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“Hurry hurry, we have to sit or the plane won’t leave!”
Arya sat up in her left window seat and smiled at the sight of a small girl dragging a much taller, broader man by the hand down the airplane aisle. From the glimpses Arya caught of them between the blue leather plane seats, the pair looked to be father and daughter, with matching black hair and blue eyes.
“Eager to leave King’s Landing, are we?” the father asked.
The girl—who was maybe six—nodded vigorously as she marched by. “Wanna go home.”
Me too, thought Arya. She’d been beyond thrilled when she got accepted to the botany PhD program at Winterfell University. After four years in the capital, she was finally going home to stay. She’d already shipped the rest of her belongings, and all that was left was her luggage of clothes—and, of course, her.
“Come back, Barra,” the father called out suddenly. “Our seats are here.”
With a start Arya realized he had stopped at her row. But which side of the aisle?
“In you go,” he said, and Arya had about half a second to smooth down her (Jon’s) hoodie and joggers before the girl—Barra—clambered into the seat directly to her right.
“I’m here?” Barra asked.
“That’s right.” The father lifted up his roller carry-on like it was made of air, placing it in the overhead bin and then sliding into the aisle seat next to his daughter. He made an amusing show of how tight a fit it was given his huge frame. “D’you think I’d fit in the middle?” he asked, raising his dark eyebrows.
“No,” Barra giggled.
Arya turned her head towards the window to hide her smile. She busied herself with looking at the King’s Landing skyline in the distance, and, much closer, the yellow-vested airport workers loading up luggage and driving trucks on the tarmac.
“I was in the window seat last time,” she heard Barra remind her father. “And you spread out in two seats.”
“This plane is more crowded than the first one,” he explained, “so we get to share a row.”
“Sharing is good,” Barra said knowingly. “We share with her?”
Arya knew that she was being pointed at, and cautiously turned her head so she was facing forward again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the father studying her with an indecipherable expression.
He shook himself out of it. “Yeah.”
Barra spun in her seat, her blue eyes open and inquisitive as she stared at Arya.
Just ever so subtly, Arya met the father’s eyes (gods, they’re just as blue), and at his nod, she gave the girl a small smile.
“Hello. I’m Arya.”
“Hi,” she said, a bit shy. “I’m Barra.”
“Is it okay if I share this row with you?” Arya asked, without a clue of what she’d do if the girl said no.
“Is okay,” Barra nodded. Then she noticed the book in Arya’s lap, which Arya had been reading before the pair arrived. The girl’s black curls swung about as her head swiveled to her father, then to Arya, then back to her father again.
She tugged on his sleeve. “Please can I have my book too?” she whispered.
With an “of course,” he rummaged through his backpack and handed her—Arya barely stifled a gasp—Nymeria and the Ten Thousand Ships.
Her own father had read that very story to her every night, and they had switched roles once she was able to read herself. She had wanted to be just like Nymeria when she grew up—brave, kind, and determined. By the time she was ten, she’d named her dog after the queen and knew the entire book by heart; at that point her copy had been all frayed edges and crumbling bindings, but she hadn’t wanted to give it up for the world. Barra’s copy looked much the same, and Arya felt warm in the heart at the idea that another little girl loved Nymeria as much as she had.
Barra buckled her seat belt and chastised her father for not doing his yet, then went about silently reading Nymeria, mouthing the words to herself.
A few minutes later, the PA system crackled to life, and the captain welcomed everyone aboard Northern Air flight 1309 from King’s Landing to Winterfell. “Should be a smooth trip, none of those second-year winter storms yet, haha." The captain was the only one who laughed. “Estimated flight time is... four hours and fifteen minutes, which puts our arrival time at WFA at around 5 pm. Flight attendants, please prepare for departure.”
There were the usual safety talks, of warnings against smoking and locations of exits and reminders to put your own mask on before helping others. Then the engine was roaring and the ground was tilting and they were off, the greys and blues of the city and the bay slowly turning below them as they rose higher and higher into the sky. The lowest layer of clouds shrouded the outside in a haze of bright bluish white, making Arya realize that the lights in the cabin had been turned down low. She pulled down the window screen and, as she turned on the overhead reading light, glanced at Barra and her father.
The little girl was squeezing her eyes shut, the change in air pressure likely hurting her ears. But after another ten minutes or so, they reached a steady altitude and she went happily back to her book.
Her father, on the other hand, must have been more tired than he’d let on, because he was sound asleep by the time they were passing the Gods Eye—like sound asleep, with his head tilted back into the headrest, further messing up his already messy black hair. His rather toned arms gently rose and fell where they were crossed over his chest, which Arya could see was rather toned as well, since he was wearing only a thin long-sleeved shirt, his jacket having been shoved under Barra’s seat before take-off.
In truth he was just about the most beautiful man Arya had ever seen in her life, but it would be awfully creepy if she ogled him for the remaining four hours of the flight. So, after glancing furtively at his left hand (no ring) and cringing at herself for glancing at all (pathetic, Arya, really), she followed Barra’s lead and returned to her own book, the latest thriller from Gilliane Flynn.
She was so thoroughly engrossed in the protagonist’s relationship with her mother that she didn’t realize the flight attendant was offering drinks until Barra tapped her on the arm.
“Arya! Arya they want to know what you want.” Her breath was hot in Arya’s ear.
“Thank you Barra.” She was touched that Barra remembered her name, and by the look on the girl’s face, the feeling was mutual.
Arya turned to the flight attendant. “Coffee, please,” she requested. “With sugar. Thank you.”
For a wild second Arya wondered if she should get something for Barra’s father too, since he was still asleep. But that would be stupid; she didn’t know what he liked or anything. After all, he was a stranger.
“The little one got all of his looks, didn’t she?” The flight attendant winked as she handed over the coffee.
It took Arya a moment to realize she was talking about her and Barra and the father, the three of them together, like they were a family.
“Oh, erm—” she stammered, furious that she was blushing. “We—he’s not—I’m not—”
“Please can I have a water?” Barra asked politely.
“O’course, darling,” the flight attendant cooed. “Here you go.”
The moment passed, and Arya scolded herself for her reaction. She made a stupid assumption because Barra and the father look alike, and Barra and I were talking each other. It means absolutely nothing, and you’re grateful to the old gods and the new that the father didn’t hear it.
She and Barra sipped their drinks quietly, giving each other little grins every once in a while at their matching setup: tray tables down, books atop them, and their drinks in the little cup holder circles.
As they took their final sips, Arya pointed to Barra’s book and ventured, “Nymeria was my favorite heroine when I was a girl.”
The girl’s blue eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Really?” she shouted with a grin, then clamped a hand over her mouth, glancing to see if she’d woken her father (she hadn’t). “Really?” she repeated in a whisper.
Arya smiled. “Mm-hm. Is she your favorite too?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Barra breathed. “‘Meria is so cool. I like how she spoke up against the prince, and how she knew she had to protect her people, and how she got everyone on the ships, and…” Barra had, at this point, flipped open the book to point at the moments she was mentioning, and she and Arya stuck their heads close to each other and started reading together.
They were on the page about the Basilisk Isles when Barra’s father grunted in his sleep, shifting a little to switch the angle of his head.
Barra giggled, and Arya couldn’t help but chuckle too.
“Your dad’s rather tired, isn’t he?” she observed.
“My dad?” The girl’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Arya blinked. “Isn’t he—?”
Barra’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as she followed Arya’s puzzled gaze to the man sitting next to them in the aisle seat.
“Oh, Gendry? He’s not my dad,” she said, like it was obvious. “He’s my brother.”
Her brother? They had at least twenty years between them. Arya didn’t know how to process that, but she managed a small, “Really?”
“Mm-hm. I have three brothers and three sisters.” She began counting with her fingers. “Mya, Eddie, Gendry, Bella, and Alys and Alyn. We have different mums but Gendry says it still counts so that’s six siblings in all. Do you have any?”
“I do,” Arya said slowly, still reeling from the information. “I have six like you, only I have five brothers and one sister.” She included Jon in her count, of course, and Theon too, because she might as well.
“Does one of them take care of you too?” Barra asked. Before Arya could answer, the girl shook her head. “Nah, you’re big. I’m little so Gendry takes care of me. My mummy used to but she got sick.”
“I’m sorry,” Arya said, her brow creasing.
“We were in King’s ‘anding to give her flowers,” Barra said softly. “We used to go every week but then last year Gendry got work in Winnafell so now we only go when I don’t have school. My school ended last week,” she told Arya seriously.
“Do you like your school?”
Barra’s eyes lit up. While she chattered about how much she loves her teacher and classmates at Winter Town Grammar School, Arya furtively studied her brother (brother!) more closely. He really couldn’t be that much older than herself. Jon’s age, maybe. To take care of his sister, a young girl, mostly by himself from what Barra was saying… Arya found her heart filling with respect, and empathy, for this Gendry. His little sister was wonderful, but still, it couldn’t be easy.
Suddenly Barra gasped.
“I gotta pee,” she briefed Arya, then turned to tug on Gendry’s arm. “Gendry! Gendry wake up wake up I gotta pee.”
Her brother snorted himself awake. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked, blinking rather stupidly. His thick black hair was a right mess. (Arya wanted to run her hands through it.)
“Yeah, but you’re awake now. I gotta pee,” Barra stressed.
“My big legs blocking the way?”
“Gendry.”
“Right then, let’s go.”
Barra and Gendry were at the lavatory for a while, which was a bit odd considering a six year old’s bladder couldn’t possibly hold that much liquid, but at least Arya had time to recompose herself.
Their family situation was really none of her business, so she shouldn’t pry any more. In a way, she thought, this might have been what it was like for her father and Jon, when he was little, after Aunt Lyanna passed away. Her father said that people often thought Jon was his son because they look so similar, and he never bothered to correct them because, well, as much as it was nobody else’s business, the distinction between nephew and son didn’t matter, not really. What did matter was that they were family.
The soft chatter of Barra’s voice alerted Arya to the return of her seat mates, as well as revealed the reason for their delay.
“...oh I already told you about ‘Meria but did you know Arya has five brothers and only one sister?”
It seemed Barra had recounted their entire conversation to Gendry during the trip to the loo.
Arya thought she saw Gendry’s blue eyes twinkle at her as they sat back down, but it was likely just a trick of the low light.
“I’m tired,” Barra announced, and promptly curled along her brother’s arm, fast asleep.
To stop herself from smiling too much at the utterly adorable scene, Arya went back to her book. Mind, she barely actually read anything, because a few minutes later Gendry reached over to take Nymeria from Barra’s front seat pocket and began flipping through it.
“Did Barra tell you that was my favorite book as a girl, too?” Arya couldn’t help but whisper to him.
Gendry scowled, which was… disconcerting. Maybe Arya shouldn’t have said anything. Most people didn’t like talking on planes, anyway.
But he surprised her.
“She did,” he admitted in a whisper. His face screwed up in a painful-looking way. “She also said you thought I was her father.”
“I’m sorry,” Arya said at once. “I just assumed…”
He cut her off. “And she said she told you everything.”
Arya noticed how he winced, and oh, she understood. He was simply worried that Barra had revealed a tad too much personal information to a stranger.
“Not everything,” Arya reassured him. “Not even much. Just that you’re her brother, and you… you take care of her, and last year you moved to Winterfell for work.”
Gendry sighed, then shook his head at Barra in fond exasperation. “That is everything.” His face scrunched up again, still looking at his sister. “She must like you,” he said after a moment, his voice so low that Arya almost didn’t hear him over the rumble of the plane’s engines—almost. Her heart glowed warm.
“I like her too,” Arya said, looking at Barra with him. “She’s a sweet kid.”
A thin strand of the girl’s black hair had fallen across her face and lightly fluttered in and out with each of her breaths. Gendry carefully tucked it back behind her ear.
“She’s the only one of my siblings who is. The rest of us are terrible.”
It was rather difficult for Arya to believe that, seeing the gentle scene before her, but she reminded herself that she had known Gendry and Barra for a grand total of two hours. That is, she didn’t really know them at all. But you want to, she admitted to herself. She’d been in King’s Landing by herself for too long. It was strange, to realize she’d forgotten what pack looked like, felt like—or could feel like.
All of these reflections and revelations, and they were only halfway through the flight. Arya chuckled to herself.
Gendry frowned. “What?”
“Hmm? Oh.” She bit her lip, and, given all her recent thoughts, decided to go for it. “I was just thinking, you don’t seem terrible," she teased.
There. An invitation. He could take it or not.
The way his blue eyes blinked at her, she thought not, until a corner of his mouth tilted up just slightly.
“Not around Barra,” he said. “But I can be a bit of a grouch.”
He didn’t seem like he would say anything more, so, wanting to respect his space and time (despite also wanting to talk to him more), Arya began to turn away, facing forward again.
“You know too much about me,” he muttered all of a sudden, launching Arya’s eyes back to him. She was ridiculous.
That didn’t stop her from smiling and, with her heart beating in her chest, offer, “Want to even the score?”
This time both corners of his mouth tilted up just slightly. “All right,” he said. “Are you from Winterfell or King’s Landing? Or neither?”
Interesting. He wanted to know if they’d be in the same city.
“I’m from Winterfell,” Arya said, enjoying the way his blue eyes somehow looked even brighter despite the dim light. “But I’ve been living in the capital for university, and I haven’t been back in years.”
“Oh.” His eyes fell, and his voice sounded gruff. “Just visiting, then?”
“No, I’m moving back for graduate school.” Really, she could spend the rest of the flight (and maybe even longer) just trying to make his eyes look that bright, over and over and over.
“What do you study?” He was obviously trying to sound casual. It was very endearing.
“Botany,” and she told him all about her program and the professor she was going to work with, and how thrilled she was to do field work in the Wolfswood. Eventually the conversation turned, and Gendry told her about the arts program he ran for a children’s foundation in Winter Town (which, from the way he described it, sounded exactly like the foundation run by Arya’s father, but asking for confirmation definitely felt like prying).
“What got you into art?” she asked instead, hoping it was striking the right balance between I’m interested in (learning about) you and I’m not trying to interrogate you .
“Erm,” he hesitated.
Arya bit her lip. Too personal, then.
But before she could change the topic, Barra let out a soft sigh and shifted in her sleep, moving away from Gendry’s arm and cuddling up along Arya’s.
Oh gods oh gods oh gods. Frozen still, Arya didn’t even dare to breathe, afraid of waking the girl and ruining the moment. What do I do?
She met Gendry’s stunned blue eyes. He didn’t look like he knew what to do, either. Then he exhaled in a way that might have almost been a laugh, before shrugging one shoulder slightly, as if to say, If you don’t mind, then neither do I.
His eyes wandered back to Barra, watching her sleep on Arya’s arm.
Then he whispered, “One of the, erm, group homes I was at as a kid had a huge donation of art supplies one day.”
It took a moment for Arya to realize he was answering her question from before.
”I was always good at art in school,” he went on, his eyes still on Barra, “so I took a bunch of colored pencils and drew in the park across the street. It was more productive than fighting.”
Arya knew he probably revealed more information than he meant to, so she was precise in her reply. “I liked escaping to the park too, as a kid.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, although,” she chuckled quietly, “I’d go there to fight. Not actual fighting,” she corrected quickly, seeing Gendry’s brow furrow. “Just hitting trees with hockey sticks, mostly.” Until Jon would come comfort her and they’d play hockey for real and she’d forget why she was upset in the first place.
Gendry did that almost-smile thing again. “You ever hit an actual puck, instead of trees?”
Arya hid her own smile at how his train of thought matched hers. She nodded, telling him about playing with her brothers at the frozen pond, when gloomy grey skies seemed brighter with everyone’s laughter skidding across the ice alongside the puck.
Naturally, she and Gendry began discussing hockey teams after that. Arya was absolutely horrified to learn that Gendry liked the Crowns.
“What? I grew up on them.” He scowled. “I bet you think I should be a Wolves fan.”
“Obviously.”
“So I always have to be a fan of the team where I live?”
Arya rolled her eyes. “No, of course not. But in this case it just makes sense.”
“Why?” His blue eyes were stubborn as they met hers, and she couldn’t resist taking his challenge.
“First of all, a crown is a dumb mascot,” she said. “Second, they’re sh—” she fumbled to find a non-swear word, mindful of Barra. Even sleepy ears could hear sometimes, as she’d learned with her niece (Robb still hasn’t quite forgiven her, though Jeyne thought it was hilarious). “They just suck,” she finished.
“Compelling argument,” he snorted. “But the Wolves aren’t really a team. Rod Cassel does all the work.”
“That’s not true at all!” Arya protested, smiling. “They couldn’t have gotten to the playoffs without those assists from Poole. Besides,” she smirked, “it’s not like the Crowns are any better. Lannister’s the only one doing anything now that Selmy got traded to the Dragons.”
“Well, if you want to make that argument, then…”
This went on for a time, and while Arya couldn’t get Gendry to admit that the Wolves were better, they did find common ground in trashing the Twins. (“A pair of towers is the stupidest mascot imaginable,” Gendry snorted, “and their team is run on nepotism.” Arya agreed on all counts.)
Barra was still laying on Arya’s arm when the drink cart came by for the second round.
“Aww, the little one is resting now,” the flight attendant cooed. She turned to Gendry. “You know, I was telling your wife earlier that your daughter got all of your looks, and none of hers.”
Not again, Arya nearly groaned out loud. But this second time she was more prepared—red in the face not from blushing, but sheer annoyance verging on anger. She would have loved to stand up and give the flight attendant a speech about the harms perpetuated by assumptions like that, only it would wake Barra. A short word would do, though.
But Gendry spoke up before she could.
“Yeah, she did,” he said bluntly. “Could I have a glass of water?”
Arya stared at him.
“Right, o’course,” the flight attendant chirped. She handed the cup over and looked at Arya expectantly.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” she said quickly, still confused about Gendry’s reaction.
As soon as the flight attendant was out of earshot, Gendry let out a sharp exhale.
“Sorry about that,” he said. He looked like he was blushing a bit at least. “I never correct anybody, it’s too complicated and none of their business anyway, but I didn’t think this time and now I’ve gone and dragged you into it.”
“It’s all right,” Arya said, finding that she really did mean it. She thought of her father and Jon, and everything instantly made sense. “I understand. They got the important bit right anyway—that you’re family. Not that I’m part of it,” she added hastily, “but you and Barra, that you two are family.”
Oh, perfect. Now she couldn’t help but imagine that she was part of their family, teaching Barra to ice skate on the Winter Town pond and yelling with Gendry at hockey on the tv and reading Nymeria with both of them by a hearty fire. Arya’s own family had spread far away, now, so much so that only her parents and Robb remained in Winterfell. For the second time during the flight, Arya found herself wondering if it might be nice to form a new pack.
But that was silly. Gendry and Barra already were a pack, and someone as kind and dedicated (and yes, fine, handsome) as Gendry must already have someone to help support him. He must, or the world was even more unfair than Arya knew it to be.
“I don’t know, you’re rather good with Barra,” Gendry said out of nowhere, focusing very hard on the leather seam on the seat in front of him.
Arya didn’t know where he was going with this; she waved him off. “She’s so sweet, and it’s easy to be someone’s cool aunt. Much harder to be their guardian.”
“No, still,” he insisted, his blue eyes steady as they turned to meet her greys. “She was all energetic when we sat down but you didn’t even wince, and she told me in the loo, what you talked about...”
He trailed off, looking winded, and brushed a strand of his thick black hair out of his face.
Once he seemed to have caught his breath he said, quietly, “I don’t think she would mind if you were part of our—part of it, a little.”
“Oh, Barra wouldn’t mind, would she?” Arya replied lightly, knowing exactly what he was saying and feeling giddy at the thought. Giddy! If Sansa could see her now.
“No, she wouldn’t,” he said stubbornly.
Arya took a deep, emboldening breath and stuck out her hand. “Give me your phone, then, so I can put in my number.”
She let out a soft laugh at how Gendry nearly dropped his phone in his haste to take it out and pass it over. She put her name simply as “Arya,” figuring her last name could wait at least one date before rearing its howling head. Because they would definitely go on a date, right? He would have mentioned if there was anyone else, Arya could tell. But he didn’t, and he did want her number, and they would meet up again.
Arya would have been perfectly fine to sit there and smile at Gendry’s almost-smile for the remaining hour or so of the flight, but unfortunately, her bladder had other ideas. Even more unfortunately, her exit to the lavatory required shifting Barra, who woke up.
Even more unfortunately, her exit was decidedly ungraceful; Gendry had stood up in the aisle to let her out, and as Arya slid sideways past his seat, she may have been staring for so long at just how awfully tall and broad he was… that she tripped over her own bloody feet, which she never did.
It wasn’t quite like a movie. Her right hand caught herself on the armrest of his seat, while her left hand got caught by Gendry. Her left forearm, rather. See? Not quite like a movie… though she'd swear the pressure of his large hand on her skin sent a crackling jolt of electricity up her arm and down her whole body.
Those sparks were supposed to be the stuff of romantic fiction, not real life. But Arya felt them (or maybe wanted to feel them), and, real or not, they alone gave Arya the courage to offer Barra the window seat upon her return. After asking Gendry, of course.
Barra let out a squeal and a “thank you!” as she scrambled in. She lifted the window screen a tiny inch, just enough that she could peer out at the fluffy white clouds dancing past the plane’s wings, and get a peek at the swirling earth all those thousands of feet below.
This, naturally, left Arya in the middle seat, next to Gendry. Up close, she could see a trace of his stubble, and could smell the faint scent of soap on him, and could feel the heat of his arm as it just barely rested against hers, even through the layers of his shirt and her (Jon’s) hoodie.
Gendry had said earlier that he was a bit of a grouch, but to Arya he was grand company. They talked a little more about hockey, and at some point soon after the “Flight attendants, please prepare for landing” announcement, he asked her how she got into botany.
“...and sometimes instead of the godswood, we’d go to the Wolfswood and hardly hike at all, just squat and look at—” Arya blinked and looked around. “Why are the lights on?”
“We’ve landed,” Gendry said.
Arya turned to her left and saw Barra practically bouncing in her seat as she looked out the window at the tarmac. Everyone around them was standing up and stretching, with people closer to the front of the plane already taking down their carry-ons and strolling out.
So they had landed.
The three of them disembarked together, Barra babbling all the while about all the things she was going to do when she got home. But the conversation that had flowed between Arya and Gendry during the flight now seemed to have dried up as they walked across the jet bridge.
For her part, Arya was busy overthinking; in a few minutes they’d get to the arrivals area and part ways, perhaps forever. The thought made her feel rather glum as they made their way through the terminal. Yes, she had given Gendry her number and had felt wildly confident at the time… but in the harsh white airport lights, everything that had been whispered across seats in the darkened plane seemed like a distant dream, one that was over now.
So—yes, she had given Gendry her number, but he might end up doing absolutely nothing with it because what kind of person gave out their number on a plane? And oh, now she knew the heat in her cheeks was embarrassment.
They were just around the corner from the hallway to the arrivals gate when Gendry suddenly pulled over to the side, Barra in hand. Without quite realizing it, Arya stopped too.
“I’ve never talked with anyone on a plane before,” Gendry said all of a sudden. He still spoke quietly, even though they didn’t need to anymore.
Arya couldn’t honestly say the same (she really did make friends everywhere), so all she said was, “Oh.”
He nodded towards the hallway to the arrivals gate. “You got anyone waiting for you?”
“My parents.” Suddenly Arya felt silly for worrying so much about Gendry and Barra; she still had part of the pack with her, and that would have to be enough.
He nodded again, and glanced down at Barra, who was staring up at them curiously.
“Right,” he said. “Might be best to say goodbye here.” His face looked a mixture of sadness and awkwardness, making Arya wonder if he was feeling the same way as her.
All at once her heart lightened; if that was the case, they were both being stupid.
“Call me,” Arya said firmly—to convince both him and herself. She bent down to meet a pair of little blue eyes. “Goodbye, Barra. It was lovely chatting with you.”
Barra’s small arms reached around her in a hug. “Bye, Arya. Will I ever see you again?”
“I don’t know,” Arya said truthfully as she stood up. She lifted her grey eyes to Gendry’s blues. “I hope so.”
Three steps after rounding the corner towards the arrival gate, her phone rang.
An unknown number. Was it her parents, calling from an airport phone?
“Hello?” Arya asked.
“You picked up?”
She laughed aloud at the disbelief—and, she thought, elation—in Gendry’s voice.
“I told you to call me,” she replied, walking back around the corner and leaning against the wall. He and Barra were still standing where she left them, maybe twenty feet away, but Arya could still see their faces clearly. She knew what Gendry’s real smile looked like now. “Why’d you wait until I was around the corner?”
“In case you didn’t want me to see you ignore the call.”
“Stupid.”
But they both knew she didn’t mean it, and it took no effort at all to set up a Wolfswood hiking date for tomorrow—Barra could have a playdate at the same time.
“You should tell her you think she’s pretty,” Arya heard Barra say through the phone.
“Barra!” Even from twenty feet away Arya could tell Gendry was flustered. She heard him clear his throat. “Erm, bye Arya. I’ll text you my address so you can pick me up. See you… see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” Arya grinned.
And she didn’t stop grinning, especially when she met her parents in arrivals and they both exclaimed at the length of her hair (it went past her shoulders now) and how they almost didn’t recognize her, really truly! Arya fondly shook her head at their silliness as they made their way towards the car. Towards home.
When the doorbell rang, little Neddie shrieked incoherently and ran off, leaving Arya by herself in the kitchen with the freshly baked brownies.
Much more calmly than her niece, she made her way towards the front door, where Neddie and the dogs were vibrating with excitement.
“I forgot to tell you about the playdate!” Robb yelled out, his voice faint from the lounge. “The guy dropping off Neddie’s friend is...” His voice was drowned out by the tv.
“What?” Arya yelled back.
Robb yelled again, but Arya couldn’t make it out. Whatever.
She opened the door—
And met two sets of black hair and blue eyes.
Arya barely registered Barra’s squeal and hug before the girl ran in to join Neddie. Gendry’s gaze was locked on hers as they both stood stock-still on either side of the threshold, neither daring to believe the coincidence.
Then Gendry laughed.
“I really am stupid.”