Chapter Text
Anne hadn't meant for it to happen.
In fact, if she'd had any say the matter at all, she was more or less certain that she wouldn't have willingly chosen for her mind to conjure up images of her and a certain curly haired, hazel eyed academic rival locked in a romantic embrace.
The trouble with brains, however, is that you could perhaps control where your mind wandered when you were awake. The same couldn't necessarily be said for when you were lying in slumber.
Which is how Anne came to find herself feeling incredibly betrayed by her own subconscious— three weeks after The Incident had taken place.
Three weeks ago was the first time Anne had ever dreamt of Gilbert Blythe.
Three weeks however, much to her chagrin, had still not been long enough to quell the memory of the dream that wouldn’t stop haunting her— or to stop the dream from warping into a desire she never realized she had…
—
"I'll never get it right!" She bemoaned as she yet again missed the same step she’d been forgetting all afternoon.
"Sure you will,” said Gilbert, amusement tinging his reply as he watched her pout. “Practice makes perfect--let's go again!”
They were on their second count of eight the next time Anne spoke.
"Don't you think it seems silly?"
"What seems silly?"
“Well…you know, to practice a dance meant for a group of six with just two people,” Anne said as they started setting. “We can't even sweep through raised arms to form another set."
"That's probably for the best,” said Gilbert as he took both her hands in his.
"Why do you say that?” Anne asked as they turned together.
"Because, Carrots,” started Gilbert.
They should have moved on to the next step by now, but Gilbert had yet to let go of Anne’s hands.
“I don't want to form another set with anyone else— I only want to dance with you."
Anne rolled her eyes over his declaration, a smile tugging at her lips.
“What, you don't believe me?" He asked.
His hands were on her waist now and Anne wasn’t sure how they’d gotten there. She didn’t have time to think too hard about it though, because suddenly, his fingers grazed against a spot there that caused Anne to jerk back at his touch.
"Why, miss Shirley Cuthbert,” said Gilbert, smiling so hard Anne feared his face would split in two. “You never told me you were ticklish…”
“Gilbert, don't you dare…”
Her warning fell on deaf ears as he reached towards her waist again. That's when she took off, sprinting across the field, giggling as she went.
She didn't make it far before she felt a pair of hands looping around her middle and pulling her back.
"Gotcha!" He whispered in her ear before mercilessly tickling her sides.
Anne squirmed, laughter tumbling from her lips as she tried to break free from her captor. The only thing she succeeded in doing, however was sending both herself and Gilbert tumbling to the ground.
She'd landed on top of him amidst the fall, and her first thought was that she should probably get off— only Gilbert's hands were still firmly on her waist and his grip was only serving to keep her closely pressed to his warm body.
"I mean it Anne,” he said, eyes steadily gazing into hers. “I only want to dance with you— I only ever want to dance with you."
Her breath caught in her throat as one of his hands left her waist to reach out and tuck a loose tendril of red hair behind her ear.
Slowly, that same hand moved to the back of her neck, gently guiding her face closer until she could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke his next words to her.
"I only ever want to do this with you, too...” he whispered before his lips finally touched hers.
Her fingers clenched at the material of the shirt stretched across his chest, and Gilbert used the hand at her waist to pull her flush against him while his other hand traveled up from her neck to tangle in her hair.
She gasped when he swiftly flipped them so that Anne’s back was pressed against the soft earth instead, and Gilbert seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue tangling with hers for just a moment before he pulled his mouth off leaving Anne struggling to catch her breath.
Anne stared at him through half-lidded eyes, wondering why he’d stopped when she didn’t want him to. She tried to pull him back now, using the fingers she’d at some point dug into the curls at the back of his head.
Gilbert had other plans though, bypassing her swollen lips in favor of planting a soft kiss at corner of her jaw.
And just as Gilbert began trailing a line of searing kisses down the column of her neck…
Anne woke up with a start— heart racing, breath shallow, lips tingling…
The dream had felt so real that in her drowsy, half-awake state-- just for a moment-- she was convinced it was real.
She'd shot up then, caught in an internal tug-of-war where half of her felt horrified she'd ever dreamt of her and Gilbert in such a scenario to begin with. The other half of her was currently grappling with the terrifying notion that if she were being truly honest with herself, there was a small part of her that couldn’t deny that she’d liked it.
She rubbed her eyes vigorously as flashes of the dream danced before her eyes. When that did nothing to wipe away the thought of Dream Anne and Dream Gilbert kissing, she resigned to get ready for school. Her hands trembled as she hastily braided her hair and struggled over buttoning up her dress, but at least struggling with mundane tasks forced her to focus all of her attention on getting ready instead of allowing her mind any leeway to wander….
By the time Anne was washing up after breakfast, she was all but convinced she'd squashed The Incident from memory-- that is until she whirled around, clean dishes in hand and suddenly found herself starting at the very person she’d been trying so hard not to think about.
Gilbert Blythe was in her kitchen— why was Gilbert Blythe in her kitchen?
Anne squeezed her eyes shut convinced she must be imagining his presence due to the fact that she had not been able to completely erase the feel of the dream she'd woken from just a few hours ago.
He can’t have really been there standing in front of her— it just didn’t seem right that he could be taking up so much physical space in her kitchen when he was already taking up way too much space in her head…
I’m going to count to three and when I open my eyes, he’ll be gone… Anne thought to herself, gripping the plates in her hands tightly. One….two…thr—-
"Anne...?" Gilbert asked tentatively.
The sound of her name leaving his lips was accompanied by a warm hand landing on her shoulder.
Gilbert’s touch was soft— not meant to startle— but to Anne, it felt like an electric current coursing through her body and before she knew it, she’d dropped the dishes she’d so tightly been gripping just moments before.
"Good heavens child-- what's happened?!"
Marilla had raced back in following the distinct sound of ceramic breaking as it hit the floor, and the shrill of her voice was enough to make Anne snap her eyes open.
She stared at Gilbert’s face with wide eyes for a second and she felt her face flush— for once, not because she was embarrassed about how clumsy she’d just been.
She was thankful for Marilla’s firm grip on her elbow as she pulled her back from the sharp shards strewn across the floor as it allowed her a brief reprieve from dealing with Gilbert’s presence.
"I'm sorry Marilla! I don't know what's got into me this morning," Anne said, cheeks heating further.
"It's my fault, Miss Cuthbert-- I'm afraid I might have startled Anne here-- I assumed she'd heard me knock on the door before I entered," said Gilbert quickly, eyes darting toward the redhead in question.
"You're not fully to blame, Gilbert," said Marilla tightly. "Anne ought to be more aware of her surroundings instead of getting wrapped up in her vivid imagination."
Marilla's comment made Anne flush even harder, and a pang of dread coursed through her at Marilla’s comment about her vivid imagination.
For just a moment she feared that perhaps Marilla, just by looking at her face, might be able to suss out the fact that Anne had been scatterbrained this morning because she was having improper thoughts about the young man currently standing in their kitchen.
That try as she might, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what it had felt like
when Dream Gilbert’s lips had descended on her own, one large hand tangling in her red hair as he…
No— NO. We’re not thinking about that anymore! Anne said sternly to herself in her head.
She might not have said the words aloud, but she’d accompanied them with a vigorous shake of her head, and Gilbert shot her an odd sort of look as he watched her braids whip back and forth from the motion of it all.
"What are you doing here anyway?”Anne blurted out. "Don't you have advanced studies with Miss Stacy this morning?"
"Anne!" Marilla scolded, no doubt displeased with the rude tone in her daughter's voice.
"It's alright Miss Cuthbert," said Gilbert quickly.
“I do usually have advanced studies in the mornings, but I asked Miss Stacy if we could reschedule today’s coursework,” said Gilbert, speaking to Anne now.
“I know you said you needed those apples by today to make those pies for the church bake sale, Miss Cuthbert,” he said, turning now to face the older woman. “Normally I would have had Bash drop them off, but he’s a bit tied up at the moment with some errands in Charlottetown so I figured I’d better bring them by myself.”
“My, that’s very thoughtful of you Gilbert!” Marilla preened, shooting the young man a kind smile.
“It’s no trouble at all,” he said smiling back. “I’ve left the bushels tied to my horse— would it be alright if I left him here for the day while I went to school? I can pick him up after.”
“Of course! I’ll have Matthew put him up in the stable with Belle,” said Marilla. “You two run along to school now— don’t worry about unloading the apples Gilbert— Matthew and Jerry can take care of that!”
“But Marilla, surely I should stay behind and take care of the mess I made,” said Anne quickly, desperately hoping Marilla would agree so she might avoid having to walk in such close proximity to Gilbert given her current predicament. “I’m sure I can clean all this up and still make it in time for school!”
“Nonsense! I’ll not have you risk being late— you may help with washing up after dinner later tonight if you’re feeling guilty about this morning,” said Marilla as she pressed Anne’s books and lunch into her arms. “Now, you two best be off— we’ll see you this afternoon.”
Anne stood stock still on the porch after Marilla had ushered her out the back door and closed it shut.
Gilbert cleared his throat next to her and when her eyes shot up to meet his she noticed his expressive eyebrows already beginning to knot together as though he was trying to figure her out.
“Shall we…?” he asked, gesturing toward the gate.
Fearing that he, like Marilla, might actually be able to deduce what it was that was making her so uncomfortable, Anne quickly averted her eyes before bounding down the porch steps and heading towards the direction of the school house.
Anne’s brisk pace was no match for Gilbert’s long legs and he’d caught up to her sooner than she would have liked.
“Slow down! We’ve still got plenty of time,” said Gilbert once he’d reached her side.
“No one is stopping you from walking slower…” Anne said through gritted teeth.
“And deny you the pleasure of my company? I think not,” he teased.
She rounded on him then, ready for a verbal spar.
“Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I would very much enjoy the pleasure of your company while we walk to school?” Gilbert said as he saw the fury light in Anne’s eyes. “T-R-U-C-E?”
Anne said nothing, but she begrudgingly slowed her pace, realizing it seemed rather silly to be all but running away from Gilbert when they were going in the same direction anyway.
Now that she’d slowed her pace she fiddled with strap on her book bag, realizing that between Marilla pushing her out the back door, and how quickly she’d come barreling down the dirt path, the strap was dangerously close to coming undone.
“Let me get that for you,” said Gilbert reaching to help once he realized Anne was trying (and failing) to adjust her strap one-handed all while keeping a firm grasp on her lunch with her other hand.
“I didn’t ask for your help, Gilbert,” Anne sighed tiredly.
“I know,” said Gilbert. “Nor do I suppose you really need it. But all just the same…it would be a shame for either your books or whatever Marilla packed you for lunch to today to wind up covered in dirt if they fell.”
This time when he reached out, Anne admitted defeat, handing him her lunch to carry while she made quick work out of adjusting the strap.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me be a proper gentleman and carry this the rest of the way for you, would you?” he said as she reached out to take back her things. “I wouldn’t mind you know.”
“But I would,” Anne replied. “Because—“
“You are perfectly capable of carrying your own things, yes I know,” said Gilbert, tilting his head up to the sky, eyes squinting at the sun.
“Yes, well. I’m not quite sure why you insist on asking if you already know the answer,” Anne said, trailing off. “But I guess I should take comfort in the fact that at least I’ve made myself perfectly clear.”
He shook his head in amusement.
Their fingers brushed and he handed Anne back her things and she shivered, eyes flicking down to his lips just long enough for her to see the ends twitching up into the beginnings of a smile.
“Speaking of lunch…here,” said Gilbert, reaching into his bag and procuring a large golden apple. “I brought Marilla the red ones because our yellow variety isn’t quite ready— yet save for this one.”
“So?” Anne asked, feigning interest.
“So…” Gilbert trailed off before before holding the apple out to her. “I thought you might like it.”
Gilbert was gazing at her with soft eyes now, as he sometimes did when they went too long without arguing. Anne wished desperately that he wouldn’t look at her so— she wasn’t sure how long she could take the intensity of his gaze coupled with her racing thoughts and the ghost of the dream she’d woken from this morning.
“You thought, huh?” Anne asked, hoping he wouldn’t notice how the last word came out a bit shaky. “And what is it you think you know Gilbert?”
“About you? I wouldn’t presume to know much, Anne— but I do happen to know that the yellow apples are your favorites, so naturally I couldn’t help thinking of you when I saw one was ready to be picked.”
“Do you think about me often?” Anne asked, blurting out the question before could think better of it.
Why did you SAY that?! screamed the voice inside Anne’s head as she mentally kicked herself.
Gilbert’s hand that was not holding the apple shot up to the back of his neck, ruffling the hair at the nape. It was a move Anne had come to realize that Gilbert did whenever he was nervous, or didn’t quite know what to say yet.
“Do you think of me?” he asked finally, throwing her own question back at her.
“Of course not,” she lied, turning away from him, deciding to pick up her brisk pace from before. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gilbert!”
“I meant as in when you see something you believe might be of— of interest to me,” clarified Gilbert. “You know, as you might with any other friend if you spotted something that reminded you of them…?”
“I suppose I can’t deny that I have thought of Diana while spotting something she might like in town,” said Anne, conceding. “Why just last weekend while Matthew and I were at the shops, I saw some lovely hair ribbons in the most scrumptious shade of pink— oh, they would look positively divine set against Diana’s beautiful dark hair. Redheads can’t wear pink, you know— it clashes— though I would positively die if I could…”
Anne, realizing she was rambling, stopped short. Up ahead, the school house was in sight now, and she heaved a sigh of relief, grateful that she’d soon be able to put some much needed distance between herself and the boy to her right.
“But—but just because I might think of my darling bosom friend when coming across something I believe might be of interest to her, doesn’t mean you should presume I might offer you the same courtesy,” she added for emphasis.
Gilbert chuckled at Anne’s reasoning as he rushed to bound up the steps ahead of her and open the door.
His hand was on the door knob now, but when he made no quick haste to open it, Anne sighed exasperatedly, shooting him an annoyed look.
“I wouldn’t ever presume I’d ever be so lucky as to take up precious space in your thoughts, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” said Gilbert.
His eyes sparkled mischievously as he finally turned the doorknob and held the door open so she could go in first. And just as she passed him on her way through, Gilbert winked at her, leaving Anne with the now very difficult task of trying to make her way to the desk she shared with Diana without anyone asking why she suddenly looked so flustered.
Anne sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gracious heavenly father when she managed to walk by Josie Pye without the blonde girl picking up on the ridiculous state she was in.
Her dearest bosom friend, however, was much too perceptive to let it slide.
“What’s got you all hot and bothered?” asked Diana, taking in Anne’s mood as she sat stiffly in her seat.
“I’ll give you three guesses,” seethed Anne as she shot a glare at Gilbert, who was too busy talking to Moody to notice.
—
As soon as class adjourned for the day, Anne said a hasty goodbye to Diana and made a beeline for the coatroom before flying down the dirt path that lead away from the schoolhouse.
When she reached a fork in the road, she took a left hoping that if she took the long way back to Green Gables she might not have to interact with Gilbert Blythe anymore today.
Anne let out a shaky breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding when, after a few minutes of walking, she finally reached the old rustic bridge. She halted her brisk pace then, thinking she might stay here a while to read amidst the afternoon glow.
It was was only after she was seated, back pressed comfortably up against a maple tree that she reached into her book bag, breath catching in her throat as her fingertips brushed not against her well-worn copy of Jane Eyre, but against something cool to the touch and round in shape.
She knew what it was before she pulled it out, but the sight of the perfectly ripe yellow apple grasped in her hand still caused her skin to pebble despite the warm weather.
And as she stared at the fruit she held in the palm of her hand she knew there was an inconvenient truth she couldn’t deny any longer.
And the truth was that she, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, was begrudgingly smitten with one, Gilbert Blythe.