After our shopping spree, we loaded the SUV with every camping necessity Thorin could think of—packs, a tent, water bottles, food—and returned to the hotel for one last night of luxury. Back in our room, Thorin unloaded his laptop from its carry case while I dug through our purchases, packing things into an honest-to-god long-distance trekking backpack complete with a hip belt, internal frame, and a money-back guarantee if carrying it didn’t result in blisters and a back ache.
“I’ve got to catch up on a couple of things,” Thorin said. “Can you keep yourself busy and out of trouble for a while?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Really? Did you just say that? Because, as I recall, the last person to have their butt in a jam was not me.”
“There’s no Skyla around to back you up this time.”
“You said you were going to be all I needed from now on.”
Thorin cracked a slow grin and arched an eyebrow. I immediately regretted my choice of words. “And anytime you want me to prove it to you”—he glanced toward the bedroom he had claimed for himself—“I’m right down the hall.”
I set my hands on my hips and jutted my chin. “You also said you have plenty of self-restraint.”
“I can’t help it if you throw yourself at me.”
“In your dreams.” I picked up the closest thing at hand, a pillow from the sofa, and chucked it at him.
Thorin laughed and ducked around the corner, disappearing into his bedroom. I went back to shoving things into my pack so I wouldn’t meditate on how exasperating I found my roommate. After finishing that chore, I dug out the room-service menu and ordered dinner.
Some time later, Thorin shuffled into the living room, his pale hair hanging loose and unkempt around his face. My fingers flinched in an unconscious urge to smooth the unruly strands.
“Do I smell pizza?” he asked.
I motioned toward the box next to me on the coffee table. “Room service just left.”
“Coffee?” he asked on his way to the kitchenette.
“No caffeine for me this late, but thanks.”
After he finished preparing the coffee pot, Thorin returned to the living room and plopped down next to me on the sofa. “Baldur and Val said they’ve had no luck yet, but they’re going to keep looking.”
“You talked to them?”
“E-mail.”
“You take chances with Wi-fi?”
“Encrypted satellite modem.”
“You’re awfully tech savvy for such an old dude.”
A martyred expression crossed his face, and he pressed his hand over his heart. “I’m timeless, not old.”
“Do you prefer the modern era, or do you wish things were like they used to be?”
Thorin rubbed his chin and adopted a thinking pose. “Modern conveniences are valuable, but sometimes I miss the old days. Things were simpler then. My place in that world was more certain, and relationships were a hell of a lot easier to figure out.”
I cleared my throat and said, “What do you mean by that?”
“It used to be men and women formed symbiotic partnerships that were necessary for survival. It brought them together in a way modern people seem to have trouble achieving although I think they still crave it.”
“Wow. Relationship perspectives from an immortal. How insightful.”
Thorin leaned back and raised his eyebrows. “You don’t agree?”
“I think you’re probably right,” I said. “Any good partnership, romantic or otherwise, is more successful when strengths and weaknesses complement each other. My parents are like that, in their marriage and business. They’ve been successful so far, so there must be something to it.”
“They’re fortunate, and so are you to have that example.”
“I guess so. I always took it for granted.”
Thorin exhaled. “That’s the way of humans.”
“What do you mean?”
“Such short-lived creatures. You’d think they would value every opportunity, every experience. But they throw so much away.”
I wanted to defend my race, but my status as human was in limbo, and Thorin’s argument had merit. “I can’t disagree with you, not if I’m being honest with myself.” I had never given the issue serious thought before. “Immortality is pretty incompatible with this realm. You and your kind weren’t really intended for this world, and we certainly weren’t made to sustain you for the long haul.”
Thorin shifted and leaned an elbow on the armrest. He settled his chin in his palm, looking intrigued.
I tried to make the best of it and not sound like an idiot. “Short-lived creatures have short memories. From generation to generation, it’s like we’re playing that kid’s telephone game. Do you know the one I mean?”
Thorin shook his head.
I explained. “A group of kids line up next to each other. The first one comes up with a random phrase. He whispers it into the next kid’s ear. That kid repeats it to the next kid, and so on until it goes down the line to the last kid, who repeats the phrase out loud. Usually, what the last kid says has little in common with what the first one said.”
Thorin smiled knowingly.
