get enough of your edits done for the day?"

His lips twisted slightly. "Enough. I'll manage."

"Oh and did you want to call Alexis?" His mention of having dreams about Alexis had reminded her that he hadn't yet spoken to Alexis all weekend and although he and Alexis texted every day (Alexis was a good daughter), they generally only spoke on the phone on the weekends and those calls were probably the highlight of the weekends for Castle.

His expression brightened. "Actually, she already called. We talked for a little while. She got an A- on her European history essay."

"Good for her."

"And then she was going to have lunch and watch a movie with some friends." He pulled a face of mock dismay. "Clearly my daughter doesn't appear to be missing me at all."

She hid a smile, although she was sure Alexis was actually missing her dad, even if she wasn't saying so and as much as she was enjoying Princeton. "Were you expecting her to pine, get so homesick she had to drop out after only a week?"

"I wouldn't have minded."

She laughed softly and rose up to kiss him quickly. "The pool sounds good. It's a perfect day to swim. Let's go up and change."

He shot her a mock leer. "You could always just skinny-dip."

She laughed again and backed away from him a few steps. "In your dreams, Castle," she tossed back over her shoulder as she turned to go upstairs.

"Look at my life. My dreams come true," he responded as he followed her.

She threw a laughing glance over her shoulder as they went upstairs. "Not this dream." She might consider skinny-dipping sometime but not now, not today, in broad daylight and on such a busy holiday weekend when it wasn't impossible that some or another of Castle's neighbors might decide to stop by and be sociable.

She was in no hurry to get changed into her swimsuit and deliberately waited, let Castle change into his swim trunks first before shooing him out of the room when he showed distinct signs of wanting to distract her during her changing. Aside from evading his distractions, delightful as they were, she rather thought she could wait to give him a full sight of the skimpy bikini she had packed.

When she came downstairs, it was to find Castle standing by the pool looking somewhat wistful and she guessed he was thinking about Alexis. He had already mentioned that this was one of the few times he had ever come out to the Hamptons without Alexis.

On impulse, she came up to him and placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him into the pool. His arms flailed as he gave a yelp of surprise that was cut off as he landed in the water with an almighty splash.

By the time he came up spluttering, he found her grinning and sitting sedately on the side of the pool, only her feet dipping into the water, although she was quite wet, given the wave of water Castle's fall had sent geysering upwards.

He wiped water from his face and then saw her in her bikini and he froze, his jaw dropping a little. She smirked, feeling a purely feminine sense of self-satisfaction at his reaction.

He blinked again and then almost visibly gathered his wits as he pretended to growl, "You realize this means war."

With that declaration, he grasped her leg and yanked her into the pool in turn. And the battle was joined–she hadn't expected anything less–consisting of splashing each other and one trying to either dunk the other's head into the water or managing to get the other to lose their balance and fall face first into the water. It was probably the silliest thing she'd done in years; no doubt it was Castle's influence, she thought afterwards, that had brought her long-dormant playfulness back to life. She had almost forgotten she had a playful streak inside her; it certainly hadn't shown itself–or had any real reason to–in the years since her mother's death. But somehow, now, after spending time with Castle, and yes, with Alexis too, especially on their last visit out here, she found her playfulness emerging.

Soon, she was gasping and breathless with laughter and some exertion. But the battle waged on until she sent a particularly well-timed wave of water into his face just as he was gasping for breath, giving him a mouthful of water that had him coughing until he held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Truce," he finally rasped out.

"Only if you admit that I won."

He narrowed his eyes at her before admitting with something less than good grace, "Fine, yes, you won, drat you."

She laughed but then came up to loop her arms loosely around his neck. "You okay? I didn't mean to half-drown you."

"Fine. Just some water went down the wrong pipe."

"Oh, oops. Sorry."

"Not your fault. You didn't plan that." He cleared his throat a little and settled his arms loosely around her waist. "But maybe we could just relax in the pool from now on?"

"Yeah, I think that sounds nice."

"Good." He bent and they exchanged a rather chlorine-flavored kiss that lingered but did not escalate into a more heated exchange. After the recent battle, they were both perhaps a little tired.

They did spend the rest of the afternoon in the pool peacefully, swimming a few idle laps or just floating lazily. And after the exertions of earlier, it ended up being one of the most utterly pleasant afternoons Kate could remember spending in quite some time.

They lingered in the pool until the sun was starting to dip towards the horizon and just a touch of a chill from the impending night started to be felt, at which point they retreated inside to the pleasure of a shared shower.

Afterwards, she felt deliciously sated and relaxed, pleasantly tired and welcoming the prospect of a quiet dinner followed by watching the fireworks over the bay.

Castle had suggested they have tacos for dinner and she'd agreed and they worked together easily to prepare the ingredients and then ate their tacos in leisurely fashion outside, not talking much but content to simply watch the sunset painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. It no longer surprised her that much to realize that Castle could be, when he chose, a restful companion and she found, at times like these, that she was just as happy to sit in silence with Castle, only exchanging the occasional glances and smiles, interspersed with a few idle words here and there, as she was during their more usual bouts of banter and teasing.

After dinner, they resettled on the grassy lawn to wait for the fireworks with her sitting down first and then Castle settling down behind her so she could rest her back against his chest. He linked one of his hands with hers and she leaned her head against his shoulder as she watched the last streaks of color fade from the sky. They were both quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of the water and the faint, indistinct murmur of voices from people on the beach.

Afterwards, she thought it might have been the combination of how peaceful it was, that halcyon time of deepening dusk, with him warm and solid and strong behind her, his cheek resting against her hair, that loosened her so-recalcitrant tongue. Whatever the cause, she found herself saying, without consciously deciding to do so, "My mom liked your books."

It was out of the blue, she knew, and she could feel the way tension abruptly infused his frame but his response was a mild, unthreatening murmur. "She did?"

"She was too busy with work and our family to have much time to read but she never missed one of your books."

"I… didn't know."

"I never told you because I think, at first, I thought you might make fun or something." Had feared that he might preen and make one of his outrageously cocky quips.

"I wouldn't," he denied automatically and then broke off. "No, you're right. If you'd told me shortly after we met, I might have."

Oddly, the regret coloring his voice, his admission, convinced her of the opposite. "No, I don't think you would have," she contradicted. "You were a wise-ass, not a jackass." And even from the beginning, he never had made light of anything concerning her mom, had he? There was a reason she had chosen to tell him about her mom, about her dad's struggles, so soon after they had started working together, which wasn't usual for her.

He hesitated. "Maybe but I had my moments of imitating a jackass."

She squeezed his hand. Maybe he had but not where her mom had been concerned. After a little while, she went on, "My dad used to tease her about her low-brow reading tastes. My dad's not much of a fiction reader; he prefers nonfiction, history, sports, usually baseball, that kind of thing. My mom was the fiction reader."

"I'm even more flattered that your dad read Heat Wave then."

She nudged him with her elbow. "I could have done without knowing he'd read Page 105 but sure."

She sensed his grimace. "Put like that, I might have to rethink some scenes in the next book." he paused and then began, "Was that when you–" he broke off. "Never mind."

"No, what? Was that when I what?"

"I don't want to sound egotistical."

"That's never stopped you before."

He huffed the beginnings of a laugh. "Okay, then. Did you start to read my books then too?"

"Are you kidding? I was too busy reading the classics, Dickens, Tolstoy, the occasional Wilkie Collins, to have any time to read modern popular fiction." She gave a little snort of rueful self-deprecation. "I thought I was too smart for that stuff."

"What changed?"

Oh, right. She swallowed but managed steadily enough, "My mom died."

He sucked in his breath, his arm tightening around her. "Oh. You don't have to tell me more."

Somehow, his offer loosened some of the constriction in her throat. "No, I can." She paused. "She'd been reading Gathering Storm. I found it after–well, after. With her bookmark still inside."

"Kate…" Her name was just above a breath, barely audible even in her position.

"I finished it for her," she admitted with an attempt at a watery smile. She knew it was irrational but she also knew he would understand. Understand not just that she'd felt she should finish the book her mom never had a chance to finish but that afterwards, she had gone to the cemetery and told her mom about it, so her mom would know how the book had ended.

"Kate…"

She swallowed. "That was how it started. I could see why my mom had liked them so I kept on reading them and liked your books for their own sake."

She turned around just enough to meet his eyes, managing a small, somewhat wobbly curve of her lips. "That's how I became a fan." One day, she would tell him just how much his books had meant to her, how much they had inspired her, but for today, telling him this much was as much as she could manage.

"Thank you," he murmured just before he kissed her, softly, lingeringly.

The first boom of the fireworks had them both startling and then she brushed another kiss to his chin before turning back around as he resettled his arms around her and they watched the fireworks together.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.