"She doesn't seem to like the ocean as much as I do," Jyn murmurs, shifting Florence a bit in her arms. The baby weighs next to nothing and Jyn can lift far more than her feather-light weight but holding her constantly is still tiring.

When he was in close, Jyn could smell his cologne and realized with sudden clarity that it has been ages, two months in fact, since she's been this close to someone other than Edith or the baby or the matronly cook at their home in Hampstead. He's a very handsome sailor.

God, she needs to get out.

She turns the baby to face him, waves her little hand. "This is Miss Florence Van Horn, the youngest passenger on the liner."