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Ann-Marie Augustine is someone who prides herself on having excellent observation skills. Growing up, her sisters often applauded her ability to analyze and unravel difficult situations. In fact, these superb observation skills enabled her to become the cognitive behavioral psychologist she is today, and at the ripe age of 29, Ann-Marie is satisfied with her budding career.
Her love life, on the other hand, is a different story.
So when Ann-Marie Augustine laid eyes upon the 6 foot-something, freckled, green-eyed, and all around gorgeous human being struggling into the cramped seat next to her on her annual nonstop flight from Kansas City to Philadelphia, she couldn’t help but become a little more than excited at the prospect of getting to know this man for the next 2 hours and 45 minutes.
From top to bottom, Ann-Marie’s neighbor appeared to be flawless; even the little bit of softness around his mid-section only added character to his roughened yet pretty profile. Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the airplane’s oval windows, highlighting full eyelashes fanned out across flushed cheeks as he settled in, stowing his bag underneath the seat in front of him.
Ann-Marie couldn’t keep herself from staring.
Thankfully, her lapse in common courtesy and etiquette went overlooked, as the man seemed to be busy untangling seatbelts with the man in the aisle seat next to him.
The only things Ann-Marie could make out of this other man were the tips of polished black dress shoes, which peeked out from behind her immediate neighbor’s worn Timberland boots, and from behind his sturdy-looking forearm topped in red flannel, she saw the other man’s slender yet obviously strong fingers holding the in-flight safety pamphlet.
As all the passengers were boarded and carry-on luggage were sealed away overhead, Ann-Marie tried to think of a good conversation starter. Finally, as the plane began to taxi to the runway, she gripped her armrests, leaned over, pulled in a steadying breath, and…..was interrupted by the intercom crackling to life.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome aboard Flight 1757 to Philadelphia. This is your pilot speaking…
Ann-Marie lost focus as she realized her charming lumberjack-esque neighbor had started to quietly hum something that sounded suspiciously like Led Zeppelin. She relaxed back into her seat and smiled to herself. He was perfect.
Her neighbor’s humming got progressively louder throughout take-off, and Ann-Marie concluded that he must be a nervous flyer-- a detail that only endeared him to her further.
Distracted by the airplane’s climb up into the clouds, Ann-Marie never saw the gentle way in which the man sitting in the aisle seat coaxed her green-eyed neighbor’s hand into his lap, and enfolded the hand within two of his own. Ann-Marie didn’t catch the grateful gaze her attractive neighbor sent the other man, and she would never feel the comfort shared between the two, a comfort created by their unique ability to make a home together anywhere, even in a claustrophobic airplane with a screaming baby three rows back.
No, Ann-Marie never caught this moment, for when she turned away from the window moments (and 30,000 feet) later, aisle seat man was back to reading another in-flight magazine, and her attractive neighbor was staring at her.
Or more precisely--he was staring at her carry-on.
“Sorry to bother you, Ma’am, but I have to ask, where did you get that Bumblebee pin on your bag? I’ve been looking everywhere for something like that.”
His voice was the equivalent of melting honey. No, scratch that. His eyes were the equivalent of melting honey, if the honey was on a freshly mowed blade of grass in the summertime.
Ann-Marie was obviously going crazy just hearing this man string a few syllables together.
She gathered enough of herself to answer: “Oh, this thing? I’m pretty sure I bought it in Philadelphia, actually. There’s this really unique thrift store around South Street that I go to. And don’t worry, you’re definitely not a bother.”
Why the hell did she just say that? It was official, Ann-Marie was going to crawl out onto the airplane wing and spend the rest of the flight there.
And yet, to her utter disbelief, her attractive neighbor had started to laugh quietly and shake his head. “I should have known it would be somewhere hipster,” he muttered. Then, with a gruff throat clearing: “Thanks. I’m Dean, by the way. What’s your name?”
She couldn’t believe it. Was he actually flirting back? Wait, did asking for someone’s name on a plane count as flirting? Oh, god, it’s been too long since she’s had any romantic contact.
Gaining confidence now, Ann-Marie began talking with Dean easily. He continued to ask questions about the Philly thrift store, and Ann-Marie learned a few things in return.
Apparently, Dean lived in Lebanon, Kansas, where he worked as a mechanical engineering professor at the local community college. He was on his way to visit his brother Sam and his family, who lived in Horsham, a quiet suburb outside of Philadelphia.
Dean was everything Ann-Marie had figured him to be; he was engaging, smart, and kind, if not a bit rough around the edges. However, as she listened to Dean list the plans he had with his brother during his stay, she couldn’t help but notice that many of the activities were things you would do with a date--especially since his brother was married. With activities such as dinner in the city and a wedding of a colleague coming up, Ann-Marie was starting to wonder if Dean was actually hinting that he’d like her to be his companion for these activities. After all, Dean did seem to be a little red in the cheekbones, and was bouncing his knee up and down. Sure, he could have been nervous about flying, but Ann-Marie was convinced that this time, she was the cause of it. She wanted this to be real so badly. Heart beating in her throat, Ann-Marie was just about to flat out ask Dean about his intentions when a shuffling movement on Dean’s other side caught her eye.
The man in the aisle seat had fallen asleep, his head tilted over onto Dean’s shoulder. A kind face was framed by a bird’s nest of dark locks, and a hand had crept up to rest in the crook of Dean’s neck.
Ann-Marie snorted quietly to herself. People these days had no sense of public decency, to just fall asleep on a complete stranger’s shoulder like that. But how nice Dean must be to just allow it….
“I guess you can see why I had to know about that bee pin now,” Dean mused quietly.
Ann-Marie couldn’t understand why he was bringing that up again. She mentally shrugged. She had more important things to worry about, like getting this man to date her. Turning back towards the window to brainstorm, Ann-Marie was momentarily distracted by a flash of reflected sunlight on something from inside the plane. Ignoring it, she continued to look out on the thick layer of clouds.
Oblivious to Ann-Marie’s scheming, Dean first reached to cup a palm against Castiel’s jaw, and then smoothed his fingers up into dark locks of hair, tenderly sweeping back any lingering hairs from his forehead. The motion comforted him, and Dean was finally able to stop his nervous-flyer jitters. In his sleep, Castiel subconsciously tightened his grip on the side of Dean’s neck. The ring on his left hand glinted in the limited sunlight.
Approximately 15 minutes later, the seatbelt signs overhead went out with a ding, and Castiel stirred awake from his quick nap, just in time for Dean to start to shuffle out of their row to go to the restroom. Dean marveled at how attuned they had become to each other in just a few short years of marriage. Or maybe they’ve been this way from the beginning, two halves of a whole, lost and then found.
Before he could leave his seat, Ann-Marie chose that moment to turn back, finally ready to make her big move.
“Cas, this is Ann-Marie. Ann-Marie, this is my husband. I’ll be right back.”
Wait….husband?!
Like an outdated horror film, Ann-Marie watched seemingly in slow motion as her attractive neighbor bent to press a loving kiss to the other man’s chapped lips.
“Oh,” Ann-Marie huffed in shock, taking in a rumpled, still-sleepy Castiel.
“Hello,” the man with the polished dress shoes rumbled. “I like the pin on your case.”