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Red-eye flights. Thorin both hated them and loved them. His job forced him to take one occasionally. It wasn’t a problem if he could sleep, but that depended on two things: How smooth the flight and how cooperative whoever sat next to him was. He didn’t like chatty people or those who snored too loudly sitting next to him. Old men were the worst. Just like his grandfather, they always wanted to share their life story with him and give him advice.
He was seated in Business Class. No point in paying for First. It was an expense his current finances wouldn’t allow.
He had just gotten comfortable and was silently rejoicing that even though the flight appeared to be full, there was the remote possibility that the seat next to him would remain empty. Neck pillow secured, Metallica playing through his headphones, he prepared for sleep.
Even the screeching riffs of Kirk Hamlett couldn’t drown out the noise coming from First Class. Curiosity getting the best of him, Thorin removed his headphones and like many others, craned his neck to see what was going on. Many had their cell phones out, most likely hoping to get a recording of the next viral video of a passenger getting kicked off a flight.
There was a man of short stature in a burgundy suit jacket standing in the aisle up in the first section. He was having what looked to be a serious discussion with one of the flight attendants.
He was nowhere near as bad as some irate passengers Thorin had seen before. His hands were planted on his hips, and his voice was gradually increasing in volume.
“I purchased this ticket two months ago. How can you stand there and tell me I have no seat? Look! 3C! It’s right there in black and white. And see the date?”
The attendant remained calm. She said something to the man Thorin couldn’t hear which caused the passenger to hang his head.
“I’m not interested in free miles,” the man continued. “I need a good night’s sleep. I’ve been up for 36 hours and was really looking forward to a chair that leaned back comfortably.”
The man had quieted down and most passengers lost interest. There was no viral video to be recorded here today. Thorin was still interested though and continued to eavesdrop.
“Can you please tell me where my new seat is?”
Oh, no.
Thorin glanced around him. There wasn’t one opening as far as he could see, and he was tall enough to be able to see them. Quickly, he switched to sit by the window before the man made his way back. After some shuffling of baggage in the overheads, the passenger that had been bumped sat down heavily next to him.
“Please buckle up, sir. Our slight misunderstanding has put us a little behind schedule.”
The friendly attendant smiled at Thorin sympathetically and then walked away.
“Slight…” the stranger huffed disagreeably before squeezing his eyes closed.
Thorin figured his seatmate was going to try and get some rest. He was just about to put his headphones back on when the man started talking. He could only hope he was talking to him and wasn’t completely crazy.
He abandoned the music in his lap and turned to look at the man quizzically. Or was he just talking to himself? It was hard to tell. The man was too short to see over the seat and was staring at the back of it as he continued to vent.
“All I wanted was a comfortable spot where I could get some proper rest. You have no idea how my day’s gone. A glass of wine would’ve also been nice. I paid $5000 for that seat and now, pardon me for saying, I’ve been forced to sit back here with…. No. I can’t say that. Regardless of how bad my day’s been, I’m not about to take it out on you. My apologies, Mr…”
For the first time since sitting down, the man turned to look at Thorin and immediately his hazel eyes widened.
Thorin performed a quick mental self-check. Had he forgotten to shave? Brush his teeth? Was there something on his face? Was a booger sticking out of his nose or something? Why was the man staring at him?
“Thorin Durin,” he said after a few seconds. “That’s my name.”
It was a few more seconds before the stranger chuckled nervously, and had his cheeks turned pink as well? How adorable was that? Had Thorin been the cause?
Interesting.
“Yes…uhm…Bilbo. Sorry. Bilbo Baggins. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I’m a writer.”
Thorin thought hard. He didn’t read much fiction or non-fiction for that matter. He was part owner of a fairly new real estate company. He read property listings and that was about all he had time for.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t say that I have. What do you write?”
The man looked a little disappointed in his answer but was trying not to show it. “Nothing too important. A little fantasy and some fictional adventure stories. Things of that ilk.”
Who said ‘ilk’ these days? Fascinating.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Durin?”
“It’s Thorin. I’m part owner of a small real estate company in Erebor. My brother and I started it a few years ago. We’re just getting off the ground and have a long way to go. Before that, I owned a bar, but got tired of the whole scene.” This wasn’t entirely true, but he wasn’t that old yet and wasn’t about to start sharing his life story with the man.
“Of course. It can become quite tiresome, I imagine. What type of bar if you don’t mind my asking?”
How many types of bars were there? He wanted to say – one where people drink, but that sounded a bit snippy. Unless, of course, the man was asking in a roundabout way what Thorin was interested in romantically. In that case, he smiled and decided to turn on a little bit of charm – just in case.
Now that he had calmed down and wasn’t so irritated, Thorin found that his seatmate was rather cute. His wavy hair at first looked to be coppery colored. Now that he was closer, it was more brown with some copper and blond highlights in it. Bilbo’s eyes were remarkable and Thorin was having trouble not staring at them. They appeared to be both blue and brown in equal measure.
“My bar was located on 11th and Narn,” he said, hoping the stranger would understand what type of bar it was simply by its location.
Much to his delight, Bilbo’s smile widened and caused a deep dimple to appear in his cheek, which only added to his charming appearance. He was becoming more attractive by the minute.
“I know the neighborhood. It’s been a while since I’ve been there. I might have even been in your former establishment. What was the name?”
“The Prancing Pony,” Thorin told him with a touch of pride. In the beginning, he and his brother, Frerin, had provided a safe place for those of similar romantic interests to hang out, get to know one another, drink a little, and share some intimate conversation.
But then a larger, fancier establishment providing the same thing (only better and with louder music) designed for the younger crowd, opened down the street by some dickhead named Thranduil Oropherion. The Prancing Pony struggled financially for two years until they were forced to close.
“I think I remember that place. It was small but it had a cozy atmosphere. A gentleman’s club where you could meet other gentlemen.”
“Exactly,” Thorin agreed. He and Frerin had worked hard to make the place inviting and comfortable, where anyone would feel welcome regardless of their preferences. “We should’ve made that our logo. Maybe we wouldn’t have gone out of business.”
“I’m sorry for that, but as you said, working nights isn’t easy. In my line of work, I seem to be cursed with nighttime inspiration.”
The plane’s engines revved and it began speeding down the runway. This was Thorin’s favorite part of flying. He found the power it took for the plane to pull away from Middle Earth exhilarating. Obviously, Bilbo didn’t agree.
Thorin had laid his arm on the armrest casually as he usually did, and just as the plane left the ground, the man had gripped his hand with a good deal of strength. He kept hold of it until they were in the air and then apologized.
“Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t hurt your hand. I hate that part, so I usually grip the armrest as if the thing could save my life if we were suddenly plummeting to the ground.”
“That’s okay,” Thorin assured him, still feeling the lingering and soothing warmth of the man’s touch. “You were saying something about inspiration?”
“Oh, yeah,” Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut as the plane continued to climb, its frame shuddering a little as it did.
Thorin was getting the strong impression that his seatmate may be a little afraid of flying.
“Uhm…” he continued while his focus turned toward the ceiling. “Ideas for new stories usually occur while I’m trying to fall asleep. I never ignore them and usually end up on my laptop all hours of the night typing out an outline before I forget it.”
“I can’t say I miss the nightlife of the whole bar scene, but I do miss the people,” Thorin told him.
“Yeah, the culture’s great,” Bilbo said, turning his head to smile. Tiny wrinkles appeared around his sparkling eyes as soon as he did and Thorin was still taken aback by the multiple colors shimmering in them. “Better than back home, that’s for sure.”
“Where’s home? Is that where you’re headed?” Thorin asked.
“Home is the Shire. I was born there, raised there, and still live there. What about you?”
It occurred to Thorin that he had never spent so much time on a plane talking to someone before. Honestly, he had never spent so much time anywhere talking to anyone! His brother took care of all the client interactions. Thorin was the one who did all of the important stuff behind the scenes. It’s what worked best for them.
“Erebor. Same for me. Born there, raised there, and still live there.” Thorin admitted, finding it easy to do so. There was something about this man that put him at ease. Bilbo was anything but. Each noise the plane made caused him to flinch.
“What is it…” Bilbo paused, taking a deep breath when there was a small amount of turbulence. “What brings you west?”
“Family,” Thorin offered the information, surprised to do so. He was normally a very private person. Too private, his brother would tease him. How was he ever going to meet anybody if he refused to speak to them? He’d been asked that question on different occasions by several of his family members. Thorin had always replied that when the right man came along, it would be simple. He just hadn’t met the right man yet.
“I have family in Ered Luin,” he explained. “A sister and her two sons. She was widowed a few years ago and I try to fly out as often as I can to visit them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What a devastating loss for the children. I’ve lost both my parents as well, but I was already in my 20s at the time. How old are your nephews?”
“Ten and twelve,” Thorin shared. “They were eight and ten at the time and it was difficult.”
“I can imagine so. I hope your sister is doing all right.”
This wasn’t the man who, just fifteen or so minutes ago, was arguing with a flight attendant and creating a scene was it? This was a compassionate and caring man who seemed to be truly interested in everything Thorin had to say. And if he wasn’t mistaken, their conversation was keeping Bilbo’s mind off the fact the turbulence had gotten slightly worse.
“She had a rough time in the beginning, but a tragic accident such as the one her husband suffered doesn’t really give you much time to prepare. Her focus is on the boys and they are a handful.”
“It’s good that she has them,” Bilbo told him with a touch of melancholy in his voice. “And she’s lucky to have you and your brother as well. I was an only child. When my parents died, tragically as well, I didn’t have anyone to comfort me. Sure, there were aunts, uncles, and cousins, but nobody who really understood my loss.”
Thorin swallowed the empathetic lump that had formed in his throat. When you suffer loss such as he had in his life, you become so focused on yourself, that you forget others have had it just as bad or possibly worse than you. Bilbo was right. He was lucky.
“My parents both died when I was in my 20s as well.”
“Really?” Bilbo asked, both startled and delighted if one could be delighted about such a thing. “Small world.”
“Indeed. But as you said, I was lucky. I had both a brother and a sister to comfort me. Did you have no others to turn to?”
Why would he ask such a thing? He was about to take it back and tell Bilbo to forget it. It was really none of his business.
The sad smile on Bilbo’s face changed his mind. He wanted to know. He had to know.
“I have a few friends,” Bilbo told him. “Mostly within the publishing company, but seeing as I work from home, I don’t actually see them very often. We text a lot and meet for drinks whenever I fly into Erebor.”
“Bilbo Baggins, you are a recluse.” He had meant it as a joke and Bilbo did laugh, a musical sound that tickled Thorin’s ear. But there was something remorseful that passed across the man’s face.
“Not by choice, I assure you. I’m afraid my career demands it. It’s a solitary life, but I do find time to walk to the park, go to the grocery store, and visit the market. I see people, just not when I’m working on a deadline.”
“My apologies,” Thorin said after he noted a slightly annoyed tone in the man’s voice. “It’s really none of my business. I don’t know why I’m asking so many personal questions. I don’t usually do that.”
“Isn’t that part of your job?” Bilbo asked playfulness once more lighting his eyes.
“Not mine,” Thorin assured him. “That’s my brother’s department. I sit behind a desk on a computer most of the time.”
Bilbo laughed again, which filled Thorin with unexpected joy. He was determined to be the cause of that laughter as many times as he could before the plane landed.
“Aren’t we a pair? We’re both too busy and not entirely inclined to deal with people. Most likely for different reasons, but still, we seem to have a lot in common. Isn’t that remarkable?”
Indeed…he was.
This was a four-hour flight. Thorin normally dreaded it. He always enjoyed visiting his family, but the flight there was the worst. Now, he was finding four hours wasn’t nearly enough, but he didn’t know what to do about that. He could ask the pilot to pretend they were having engine trouble and land outside of their destination. That way, they could have dinner and perhaps get a hotel room. Not together, of course. Bilbo was a gentleman. He would treat him as such for as long as he was able, which was a short 3-½ hours left.
Thorin smiled, biting back a reply that would most likely embarrass him. He was in a rare mood with this man, but he wasn’t willing to tell a total stranger everything he was feeling.
Another shudder through the plane caused Bilbo to grab his hand again, and Thorin began to wish for bad weather. If a storm happened to come upon them, there was no telling what Bilbo would do. Perhaps crawl into his lap? Press his body against him in search of comfort?
That would be perfectly fine with him. He stared at the man’s hand longingly and before he realized it, Bilbo had and rotated his around to clasp onto Thorin’s and weave their fingers together.
“Tell me about your latest book,” he suggested, amazed he could speak with his heart having climbed into his throat.
“You don’t want to hear about that,” Bilbo chuckled lightly.
“Of course I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked,” Thorin assured him adjusting his position to sit a little bit sideways to face Bilbo, but not letting go of the man’s hand. He usually spent all of his flight time staring out the window or sleeping. He had no desire to do either.
“All right,” Bilbo answered with a cheeky grin and an adorable wiggle of his nose that reminded Thorin of an adorable bunny rabbit. “It’s called The Lost Kingdom. The heroine is a princess whose kingdom is stolen by a dragon. Her parents died during the attack and most of her kingdom is in ruin. A man finds her wandering the wilds and takes her under his wing. He just so happens to be a renowned criminal who was wanted by her father. He trains Princess Elara to fight and she returns to face the dragon and kills him.”
“Spoiler alert!” Thorin exclaimed. “I can’t believe you told me the ending!”
“You can’t seriously mean you intended to read it. I’m afraid it’s not quite your style. My audience is 16 to 29-year-old females.”
“I would have, but there’s no need to read it now,” Thorin replied with a smirk. “What exactly do you think my style is?”
Bilbo studied him for a moment and Thorin could feel the gaze settle into his bones. He could get used to this. Being under such intense scrutiny always made him squirm. In this instance, it was causing his blood to simmer.
“Something more mature and intellectual. A spy thriller or murder mystery with a tall, dark, and handsome private investigator as the main character.”
“Handsome?” Thorin asked while lifting a suggestive brow.
Bilbo blushed slightly and caressed the back of Thorin’s hand with his thumb, which only added to the warmth flooding Thorin’s veins. He reached up to adjust the AC above his head without moving his eyes from Bilbo’s face.
“If I wrote such a novel, you would definitely be my muse, as well as the model for the cover.”
The compliment caused Thorin to blush and he laughed to hide it. “I’m no model.”
“I would gladly argue with you about that if you’d like,” Bilbo told him while leaning forward just a little, his gaze tender and soft.
Was this really happening? How many flights had he taken to Ered Luin? Too many to count over the years and not once had he ever met anyone like Bilbo Baggins. The truth was, Thorin doubted he ever would again. If he let Bilbo get off this plane without getting his address or his number, he would regret it for the rest of his days!
“Are you saying… I mean, are you suggesting that I may be…to say…that I’m…uhm..”
“Handsome,” Bilbo finished for him. “Absolutely. I’m a man of words and I’m not usually at a loss for them. But after I sat down and got a good look at you, that was the first thing I noticed. That and your height. I prefer men taller than me, by the way.”
There was no doubt in Thorin’s mind now. The man was flirting with him! There was no mistaking it.
“I’m afraid my first impression of you wasn’t so positive.”
“Oh,” Bilbo uttered before biting his lip. “You’re talking about my little temper tantrum. Yes, I’m sorry you saw that. I’m usually much more reserved in public. You see, I just came from a meeting with the publishing executive who had the nerve to try and convince me to change my heroine to a hero.”
“They wanted Elara to be a man? That’s ridiculous,” Thorin agreed. “Especially when your target audience is young women.”
“That’s what I said!” Bilbo announced excitedly. “I’m so glad you agree with me.”
“I hope your boss didn’t get their way.”
“Absolutely not,” Bilbo explained. “Or else I would still be in Erebor arguing with him. I don’t like to lose an argument.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Thorin teased, immediately tensing up. Perhaps that was going a bit too far. His comment spoke of a future they hadn’t even discussed yet. He needed to soon. He should ask the man for his number, his address or something.
The lids of Bilbo’s eyes were dropping though his grin was still present; a pleasant sight that Thorin was most likely going to appear in his dreams.
“What time is it?” Bilbo asked.
Honestly, Thorin didn’t want to know. If he knew the time, then he would realize how little he had left to spend with this interesting and charming man. Still, a question had been asked and he didn’t wish to be rude. He glanced at his phone.
“A little after midnight,” he murmured before Bilbo held his hand out for what he was assuming Thorin’s cell phone. He handed it over without a second thought. The man sitting next to him was no longer a stranger.
After a few swipes and taps of his fingers, Bilbo handed it back, closed his eyes, and lay his head on Thorin’s shoulder.
Thorin froze. It wasn’t that he didn’t wish for the contact. He longed for it. He just wasn’t expecting it. He had known this man for an hour. This was crazy! And a story he would never be able to tell his sister. She would never stop teasing him about how he had fallen for someone in less time than it took to see a movie.
Sooner than expected, he could hear a change in Bilbo’s breathing and knew the man had fallen asleep. He carefully opened his phone and looked to see what he’d done. There was a message waiting in his notes for him.
“Here’s my number. Don’t wait too long to use it,” it said. Beside the name Bilbo Baggins was a red heart emoji.
Nobody but his sister ever sent those and he rarely replied with them.
Now, he was suddenly interested in using them, but only for one person: The man with the hair that smelled like lavender currently leaning against his shoulder.
Thorin inhaled the calming scent and smiled before he reopened his phone. He opened the Erebor Air app and canceled his connecting flight. He was not going to assume too much too soon and made a hotel reservation at the Bywater Inn within the city limits of the Shire.
He’d explain to his sister why his plans had changed later. Right now, he needed to get some sleep. For the first time in a long while, there would be no need to hope for pleasant dreams, not when the man of his dreams was sitting right next to him.