It's not like she enjoyed being stood up on her birthday dinner. It just didn't hurt that the guy who pretended to be her date was her favorite writer.

Oneshot. Caskett meeting AU.

There's an elderly couple sitting a few tables over from her, sending curious glances filled with pity that cause a blush to creep up her neck and flame across her cheeks.

She can't ignore the awkward bubble that hangs around her, can't ignore the curious eyes that wander towards her lone form, taking in the vacant space opposite her. She's the only one in the bustling restaurant who's sitting alone.

She knows how it looks. A girl dressed up in a simple black dress with her hair and makeup done and no one opposite her. She looks as if she's been stood up on a date.

A few others in the restaurant mimic the looks that the elderly couple send. Another couple at the front of the room who stand to leave send her apologetic glances when they don't think she's looking and a double-dating group do the same.

There's a group of about 5 – males and females – sitting at a long table at the back of the restaurant, drinking wine and laughing heartily over their meal. From their pressed suits, immaculate skirts and blazers and flashy watches that scream money, Kate guesses they're in the field of business.

The group had been at the restaurant when she arrived, drinking expensive looking champagne and laughing about the work at their firm. After an hour of sitting by herself, constantly checking her phone and staring vacantly at the empty space in front of her, a girl (probably only just older than Kate's 24 year old self) had invited her to their table.

The girl ("Cassandra, but most people call me Cass") had laughed after every sentence she said, snickering back to look at her group. Kate had the feeling that "call me Cass" had been dared into inviting Kate and so she had politely declined, face flaming from embarrassment and eyes avoiding the predatory looks the guys at the table were throwing her.

Kate doesn't let her gaze linger on the empty spot in front of her, heart feeling heavier each time it's brought to her attention. Instead it's her turn to glance around the room.

Her attention is drawn to the front, where there's nobody casting apologetic glances at her. Only a guy, tall with broad shoulders, laughing and talking to the maître d. His back is facing her but when he turns, eyes slowly scanning over the earth-toned furniture and lowly-lit room, his gaze stops on hers.

The gaze he holds his electric, a sensation that draws her deeper into the magnetic pull that this stranger is engaging her in.

But, oh – he's not a stranger. He's on the back of the small pile of books sitting on her bedside table. He's the paperback face she falls asleep to most nights, when the exhaustion is just fraying at the edges of her consciousness and allows her to seek comfort in the word of his book, his words.

He's Richard Castle. And he's staring at her.

She winces, watching as her favorite author takes notice of her lack of company and the surrounding people in the restaurant. She drops her gaze back down to the empty plate in front of her, not wanting to see the pity swirling in his deep, blue eyes.

Kate checks her watch, the time bordering on half past eight. She lets out a small huff of frustration. Her father was meant to meet her an hour and a half ago but instead must have decided that it wasn't worth the time. That meeting up with his daughter to celebrate her 24th birthday wasn't as important as locking himself in his apartment or finding solace in the bottom of a tumbler.

She wants to fall into her own scotch-induced dream, wants to forget about her father forgetting about her birthday dinner.

No, Kate.

She was going good, feeling better than she had in awhile, right? Keeping up at the precinct, not overworking herself and getting home at a decent hour. She was making sure to cook dinner instead of buying it and the therapy was helping her move past the trauma of losing her mother. Yes, everything was going alright. And she wasn't going to let herself slip back into the dark thoughts after so much work and progress. It had taken her years to get to this point of moving forward.

"Miss?" A low voice interrupts, thankfully dragging her from her weighing thoughts.

Kate looks up, heart thudding as a thought of Richard Castle talking to her eases into her mind. She berates herself for thinking such far-fetched thoughts as she glances up at the uniformed waiter.

"Yes?" Kate asks the waiter, licking her lips and swallowing past the lump in her throat.

The young man stands awkwardly, looking uncomfortable as he shifts from one foot to the other. She doesn't blame him. It's the third time in the hour and half she's been waiting that he's approached her. The second time he had brought her bread rolls and a glass of wine that had remained untouched.

"Would you like to order something or are you waiting for someone?" He keeps his voice low, no doubt trying not to embarrass Kate by having the other patrons in the restaurant hear.

"He'll be –" she breaks off in her reassurance that her father will be here, that he just needs a few more minutes to get through the door and sit down opposite her.

Who was she kidding? Her father wasn't turning up, no matter how much faith she had put into him. He wasn't going to walk through those restaurant doors anytime soon. He would probably ring her the next afternoon with a half-hearted apology on his lips and an empty promise that he'll make up for it.

The waiter looks at her expectantly, pity swirling around his features.

God, she feels pathetic. If one more person gives her a pitying look she thinks she's going to scream.

"I'm sorry, there must have been a misunderstanding," Kate replies, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes are blurring from the realization that she has most definitely been stood up. By her father, of all people. She thinks it would've stung less if it had been a boyfriend or blind date.

"I'm just going to go," Kate murmurs, mortified with how her voice breaks on the last word. She pushes up from the table, grabbing her handbag and pulling out her wallet.

She's just about to tip the waiter for their awkward encounter and the wine he had given her when there's a commotion making its way to her table.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, babe."

Kate glances up in confusion, can almost feel the words are directed at her. But it's not possible, because Richard Castle has said the words, making his way towards her and suddenly he's right beside the waiter.

"The meeting went longer than I thought it was going too and I know I said I'll meet you here and that you didn't need to pick me up but damn, you should of," the words tumble out of his mouth, his cheeks flustering from the cold, maybe? Or he was just a great actor. Either way he runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head apologetically.

He steps towards Kate, placing a hand at her waist and leaning in to press his lips against her cheek. He lingers for a moment, before moving his lips to his ear.

"I know you don't know me, but I'm Rick Castle," he whispers, the words making her shiver.

Rick Castle. Holy shit.

"I saw you sitting by yourself earlier and all I want to say is that whoever stood up a beautiful women like you is a jerk. And I know this is a bit forward but I can't stand the pitying stares people are shooting you, so go with it?"

He pulls back, leaving a stunned Kate in his wake who nods, wide-eyed at what he had just said.

"Plus, New York traffic," he continues, stating the words a bit too loudly. But it's purposeful, leaves the waiter with a relieved stare as he steps back a bit.

She notices how most of the other patrons in the restaurant are absorbed in them now, her and Rick Castle. But she pretends not to notice them, even "call me Cass" as she stares, open-mouthed, at the two of them.

"I was stuck in the thick of it for about an hour," Castle says with a disgruntled sigh, allowing mock frustration to leak into his voice.

Kate nods, relaxing her shoulders but still appearing wide-eyed and awkward, jacket in hand.

"Oh, did you want to go somewhere else?" Rick Castle asks making it seem as though he's just noticed that she's about to leave. There's hesitancy swirling in his eyes, as if he's made the wrong mistake, and she wants it gone, wants to run away and yet indulge in this man at the same time.

"Uh, no," Kate replies, clearing her throat. "We should probably eat, babe."

Babe? What the hell was she thinking?

Before she can duck her head and groan at the term of endearment, He's stepping behind her, taking her jacket out of her hand and placing it on the back of her chair.

"You look beautiful tonight," he compliments, pushing her chair in once she's seated.

He makes his way towards the opposite chair, shrugging off his own jacket and sliding into the chair. His gaze trails from her softly curled hair, down to her lips that she had quickly slicked with cherry chapstick before arriving at the restaurant. His eyes continue further down to linger at the column of her throat, her visible collarbones but that's where it ends. Castle's eyes lift back up to meet hers and for some reason that bothers her.

Because page six, Richard Castle would have continued his mental undressing, raking his eyes down her torso towards her legs. But this so obviously isn't the page six writer and she's not sure what she thinks of that.

He leans over the table, dropping his voice to a low whisper.

"I never got a name."

Kate bites her lip, attempting to tame the fire that's stewing in her stomach, slowly climbing up her torso and continuing until she's certain her cheeks are tinged red.

"It's Kate," she murmurs quietly. "Kate Beckett."

Richard Castle's a mystery. A mystery that helps her forget the reason she's in the restaurant.

He sits with her for the first ten minutes as they make their way through small talk; short conversations about the weather and how crazy New York traffic is.

When asking why he decided to save her from societal embarrassment, he explains that "such a beautiful women shouldn't be left sitting alone." It's not a pick up line, she can tell by the way his eyes stay locked on hers instead of running up and down her body. He's genuinely complimenting her and it causes her to blush for what seems like the hundredth time that night.

She lets slip that she knows who is and for the next hour their conversation includes writing, mysteries, story ideas and him trying to get her to admit that she's his "number #1 fan".

When the waiter interrupts their conversation, although hesitantly, Castle orders a bottle of wine for the pair of them. After the waiter leaves he sheepishly looks at Kate, "I hope you weren't hungry," he says. She declines softly with a shake of her head.

They start their game of 20 questions once the wine arrives. The game takes on more of an "ask and guess before the other answers" version but Kate enjoys it nonetheless.

"Favorite color?" Castle asks before holding up his hands. "Wait, nope. I got it. Blue."

He seems so confident in his answer, eyes alight and a smirk slowly growing. She almost feels bad that she has to ruin his delight.

"Purple, actually," she answers, hiding her smile behind her wine.

Castle pouts, mumbling something under his breath that Kate can't quite catch.

"My turn," Kate says. "Why do you act like a playboy?"

Castle almost spits out the wine he's drinking, coughing a few times before he manages to catch his breath back.

"What – how did you?"

"You're sitting here. With me," Kate interrupts. "It's Saturday night. And although it seems presumptuous, page six Richard Castle would be out with some blonde, statuesque model rather than sitting here in a restaurant with a homicide detective."

"You're right," Castle huffs, looking down at the table. "That page six playboy isn't me."

Kate nods, let's him pause until he starts talking again.

"It's just a cover, one that my publicist thinks will get me more publicity for my books."

"Well, it's working," Kate agrees, sharing a laugh with him.

"I'm not like that playboy though and those close to me know that," he concludes, finishing off his revelation.

"Plus," he adds, taking a sip of his wine. "I would rather be here with you, a genuine, beautiful woman, than a blonde model."

Once again, Rick Castle manages to draw a blush out of her. One that she's certain is visible, from the way he smirks into his glass.

There's a small silence, not awkward but just...comfortable.

Richard Castle is a mystery. A mystery who doesn't like silence, she notes.

"You said you were a homicide detective?" Castle questions with a slight spark in his eyes.

"Yeah, I just got promoted in early October, this year," Kate acknowledges with a murmur.

"That's so cool," Castle compliments with a goofy smile. "Wow, my girlfriend for all 'intents and purposes' is a homicide detective."

Kate rolls her eyes but can't help the light flutter in her stomach, the way her heart speeds up at his mention of 'girlfriend'.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" He adds, sliding out a pen from his lapel and pulling a napkin closer to him.

"Shoot," Kate replies with a roll of her eyes and a tilt to her lips.

In only 10 minutes, Castle manages to fill up both sides of the napkin he's writing on and is just starting on his third one, when he asks a question that bulldozes into her defenses.

"What made you become a homicide detective?" He asks as he continues to write down her answer from the previous question.

Kate stalls her answer, smile faltering as she remembers the real reason she's sitting in the restaurant tonight. Remembers how her father forgot about the birthday dinner he promised he would attend, probably getting drunk instead.

"You okay, Kate?" Castle asks, pausing in his writing to shoot her a concerned look.

"It's my birthday," Kate lets out weakly, trying to deflect from his question.

But for some strange reason she wants to tell him the real reason she put on the uniform. It scares her more than it should, how open she wants to be when she's around him. She's never willingly told anyone about her mother's murder. The police force knew because of her profile and her therapist found out the same way. She's never planned on personally telling anyone.

"You're alone, on your birthday?" Castle asks, shocked, almost horrified that anyone would leave her alone on her birthday or any day for that matter.

"I was supposed to be meeting my dad but –" she pauses, letting out a breath and swallowing heavily. "My mother was murdered 5 years ago."

Castle lets out an audible gasp, reaching across the table to grab onto her hand as if he's afraid she'll fade away at any moment.

"My father took it hard, turning to alcohol for comfort rather than his own daughter. For the past 3 years he's been in and out of rehab, trying to get sober. But alcohol - that's probably the reason he's not here tonight," she reveals, blank faced and stoic.

Why is she telling her favorite writer this?

"My mother's murderer – he was never caught. The detectives wrote it off as gang violence and it just doesn't make sense. That's why I decided to drop law and become a cop. So other families get the justice I never got, or not yet."

"I'm sorry," Castle says softly, rubbing his thumb lightly across the top of her hand. "I can't imagine - God, Kate. You're only young, you shouldn't have to suffer like that."

He can't imagine how she must feel, only knows that he wants to ease her grief and keep her smiling.

"I'm 24, as of today," Kate adds quietly, eyes flickering down to his hand on hers

"Do you want to get out of here?" He blurts out, words breaking the tension that seems to be wrapping around them. But Castle instantly blushes at how forward his words are and he backtracks, shaking his head before she answers.

"I didn't mean it like that," he quickly adds. Kate raises an eyebrow, his embarrassment lighting the mood considerably. "I meant go to another place to eat because I noticed you didn't eat anything which was kinda my fault because I only ordered wine. But yeah, I know this really great place which is only a few blocks away and they have great burgers and milkshakes and you deserve a birthday milkshake. And milkshakes always make me feel so much better and it's my shout and just - yeah." He cuts off his ramble with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Richard Castle?" Kate challenges, welcoming the distraction from the heavy topic from before.

"Well, I am already kind of your boyfriend, Miss Beckett," he bites back, a slow, goofy grin falling on his face as the charged banter makes its presence known.

"I don't remember ever saying I was your girlfriend," Kate replies easily.

"But Kate," Castle whines, lips forming into an adorable pout. Who knew he was such a child?

"God Castle, you're so easy," she points out, rolling her eyes. "But yes, I will happily go on a date with you," Kate responds, tongue caught between her teeth as she holds back her smile.

"Great," Castle replies. He signals for the check and after paying for the wine they finished and leaving a considerable tip, he comfortably places a hand on Kate's hip as if it's the most normal thing to do.

"Don't forget, we're supposed to be a couple, sweetheart," Castle murmurs in her ear, leaning into her side as he guides her through the restaurant.

"How could I forget, honey?"

Kate usually doesn't kiss on the first date. Or second or third.

But later that night, after dinner at Remy's, Castle walks her home. They bump into each other a few times, laughing at stories, hips brushing against each other. And when her heel gets caught in a crack on the pavement and she almost trips, he pulls her against his side, hand safely tucked in his. They don't let go for the rest of their walk, even when she's fed up with the heels and takes them off, even after Castle voices against it, reminds her off the glass and debris that pollutes the New York pavement. But it also gives him the perfect opportunity to stand closer to her and he takes it, shuffling forward until he's very much in her personal space.

When he walks her to her apartment he doesn't stop there, claiming that "there are bad guys everywhere, Kate. You never know who's going to spring up."

She accepts his excuse, even though she's tempted to remind Castle that she's a cop and has her gun in her handbag.

Once they arrive at her door, she turns to him slowly, not quite ready for the night to end.

"I had a great night," Castle says first, stealing the words from her mouth.

"It didn't turn out how I expected, but I had a great time too," Kate agrees, her heartbreak of being stood up by her father slowly easing.

"So, I guess this is it, huh?" Castle asks, scuffing the edge of his shoe against the floor.

She doesn't want it to be but it's inevitable. He's a famous writer and she's a cop.

Courage surges in Kate's stomach and she takes a step forward, pressing up on her bare tiptoes to brush her lips softly against his cheek.

"Thank you, Castle," she whispers as she pulls back, eyelashes patting her cheeks as her eye flicker to his lips.

"Kate," he mumbles, eyes burning. He splays his hands at her waist and pulls her closer. Kate obliges easily, hands flattening against his chest and eyes meeting his.

And when Castle gently frames her face with his hands, leans in close and asks if he can kiss her, she replies by sealing her mouth to his.

A/N: This story was based off a great story prompt, that I unfortunately couldn't find.

Reviews are greatly appreciated and I would love to hear your feedback. :)

K