Disclaimer: I don't own Castle. The only profit being made is my own amusement (and hopefully yours).

A Date With Your Book

The water was hot but comfortably so, the bubble bath was giving off her favorite cherry aroma, and the candles were glowing peacefully. She had a glass of her mother's favorite red wine beside her and her favorite popular author's newest book in her hands—before the release date, too! It was going to be a wonderful evening.

She'd gotten to around page 80 when her cell phone rang. She had special ringtones programmed for Esposito, Ryan, Montgomery, Lanie, and the precinct—and, of course, Castle—so it couldn't be one of them. But then again, maybe it was. Maybe they'd caught a lead and went somewhere without reception, so they had to call her from someone's house or from a pay phone. She gave a huff of frustration—with a case still unsolved, she had to take the call.

She almost slipped climbing out of the bathtub as quickly as she could. She wrapped a towel around herself and dripped a trail of water all the way to her bedroom where she kept the phone. She checked the screen; it was indeed a number she didn't recognize.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver.

No one answered.

"Esposito? Ryan?"

Still no answer. Great. She had nearly gotten herself injured over a wrong number.

Out of the warm water and still wet in the chilly air of her apartment, she began to shiver. Cold. Winter. Snow. North pole. Her mind jumped next to the Arctic explorer—or, at least the fake Arctic explorer—Stephen Fletcher, if that was his name at all. She suddenly felt a twinge of guilt about leaving Esposito and Ryan to work at the precinct while she stayed at home to lounge around in the bathtub reading Castle's book.

She sighed. Heat Wave would have to wait until tomorrow. She dried off, slipped into her pajamas, stuffed Castle's oversized volume into her purse, and sat down to brainstorm about Stephen Fletcher's motives.

Across town, the man hung up the pay phone.

It didn't sound like Beckett was in a restaurant; there was no clinking of silverware, no chatter of happy patrons. She wasn't in a movie theater; she hadn't whispered when she answered the phone. It seemed like she was home, and if he had to bet on it, he'd wager that she was home alone... there were no voices in the background, asking her who was calling or what was taking her so long.

Richard Castle smiled to himself. Maybe she didn't have a date that night after all.

FIN.