Then he again gave me what I needed. He bent, kissed my neck and lifted to catch my eyes.
“We’ll eat in front of the TV. I’ll go turn it on.”
I nodded.
He grinned and gave me a squeeze.
He went to turn on the TV, came back and refilled our wine glasses.
I put the last pot in the drainer and followed my man to the TV to veg out and await stuffed shells.
* * * * *
“Jesus,” Ren muttered, and I tore my eyes off Castle to lift my head from where it was resting on his chest seeing as we were both stretched out on the couch, Ren on his back, me tucked to his side between him and the couch.
“What?”
“Jesus,” he repeated, eyes glued to the TV.
He was making me miss it!
“What?” I snapped.
He lifted a hand that held the remote and paused the show.
Then he turned his head to me. “Do you watch this show because of that woman?”
I felt my brows draw together. “What woman?”
“The brunette who’s the spittin’ image of you.”
What was he talking about?
“Do you mean Stana Katic?” I asked.
“I don’t know her name. The tall knockout brunette.”
Jeez. Did he think I looked like Stana Katic, otherwise known as the most beautiful woman on American television today?
“You think I look like Kate Beckett?” I asked.
“Who’s Kate Beckett?” he asked back.
“Stana Katic. She plays Detective Kate Beckett, Castle’s partner on the show. Or, more accurately, Castle’s her partner,” I informed him.
“Then no. If she’s the gorgeous, bossy, badass homicide detective I just watched for the last five minutes, I don’t think you look like her. I think she’s the spittin’ image of you.”
Wow.
Cool!
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Babe,” he muttered, his eyes wandering back to the TV where Beckett was paused having a conversation with Castle, “fuck me, definitely seriously.”
This.
Was.
Awesome.
I didn’t share I felt that, nor did I tell him that wasn’t the reason I watched Castle (though it was part of it; Kate Beckett was the freaking bomb).
I just said the truth. “I never noticed.”
He looked back at me. “How could you not notice?”
I probably didn’t notice because I was paying more attention to Nathan Fillion.
Since this was the reason, the answer I gave Ren was a shrug.
Ren’s arm around me curled me closer, his head turned back to the TV and he hit play.
I turned my eyes to the TV and studied Kate Beckett.
She did kinda look like me.
Totally cool.
I relaxed into Ren and tangled my legs with his.
It was then it hit me we’d never done this, something totally normal like relaxing in front of a TV.
It also hit me it felt nice.
And last, it hit me that after a busy day that didn’t end great, this, just this, was exactly what I needed. A belly full of Ren’s cooking. A wine glass that, unless I wanted it to be, never was empty. A couch. A TV. A good show.
But most of all.
Ren.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Impossible
The next morning, post-coffee rush at Fortnum’s, the bell over the door rang.
I had a lot to do, and unfortunately part of that was keeping liquid until my insurance check came in. My credit card balance was getting high and my bank account balance was never high. Thus I needed my take from the tip jar.
