Castle leans his elbows on the butcher's block, grin wide and in full effect. "Right," he says, "I'm also the literary flatfoot who follows you around because I have a bi-monthly poker game with the mayor." His spoon whips out like a striking cobra and scoops a bit of mint chocolate chip from her bowl. "The thorn in your side, the pebble in your shoe, the alarmingly handsome lichen clinging to your tree."