"I'm so jealous, Jon! A trip to the Virgin Islands with your old army buddies." Sansa had finally gotten the news out of Jon at the end of their meal. They were sitting on the couch in her apartment. She had the AC cranked up. Summers in Milwaukee were hot and muggy. The old, single-pane windows were fogging up, but at least she and Jon were comfortable.

Plus Jon wore t-shirts all the time, so she called the summer a win.

Jon started clearing away the dishes. She followed him to the kitchen. He tried to keep her from helping, since she'd cooked. She took a towel and shot him a just you try it look, so he gave in. Her galley kitchen had a double-basin sink but no dishwasher. They formed their own little assembly line as Jon washed and Sansa dried.

"We planned the trip a long time ago," he said. "For when Sam turned 25. We fly to Miami first. Ten days, five ports. It'll be about three weeks total. We're chartering a boat, so we're not doing the big cruise ship thing. We all know how to sail. I almost cancelled, I haven't got much money-"

Sansa put the glass down a little too forcefully. "Jon, how could you? Sam's counting on you and you deserve to have fun, even if it costs a little more money than you can afford. You can't put a price on-"

"Memories, I know." Jon's mouth quirked. "Trust me, you convinced me about a week ago."

"You only told me about it tonight!"

"I have conversations with you in my head." Jon sloshed the soap around. "Okay, that sounded really strange. I mean, you give me good advice, and I remember it. Sometimes I ask you questions even when you're not there...And that sounds weird too." He paused. "I-"

Sansa took pity on him. Actually, she was touched he thought about her when they weren't together.

"I'm just a little mad that I'm so predictable, is all."

"Don't be. You're really easy to talk to."

"I bet you say that to all the girls who cook you pizza."

"I don't, Sansa."

"Yeah, because I'm the only girl who makes you pizza."

"You are, but–" Jon stopped scrubbing the plate. He closed his eyes. This weight in the air between them came up more often now that they'd been friends for six months. Sansa didn't know whether to lean into it or shy away from it.

She took the easy way out. "So when are you leaving?"

He handed her the last dish.

"This weekend. Can I – Can I write you while I'm gone, Sansa?"

"You're only gone for a few weeks, Jon, you don't have to go to all that trouble." She would miss him though. A lot. She wondered if she looked distraught. He was leaving for less than a month. She was a big girl. She'd be fine.

She tried to lighten the mood. "Besides, we do this thing called texting in the 21st century, remember? I text you about a blackout in our apartment and you come save the day. You text me about a burned turkey and I talk you into ordering fried kitchen when your buddies visit."

"You saved the day, too, on Thanksgiving," he said.

"And we even managed to have a fight about mousetraps over text."

"We figured it out though." He was smiling.

"See? Texting it is."

Jon glanced away. He took the dishtowel from her and hung it to dry, then looked at her again.

"May I write you, Sansa?"

There was so much yearning in his expression that she felt like he was asking if he could kiss her.

"Y-yes, of course, Jon, you can. You don't have to ask. But I won't be able to write you back, will l?

Jon shook his head. "The charter won't take incoming mail. I'll send the letters when we dock. You don't – if they're boring, or too much, just...set them aside."

She wasn't sure why he was nervous. "I'll read them, Jon." She couldn't drive him to the airport because she was visiting her family. But she made him tell her when he was coming back, so she could give him a ride home.

The first letter arrived three days after he left. He'd bought heavy, ivory stationary. Or he'd bought stationary sometime in the past ten years and dug it up, she thought. Be realistic, Sansa, this isn't a movie. It felt a little bit like one, though, when she slid her nail under the edge and carefully tore the envelope, sliding out Jon's letter.

He had neat, sloping handwriting. The way the blue ink sometimes smudged reminded her of Arya, and she thought she'd guessed right, that Jon was left-handed.

Sansa,

I hope you are well. We've shipped out of Tortola. Don't worry, I know where the life vests are. It's good to see the guys again. We've been realizing how much we forgot about sailing over the past few years, but it's coming back to us. Sam and Pyp and Grenn say hi. Virgin Gorda is next.

Thanks for letting me do this.

Yours,

Jon

Sansa smiled. She had asked him about life vests before he left. She knew she was being silly, but she was happy he'd remembered. Other than that, though...she had to admit she was a little disappointed. Jon's letter seemed kind of...perfunctory. She'd expected more, after he'd asked whether he could write to her.

His last line stuck with her, though.

Thanks for letting me do this.

It was hardly a favor to get letters from a friend in the mail.

And his sign-off wasn't so bad, either.

Yours, Jon.

She traced the words in the little yellow circle of lamplight by her bedside table.

She did want Jon to be hers. No harm confessing it to herself here in her bedroom, surrounded by her floral sheets and lace curtains that were completely frivolous. Even if this was the only letter she got, it would be worth saving for Yours.

His second letter showed up two days later. She ran upstairs to read it, opening it on the kitchen counter.

Sansa,

Virgin Gorda's beautiful. I wish you could see it. You'd like the water, I think, how blue it is in the evening. We did some hiking around the Baths. The grottos and caves are amazing. I can't wait to show you the pictures.

The guys have headed out to get food, so I have a few minutes to myself on the deck. It's peaceful here. The sky is filled with stars.

How is Willas? I hope he's trying the new exercises you gave him. If anyone can get him to do it, it's you. No one can match you for kindness and stubbornness.

We're headed to Anegada next. Wish us luck. It'll be some tricky sailing, but it should be fun.

Yours,

Jon

It was lovely, how Jon asked her questions even though she couldn't write him back. Jon let her chatter on about how her work was going at the physical therapy clinic downtown. He paid attention, too.

Willas was her favorite patient, and she talked a lot about the good progress he was making with his leg, especially now that he had a new brace to wear.

Sansa loved her job. Even her dearest friends, like Margaery, sometimes couldn't keep their eyes from glazing over when she went on about the Pilates equipment they'd just got. Or how she hated charting progress notes, because they took away from the time she had to talk to her patients about how they were doing.

But Jon was thoughtful, more thoughtful than people gave him credit for. He was thinking about her, and her job, and how she was, while he was on vacation looking at the stars.

He'd called her kind. And stubborn. He was right, about both. But then, he was both of those things too. She stacked the second letter carefully on top of the first on her bedside table before she went to sleep. She couldn't wait to read his next letter.

Six days later, Sansa's spirits sank when she swung open the door to her mailbox in the apartment lobby and found only a few sales flyers. Again.

She knew his letters might take a day or two to arrive, and he could only mail them after they'd pulled into the slip at the harbor.

But six days...six days felt like he'd moved on.

She wound her way up the stairs. She let herself in and heated up some spaghetti. She carried it to the couch, feeling sorry for herself. Did you really think he'd mail a letter at every port? He was probably having a ball with Sam and the guys. That was a good thing for him. He didn't get out enough as it was.

She wasn't allowed to mope because he was finally having fun on his vacation and he'd stopped writing to his upstairs neighbor. She needed to get a grip. She pushed her food around and watched some TV before getting into bed. This situation was absolutely fine. No big deal.

And she definitely did not squeal when she found an envelope with Jon's handwriting in her mailbox the next day. Okay, maybe she did, but at least no one was around to hear it.

Dear Sansa,

Sorry I couldn't write. There's been a rough storm. Don't worry, we're all fine, but we were all pretty seasick for a while there. Sam's going to kill me for this, but he was the greenest of all of us. I feel bad for him, since it was his birthday yesterday.

After not eating anything for two days we were starving, so we had a big meal tonight, steaks and grilled corn. I don't know when you'll get this, but it's Tuesday tonight, and although I'm having a good time (I am, really, I'm living in the moment, Scout's honor) I miss our pizza night tradition. You make the best pizza I've ever had, and I get to sit next to you and share the night with you. It's the best part of my week, every week. I wanted you to know that.

We're docked at Anegada. It's secluded, and quiet. We spent some time on the beach today, and we're going snorkeling tomorrow on the reefs.

Okay, they're calling me up on deck, I have to go. I miss you. Hope that's not too much. I'll write soon.

Yours,

Jon

A storm. A storm was the only thing that had kept him from writing to her, and now he was apologizing for it. And he'd remembered the bit about living in the moment, which she'd tried to drill into him before she left. Only one 25th birthday and memories with your friends and don't spend the whole time in your cabin and...yeah, she'd probably crossed the line from cheerleading to nagging at some point.

But Jon had taken her words to heart. She smiled at the thought of him and Sam and Pyp and Grenn checking out tropical fish underwater.

She ran a bath that night and used up one of her Lush bath bombs. The water turned pink and fizzy, and she sank into the tub with a contented sigh.

She'd double-checked the packaging this time. She didn't want a repeat of the glitter bomb experience. She'd shown up red-faced at work the next day. It was pretty hard to help patients get the most out of their abdominal series and hip flexor stretches when you were shedding sparkles all over them.

She drew circles with the bubbles on the surface of the bathwater and let her muscles relax, thinking about Jon and what he'd said about pizza night. Best part of my week.

It was the best part of hers, too. Sometimes, she suspected Jon felt like he was on the periphery of her life. As if she only thought about him occasionally, since she was more outgoing and had a wider circle of friends.

She took Mr. Duck down from his shelf and let him swim in the water with her. "It's not true, Mr. Duck. Jon's important to me. He's like an anchor. Not the kind that keeps me weighed down but the kind that keeps me steady, you know? Keeps me grounded."

Mr. Duck bobbed his orange beak. Great, now she was talking to a duck. Maybe she missed Jon more than she thought.

He'd said that too. I miss you. And it wasn't too much, like he thought it might be. It was just right. She had a warm feeling in her chest as she dried off and laid her clothes out for tomorrow. She wished Jon was here, so she could tell him she missed him too.

Margaery stopped by to visit the next night, and she was her usual whirlwind of nonstop questions. As much as Sansa loved her, Margaery could sometimes drive her crazy.

"This adorable apartment of yours. Made for a magazine. I'd kill for that clawfoot tub." Marg stuck her head in Sansa's bedroom. "What are these, my dear?" Margaery snatched the stack of letters from her bedside table.

"Marg! Put those down." Sansa had planned to tell Margaery about the letters, but she wasn't exactly sure if she wanted Marg to read them. They felt very personal, even if they were short.

Margaery unfolded the pages. "You know this is ridiculously romantic, right?" She sighed dreamily. "A sailor, writing to you from every port."

"Marg, he's made three stops and he's just on vacation with his friends."

"Please. He's sending you handwritten letters on gorgeous paper and–" Marg picked up one of the envelopes.

"The stamps, Sansa, did you see them? They're flowers! Not those American flag stamps. You know he had to ask for them specifically?"

Sansa hadn't known, but she'd wondered.

Margaery put her wrist to her brow, as if she was fainting. "He's thought about this, Sansa, and he asked you if he could. Like he's courting you."

"He's not."

Margaery smirked. "You're not fooling me. You're glowing, my dear."

Sansa smiled. "Okay, yes, it's super romantic and I get butterflies each time I see one and – how's work going anyway, Marg?"

Margaery turned the pages over again. "He seems to be getting more comfortable with each letter," she mused. "You absolutely have to text me when he writes next."

Sansa laughed and waved her off. She wasn't sure if she would text Margaery. She wanted these letters to be just between her and Jon.

Three days later, she got two letters on the same day in her mailbox.

Dear Sansa,

How are you? Has Margaery visited yet? Is she driving you nuts? How was Arya's swim meet?

Sorry – I fill up with questions for you, when you're not around. I save up stories to tell you. We just got back from sailing to Jost Van Dyke Island. We managed to make it all the way up Mahjonny Hill. You can see all the way around the island from the peak. You really feel like you're on top of the world, with all of the green hills below you and the sky like a big blue bowl overhead.

We're back in Tortola now. We were at the market today. I didn't want to go at first, but the guys dragged me, and I'm grateful. Like I'm grateful for how you encourage me to get out and see things, even when I feel like staying at home is easier.

The square was noisy and crowded and colorful and I think you would have loved every booth. I got you something, nothing big. Just earrings I thought would look pretty with your eyes. They made me think of the waves on the ocean, and you.

Yours,

Jon

Sansa's cheeks were warm. She'd loved Jon's Christmas present – a beautiful picture frame, for her holiday photo of all the Starks together. But that gift had been about celebrating her family, not about her and Jon.

She'd thought, at the time, that it was intentionally platonic. Just friends, nothing to see here. Then again, her Christmas gift had been that way too – she'd given him a tin of peanut butter cookies. They'd both been walking the friend line so carefully.

But jewelry – jewelry was intimate. More than just friends. She couldn't wait to see the earrings. And she couldn't wait for Jon to give her a gift that was about the two of them.

She tore open the next letter like she was having a mini-Christmas of her own.

Dear Sansa,

We're coming to the end of the trip. We're still docked in Tortola. There was dancing in the square tonight, after the sun went down. The streetlights came on and people came out of their houses as soon as the music started playing. There were old couples and young ones, swaying in the twilight. I only watched, though Sam teased me about it. I'm glad Sam got to dance. Pyp and Grenn did, too.

I'd like to dance with you, Sansa, take you in my arms and hold you close and sway with you. (I'm not a great dancer, so swaying is all I can manage.) I try to tell you how I feel, when I'm near you. I just get tongue-tied, and stop.

But now that it's nighttime, and I'm back in my cabin, and I miss you so much it hurts, I can write it down. I lo care about you a lot, Sansa. There's part of me that almost hopes you've stopped reading, because I'm scared of how I feel. But you deserve to know, so you can make whatever choice you want.

You're beautiful and smart and funny and generous and I've never met anyone who's so patient with me. I'd like to try to be more than friends, if that's something you want too.

Please know that whatever you decide when I come back, I'll respect it. I promise I will, Sansa. I'll see you soon.

Yours always,

Jon

Sansa saw a splash on the letter and realized she'd been crying. She wiped her eyes.

She cared about Jon so much it scared her too. She kept stepping away from that feeling, because it was big, and risky. But now she knew he felt the same way. Yours always.

She drove to the airport early that Sunday, to make sure she could see Jon when he got off the plane. The airport was packed, and she had to elbow her way to the front of the line at the arrivals gates.

She kept scanning the crowd, and suddenly Jon was there. She ran to meet him. Jon saw her, and a mixture of fear and hope flickered across his face.

"Sansa I-"

She didn't let him finish. She threw her arms around him. He dropped his suitcase and pulled her tight, his hand at the small of her back. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. She could smell sunblock and soap and that faint scent of pine she associated with no one but him. She held on to his shirt with one hand and looked up at him.

"Jon, they were beautiful."

"They were about you," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "I had to go away, to be able to tell you how I felt." He smiled at her. "I was so afraid I'd put you off. Did you – did you read all of them?"

She nodded.

"And you're here," he murmured. "In my arms."

She reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. They'd spent so long not touching each other, and now she didn't want to stop.

He leaned in and she closed her eyes. His kissed her gingerly, at first, until she ran her hands through his hair, and then he kissed her deeply, hungrily, like he couldn't stand to let her go.

"Get a room, you two!" Someone hollered from a distance.

Sansa tuned them out. She tuned out the crowd of people streaming around them, too. All she felt was Jon, his warmth and his strong arms and how he held her like she was something special, something he cherished.

When they finally broke apart the crowd had slowed to a trickle. She helped Jon with his suitcase and drove him home. They spent the night looking through his pictures, and talking about his trip. Jon blushed when he pulled the earrings from his bag. They were silver triangles, with a crescent of blue-green abalone shell. She traced them with her fingertip.

"I love them, Jon."

"I'm glad, Sansa. I really wanted you to like them enough to wear them."

They kissed him again and again that night, and she went to bed far too late.

Her favorite kiss was the one he gave her at the door. He'd insisted on going back to his apartment. Sansa was half-tempted to drag him to her bedroom with her, but Jon seemed to want to go slow.

"So this – us – this is all right?"

"More than all right, Jon."

Jon kissed her cheek, then tucked her hair behind her ear. "Then goodnight, sweet girl. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sweet girl saw her off to bed. She wasn't sure where they were going next, but she was happy they'd go there together.