Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The moving van rumbled away, leaving the faint scent of diesel fumes in its wake. With a satisfied smile, Anne settled on the porch, surveying her new home. Her fingers traced the painted wood of the front door, the surface warm beneath her touch.

"You may not have enough space for all your books, but I get why you chose this place," said Cole, as he took a swig of iced tea. They were all sprawled out in the front garden, seeking refuge from the afternoon heat under the shade of a tall cherry tree that grew by the little gate. Cardboard boxes, overflowing with the remnants of Anne's life, lay scattered around them waiting to be carried inside.

Anne glanced at him, shading her eyes with her hand. "It's like something out of a storybook, isn't it? My own House of Dreams," she remarked, playing with the key to Rose Cottage, sunlight glinting off the brass.

"Absolutely," Diana stretched languidly on a patch of grass. "Though if I were you, I would happily give up the whimsy in exchange for a few more wardrobes."

"True, you’re not going to find Narnia in any of them, but just look around! There’s so much scope for the imagination! And don’t you just adore the name? It's like a blooming rosebud, full of promise and waiting to slip from its green sheath. It’s as if it was waiting for me!”

Diana rolled her eyes playfully. "Something tells me you decided to snatch this place up the moment you heard the name, even before you saw it in person.”

“It may or may not be true, I guess we’ll never know,” Anne teased, winking at Diana and ignoring the knowing look she exchanged with Cole. “You have to agree though, this place wouldn’t be as nice if it was called a Thistle or a Skunk Cabbage Cottage.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, finishing their drinks, as their eyes drifted towards the row of cottages nestled together in front of them. Built from warm stone, each one boasted a unique charm hidden in delightful features. Little porches with inviting steps welcomed visitors, while cheerful bay windows peeked out from beneath gently sloping shingled roofs. Long front gardens, with vibrant blooms dancing in the gentle breeze, flowed seamlessly into cobbled paths that led to welcoming front doors, each painted a different color, giving each house an individual personality, with more surprises waiting to be discovered inside. Weathered wooden signs with etched cottages' names hung above the doorways. Wisteria Cottage, with its vibrant blue door, stood to the left. Lavender, painted a soft purple, completed the row to the right. Nestled in the center sat Rose Cottage, its door a pale shade of pink. Sturdy chimneys stood tall above it all, silent promises of warmth and crackling fires on long, winter evenings.

"I wonder who my neighbors are," Anne mused aloud. "In a place like this, there are bound to be kindred spirits residing within, just waiting to be discovered!"

"Yeah, I think I just saw Snow White prancing about," Cole deadpanned.

"Cole, haven't I told you to lay off the edibles during the day?" said Diana, her tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"It's medicinal!"

“Maybe for when you have glaucoma!”

"Either that or share some with us," Anne added, a twinkle of amusement dancing in her eyes. "But just imagine! Perhaps there's a wise old lady with a lifetime of stories to share over a cup of tea, or a bustling family with a brood of mischievous children who are always up for an adventure, turning this street into a playground for princes and princesses."

Cole raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I don't think even a whole bag of gummies could help me to picture a brood of children in one of those," he gestured toward the row of quaint cottages. "You can barely swing a cat in there, let alone a gaggle of kids!"

"Look at that one though,” Diana pointed at the Lavender Cottage on the right. “I don't think anybody lives there. Curtains drawn, front garden completely overgrown. Those weeds look like gnarled fingers, clawing at the window. It's like something out of those gothic novels that you like so much, it gives me the creeps. I’m half expecting to see Heathcliff banging his head against a tree and shouting ‘Cathy’.”

Anne squinted against the sunlight, following Diana's gaze. "It does look a bit eerie. Ooh, maybe it's haunted! Maybe a white lady walks along the garden at night and wrings her hands and utters wailing cries! Or a headless man stalks up and down that path!”

"Anne, did you by any chance sneak a peek at Cole's stash, or add a little something extra to your tea?"

“Maybe a sprinkle of daydream dust. You know I like imagining better than remembering. Why not imagine things differently from what they really are? Sometimes, a dash of fantasy makes life a little more vibrant, don’t you think?"

Just as she finished that sentence, as if on cue, the front door of Wisteria Cottage creaked open, and a short, stout man filled the doorway, his round belly straining against a red cardigan with brown elbow patches. His bald head shone like a polished apple in the sunlight, while his face, framed with a wispy fringe of white hair, resembled a permanently inflated balloon. Bright blue eyes bulged with what appeared to be a lifetime's worth of grievances, threatening to spill over at any moment. His lips were set in a perpetual frown, giving the impression of a man who had long ago exhausted his patience with the world.

Anne promptly rose to her feet and waved in an attempt to break the ice and get to know the first kindred neighbor. "Good afternoon! I’m Anne Shirley, just moved in! It’s so lovely to meet you!"

The man grumbled in reply, his expression unyielding, then turned to trudge back to his cottage, muttering something about "newcomers and their fancies."

Anne's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing her eyes. He was definitely not the friendly old lady nor the rambunctious group of children she had imagined just a moment ago.

"You’re right," Diana muttered under her breath, her lips twitching with the effort to hold back a giggle. "Just brimming with welcoming vibes. You’ll need a bit more than a dash of fantasy to make him more vibrant."

Cole raised an eyebrow mischievously. "Well, you may not live next door to Snow White, but there's your Grumpy.”

"Alright, guys, enough teasing," said Anne chuckling. "We still need to take these boxes inside and then we’ll order some food. You’re going to help me test the local takeout."

With a collective nod, they set to work, gathering up the remaining boxes and carrying them into the cottage. Inside, the tiny living room was a maze of cardboard boxes, some half-unpacked, others still stubbornly sealed, each one labeled with Anne's curly handwriting. A half-assembled bookcase stood awkwardly in the corner, and a picture frame with Matthew’s smiling face leaned precariously against the wall. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting warm rays that illuminated the dust motes floating in the air, creating an almost magical atmosphere amidst the clutter.

"We should call it a day," Anne said, collapsing onto the threadbare couch with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped, and she ran a hand through her hair, strands escaping her long braid. "I can finish the rest tomorrow."

"You can't have a moving day without a housewarming gift!" Cole declared, pulling a long box from a previously unnoticed paper bag. Anne's eyes widened in surprise as he reached out, offering it with a flourish.

"Just a little something to add a bit of MacKenzie flair to this place," he said with a grin.

Anne carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a beautiful handcrafted vase. Tall and with a graceful shape, it featured intricate designs of interlacing branches with lifelike birds perched on them, all painted in a palette of muted natural hues with accents of gold.

"Cole, this is amazing!" Anne exclaimed, her eyes shining with delight. "Did you really make this yourself?"

Cole nodded, a hint of bashfulness creeping into his expression. "Yeah, I figured every new home needs a centerpiece, so I thought I'd try my hand at pottery."

Diana grinned, nudging Cole playfully. "He's been spending hours in his shed, channeling his inner Demi Moore."

“But really I was trying to summon Patrick Swayze. With no success I must add.”

"I can't believe you made this for me," she said, admiring his craftsmanship. "It's absolutely stunning."

With a grateful smile, Anne carefully placed the vase on the windowsill in the bay, stepping back to admire it. The afternoon light glinting off the gold accents and casting dancing shadows across the room made it even more breathtaking

"Well, since we're at the gift-giving part of the day," Diana stepped forward with a mysterious smile, "I brought you a little something Marilla asked me to give you. I put it in the kitchen."

Anne navigated the makeshift path between boxes to the other room, her friends following close behind. The kitchen was compact but functional, with white cabinets and a wooden table, its surface worn smooth from years of use. On top of it there was a box that hadn't been unpacked yet. A flicker of recognition crossed Anne's face as she opened it carefully. Inside, nestled in soft, rustling tissue paper, was a dainty rosebud-patterned tea set that she had admired for years, back at Green Gables.

"I can’t believe she did that!!" Anne exclaimed, tracing the delicate floral pattern with her fingertips.

"Marilla said it would be perfect for your new place. And that a proper cup of tea deserves a proper china set. Now, how about we raise a toast to a new chapter in your story, Miss Shirley of Rose Cottage?"

Anne beamed, her heart brimming with warmth. "To new beginnings! And good old friends!”
She raised a china cup, and the three friends clinked them together, the sound echoing through the cozy kitchen.

"Okay, can somebody find the plates and cutlery while I order some food?" Anne suggested. "Has anyone got any cravings in particular?"

"I fancy some Indian, something spicy with extra rice and naan!" Cole called from the living room.

"I second that! And samosas and some onion bhajis! And don’t forget the poppadoms with mango chutney! I’m starving!" added Diana.

With laughter echoing through the cottage, they settled down to eat and celebrate the first evening in Anne's new home.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks flew by in a flurry of unpacking chaos. In between countless cups of tea enjoyed on the little patio, Anne was busy transforming bare rooms into lived-in spaces. Pictures found their places on the walls, braided mats warmed the wooden floors, cotton warp quilts awaited the arrival of the colder days in the linen closet, the apple-leaf one already spread on Anne’s bed. Her treasured collection of books finally claimed a bookshelf in the front room. The bay window became her designated reading nook, with the old, high back armchair offering a perfect spot for curling up with “Middlemarch” or “Ben-Hur”. In the kitchen Anne hung new shelves, to compensate for a lack of storage. Here, her treasured rosebud china set was nestled amongst notebooks with dog-eared pages overflowing with Marilla's recipes. Geraniums on the window sills added a sweet scent to the room.

With every passing day, Rose Cottage began to morph into a home – cozy, a little cluttered, and bursting with warmth with a touch of the atmosphere of Green Gables with the flavor of her own, new traditions. Finally, with the last empty box banished to the cramped attic, Anne could take a well-deserved break. She plopped onto the comfy couch with a sigh, letting her eyes sweep across the room. A smile touched her lips. "I'm going to be very happy here," she thought, and for the first time, it felt like more than just a hope, but a certainty.

“Any news about your neighbors?” asked Diana during one of their regular phone catch-ups.

“Turns out the grump from Wisteria Cottage is a widower named Mr. Harrison. Not that he told me himself, mind you. I got it all from the lovely lady that runs the little corner shop nearby. All he does whenever he sees me is scowl and mutter to himself.”

“That’s not too bad! When we saw him the first time, I swear I thought he’d chase us off with a pitchfork in his hand, muttering about the evils of teenagers and the evils of rock and roll."

“Stop, or the next time I see him, I won’t be able to keep a straight face!”

“So is it safe to presume he won’t be your friendly neighborhood kindred spirit?”

“Well…” Anne hesitated.

“Anne, you do know you don’t have to be friends with the whole world, right?”

“I know, I know, but there’s something… Dickensian about him.”

“Is that a euphemism for…?”

“No! All I mean is that he reminds me of Ebenezer Scrooge, you know, the version before the visit from the three ghosts.”

“Wait, are you saying he needs a haunting? Cole and I can whip up some bedsheet ghosts in no time and I’m pretty sure Cole will have some chains too.”

Anne burst out laughing. “Maybe next time he yells at the clouds. In the meantime, I’m just going to give him some space.”

“As you wish. So we have Mister Humbug living on one side, what about the other house?”

“Still no sign of life! Dark and quiet all the time, no one coming or going. Though, I did notice the downstairs curtains are slightly open. There’s a table and chairs in there, can you believe it?”

“Look at you, Miss Marple! Maybe it’s abandoned?”

“I don’t think so, I heard somebody bought it last year.”

“From the corner shop lady?”

“She knows everything!”

“Except the new owner’s name?”

“Hey, she runs a shop, not CSIS.”

“Okay, okay. Just be careful, Anne. One day, you’ll be walking from school, casually glancing through the window, and BAM! Someone will be sitting at that table, not moving but looking straight at you. Dun dun DUN!”

“Well, thanks for giving me something new to be paranoid about!”

“No problem! Keep me posted on any updates from your spy network. And call us if you need anything! Painting, weeding, casual exorcism, you name it, we’ll help.”

April advanced to May; a bright serene May and one sunny, blue sky afternoon, Anne was in her front garden, wrestling with a particularly stubborn lilac, when a gruff voice startled her.

"It looks like it’s about to give up the ghost altogether," it rumbled from behind her.
Anne looked up to see Mr. Harrison standing by the garden gate, his arms crossed and a frown etched on his face. However, she noticed that behind this grumpy demeanor, there was an unexpected kindness in his eyes.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Harrison," Anne replied, wiping her dirt-streaked hands on her gardening apron. "I'm having a bit of trouble with this lilac. It doesn’t seem happy here."

Mr. Harrison snorted. "Lilacs like sunshine, not constant coddling. Give it some space and let the sun do its work." He tentatively opened the gate, walked up to her and knelt down beside her, his movements surprisingly agile for a man of his age. Scrutinizing the wilting plant, he pointed to the pot. "Drainage is key, young lady. Looks like this one's drowning in its own sorrow."

“I just thought I would keep it in a pot first and let it decide where it likes to be planted.”

“Well, if you ask me, here is the perfect place for it. It’s sunny, the soil drains well, and you will see it from your front room when it’s in bloom. If you pass me that spade, I’ll help you with it.”

Anne was just about to politely decline his help, a small voice in her head telling her she could do it herself. But something about the way his eyes softened when he looked at the struggling lilac – a spark of shared interest that momentarily replaced the usual sternness – made her reconsider. With a smile, she offered him the little spade that was behind her and together they carefully re-planted the lilac, making sure it was placed straight. When finished Mr. Harrison got up from his knees with a grunt, his lips pursed in concentration.

"There," he finally said, rubbing his hands together. "There's nothing as nice as the smell of good clean earth, except the smell of fresh growing things when the rain falls on them. Now just leave it be. See what the sun can do.” Then he turned to the right, facing the house. "And for goodness sake, girl, don't smother your roses either. They need air circulation to keep those pesky black spots at bay."

Anne glanced at the beautiful climbing roses clinging to the side of her cottage, the first brave buds just started to appear. Delicate blushes peeked out from their tightly furled petals, gently enveloped in green sheaths. "You know about roses?" she asked curiously.

Mr. Harrison's expression softened a bit more. "Been tending to these roses for longer than you've been alive, missy. They were Miss Russell's pride and joy, and I won't let them wither on my watch." A flicker of sadness crossed his face before he quickly masked it with a cough. "There's a specific pruning technique for those climbers," he continued. "If you're not careful, they'll take over the entire cottage."

Intrigued by his unexpected passion for roses, Anne listened intently as Mr. Harrison launched into a detailed explanation of rose care. His voice, surprisingly gentle, shared knowledge of pest control, watering schedules, and the importance of winter protection. Seeing his transformation from the gruff man to a patient teacher, a question bubbled up in Anne.

"If you don't mind me asking," she began cautiously, "were you friends with Miss Russell? I know nothing about her."

“She was a lovely lady, she was. Loved her garden and sometimes I think I still see her watering her veggie patch at the back, in a straw hat and a pair of rubber boots, even on the sunniest of days. Miss Russell and my Emily grew very close over the years. She already lived here when we moved in, and I kid you not, ten minutes after our moving van pulled away, there she was knocking on our door, a warm smile on her face and a freshly baked cake in her hands.” He stopped suddenly, turning a bright shade of red that crept up his neck to his ears.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved on the day we met first. I guess I got used to being the only one in this row for so long… and maybe a bit set in my ways. People think I don’t like them, and then they never try to get to know me. Emily was the one who knew how to make friends. She wouldn't have acted like I did. In fact, she'd have given me a good earful for being so rude,” he chuckled softly.

Anne shook her head and gently squeezed his arm.

“I understand, Mr. Harrison. Besides, I know I can be a bit overwhelming when I first meet someone.” A playful smile touched her lips, and then, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she pointed to the overgrown garden of the Lavender Cottage. "Excuse me, Mr. Harrison," she began, "but what about the other house? Who lives there?"

Mr. Harrison wiped his brow with a worn handkerchief, the white linen embroidered with a faint blue monogram in the corner. He stuffed it back into his pocket with a sigh. "Ah, that one? Used to belong to Miss Lavendar. That was her real name! Always had a smile and a kind word, even for the likes of me. Always talked about seeing fairies dancing in the twilight, and she swore there was a family of elves living under that cherry tree. And the doughnuts she made! Every Friday, all three of them had a tea party at our house. You wouldn't believe the way they could talk! It was like a flock of chattering sparrows!”

"But apparently," he continued, leaning on the low stone wall that separated his and Anne's garden, the worn bricks glowing warmly in the afternoon sun. "She met her old flame on one of those newfangled dating contraptions the young folks use these days. What do they call it? Fender? Blunder? One of those."

"Married they were in a blink," Mr. Harrison chuckled. "Off they went, on some grand adventure to see the pyramids or some such. Sold the cottage in a jiffy, I heard. But I haven't seen or heard a peep from the new owner."

"Yes, the lady in the shop doesn't know either," Anne's brow furrowed slightly.

Mr. Harrison guffawed. "Well, if Susan Baker doesn't know who owns this place, then it must be a bigger mystery than what happened to D.B. Cooper! Anyway, it's getting late. Just follow my advice about the roses, and they'll bloom like nobody's business. Remember, where you tend a rose, a thistle cannot grow."

Anne tilted her head, considering his words. "Oh, I don't mind thistles," she said. "They may be prickly, but there's a certain beauty in their resilience, wouldn't you agree?"

Mr. Harrison's lips twitched in a barely-there smile, a rare flicker of warmth in his eyes. "Emily used to say the same thing. Wouldn't let me weed them out, bless her soul. 'They just need a little space,' she'd say, 'and their hearts are soft underneath all those thorns.'" He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, then asked hesitantly. "Do you like lemon meringue pie? I'm not exactly a master baker, but I know a place that makes a mean one."

A genuine smile bloomed on Anne's face. Beneath the grumpy exterior, Mr. Harrison seemed to possess a hidden reservoir of kindness.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Harrison," she said sincerely. "I feel like I should bring you something as a thank you for your help.”

"Let's do this that way then - I'll get the pie, and you'll make the tea. A proper tea party, wouldn't that be something!"

"How does Friday afternoon sound to you?"

"It would be perfect."

As Mr. Harrison walked back to Wisteria Cottage, Anne watched him go, a smile lingering on her lips. "Cole was wrong about you, you're not Grumpy, you're Bashful! And definitely a kindred spirit!" she thought to herself. The afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the street, painting the overgrown garden of the Lavender Cottage in an even deeper shade of mystery. Anne surveyed her garden, no longer seeing only struggling plants. Now she saw potential, beauty waiting to be unveiled, and she was determined to make it flourish.

Chapter Text

Days went by, but the secret owner of the Lavender Cottage still remained a mystery. Then one golden June afternoon, as the honeyed hues of the setting sun dripped onto the flowerbeds, casting a warm glow on everything they touched, Anne came home, humming to the song she'd been listening to on the way. She stopped by her door to take out the keys, and then an inexplicable feeling settled over her. Something had changed.

Minutes later, preoccupied with chopping vegetables for her tea, a sudden realization struck her. The overgrown jungle that had been the front garden at Lavender Cottage was gone!

She wiped her hands hastily on a red gingham cloth and rushed outside to check for signs of life in the neighboring house, her excitement rising. Could it be? Has the long-awaited arrival finally happened? Visions of unpacking boxes and friendly introductions immediately danced in her head. Her heart pounding, she stood on her tiptoes and peered over the fence. The transformation was undeniable. Gone were the tangled weeds, replaced with neat rows of lavender. A soft breeze rustled through them, sending a wave of calming fragrance towards her. But her elation was short-lived as the curtains remained stubbornly drawn, and the silence hung heavy, offering no other hint of life inside the cottage. A sigh of disappointment escaped her lips as she turned away and went back to her kitchen.

“But get this,” Anne said on the phone to Diana a week later, "yesterday, there was a light on in the attic! All. Night. Long!"

"What?! Did you see anyone? A shadowy figure in a riding cloak, with a dark face and a heavy brow creeping about?" her friend prodded.

"Nope," Anne admitted, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Everything was quiet as usual, no rattling chains, no spooky whispers... it was almost disappointing."

Diana snorted. "Did you expect an annoying little boy who doesn’t leave his room or a secret wife stashed in the attic? Just promise me, if a rude guy proposes to you after treating you like dirt, please run in the opposite direction. The wedding day drama isn’t worth the hassle," she teased. "And if you ever hear a weird noise in the middle of the night, it will be a wind. Probably. Most likely. Like, fifty percent sure."

"Do you enjoy freaking me out? And you know I’ve had enough wedding drama for the next decade probably,” Anne rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I even spoke to Mr. Harrison about that light, but he's been visiting his brother so he hasn't seen or heard anything."

The phone call did little to quell Anne's curiosity. She spent the next few hours on her couch, unsuccessfully trying to read a book. Suddenly, something made her sit up and turn her head toward the door listening. It sounded like a cry coming from the outside.

"That's not the wind," she whispered to herself, a cold chill running down her spine.

Then she heard it again, a half-smothered voice shouted "Help! Help! Help!" three times rapidly.

Without a moment's hesitation, Anne bolted out the front door, her heart hammering against her chest. There, sprawled on his garden path, lay Mr. Harrison, his face contorted in pain, his arm uncomfortably twisted.

"Mr. Harrison!" Anne exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Are you alright? What happened? "

"Me being an old git happened," he groaned, his voice weak. "I must’ve tripped over that blasted paving slab I’ve been meaning to fix. I went down like a sack of potatoes."

"Did you lose consciousness?" Anne inquired, gently guiding him to sit up.

"Don't think so," he mumbled, wincing as he cradled his injured arm.

"Right then," Anne declared with unwavering resolve, "let's get you to the hospital."

She hurried back inside to grab her bag and keys, ignoring Mr. Harrison’s faint calls that there’s no need to get doctor’s involved. Back outside, she helped him into her car, his wince turning into a grimace as he settled into the passenger seat. Anne drove as quickly as possible to the nearest hospital, drumming nervously on the wheel every time she had to stop at a red light and stealing worried glances at Mr. Harrison, half-expecting him to have fainted.

"You know, Mr. Harrison," she wanted to distract him from the pain, "I’ve started a little vegetable patch in my garden. Got some root veggies, some peas and a few herbs going.”

A weak smile stretched his lips. "Did you plant it in those raised beds in the corner? You get good sun over there.”

“Yes, I thought that too. I'll have to figure out something soon to support the peas.”

“You don't need anything fancy, some string or bamboo sticks will be enough. I should have some spare in my shed," his voice trailed off as a wave of pain washed over him. "Did you say you've planted some herbs too?" he continued weakly.

“Yes, I got some sage, thyme and mint.”

“Make sure you keep that mint in a pot, or it'll take over your entire garden.”

“Well, Diana would be happy with unlimited mojito supply!”

Mr. Harrison chuckled, a sound that brought a much-needed wave of relief to Anne. The hospital signs finally came into view, and she pulled into the carpark. She helped Mr. Harrison with his seatbelt, worried about his worsening condition. His eyes were tightly shut, and his shallow breaths grew more labored with each passing second. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

"Mr. Harrison, would you like me to speak for you when we get inside?" she asked.

He managed a weak nod, his eyes remaining closed. Anne put her arm around him and rushed them both to the emergency department. A friendly face with a nametag reading "Rebecca" in bold green letters greeted them at the reception desk.

"Hello, I'm here with my..." Anne hesitated for a second, unsure how much to reveal. Seeing Mr. Harrison's state, she decided, "...father. He fell and injured his arm. He's been in a lot of pain, and he's not sure if he hit his head during the fall."

Rebecca, the receptionist, cast a practiced eye at Mr. Harrison. "Alright, dear, let's get you sorted," she said in a reassuring lilt. She waved over a porter with a wheelchair. Anne helped Mr. Harrison, his movements slow and pained, into the chair.

"We'll take him to be examined. In the meantime, could you please fill out this form?" Rebecca handed Anne a tablet.

Just then, Mr. Harrison reached out and tugged on Anne's sleeve. "Here, take this," he whispered, fumbling for his wallet. "My details are all in there."

Anne took the wallet with a grateful nod, watching as Mr. Harrison was swiftly wheeled away down the brightly lit hallway. Settling into a plastic blue chair, she opened the form, the questions blurring before her worried eyes. The sterile white background and harsh fluorescent lights buzzing monotonously overhead did little to ease her anxiety. Every few seconds, she'd steal a glance at the constant stream of people rushing in and out of the emergency department doors. Finally, with a shaky hand, she completed the forms and handed them back to the receptionist. Rebecca, her kind smile now replaced with a routine efficiency, informed her that "her father" was having x-rays done, before turning her attention to a young mother who had just entered, a sleepy-eyed child snuggled into her neck. Unable to bear the thought of leaving Mr. Harrison alone, Anne decided to wait for him.

Craving some caffeine to cut through the fog of worry clinging to her, she made her way towards the brightly colored vending machines. She scanned the list of drinks, desperately seeking the least unappealing option, finally settling on a dark roast boasting a "bold flavor". The machine sputtered and whirred, eventually dispensing a cup that felt suspiciously light. Anne peered inside, disappointed by the murky brown liquid that resembled lukewarm sludge more than a coffee. With a defeated sigh, she turned to head back to her seat. Before she could take a single step, a figure materialized out of thin air, colliding with her. The coffee cup went flying, its dubious contents splashing across the dark blue scrubs of the unfortunate victim. Anne stood frozen to her spot, staring at the spreading stain and the bewildered expression on the stranger's face.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you! Are you injured, sir?” she stammered, feeling the heat creep up her neck.

Anne thought she heard him swearing, but she wasn’t certain.

“Can I do anything?” she asked again.

“Please, could you move to the side”, he replied as he rose to his feet.

The man, tall and broad-shouldered, straightened, his hazel eyes flecked with gold around the pupil, met Anne's gaze. Caught off guard, she felt a hot blush spreading across her face. A hint of amusement danced in his eyes. He smiled at her, revealing a surprising dimple in his right cheek and sending a thrill through her.

“If you are hurt, and want help, sir, I can call a porter, or…” Anne started again, but he stopped her.

“Thank you, I'm all good. I just finished my shift, actually. And this," he said, gesturing towards his coffee-stained scrubs, "is definitely not the worst thing I've gotten on me around here. Though," he added with a smirk, glancing at the offending machine, "doctor’s advice - drinks from that one might be considered biohazards. You might have better luck on the first floor."

"Uh, right," Anne replied, flustered by the collision and his easygoing demeanor. "Thanks, I guess?"

The man offered a dazzling smile that crinkled the corners of his golden eyes. "You're welcome. Hope everything goes well for you."

Anne, momentarily speechless, could only manage a nod as he sent her a final, friendly wave before disappearing through the door marked "Emergency Ward." She stood there for a moment, her cheeks burning, the memory of this unfortunate encounter lingering in her mind. She took a deep breath and decided to follow his advice. The coffee on the first floor lived up to its promise, a robust aroma filling her with warmth before she even took a sip.

She went back to the waiting room, buying a book from a little shop she passed on her way down. She curled up with it on the plastic chair, trying to distract herself from the gnawing worry, time seemingly stretching and folding in on itself as she devoured the pages. A couple hours later a nurse with a reassuring smile approached her. "Mr. Harrison's all set, dear" she announced, her voice radiating a comforting calmness. "It’s just a sprain, we’ve iced it and given him a sling. No sign of a head injury either, just a bit shaken from the fall. He'll be going home with some pain medication, but should be much more comfortable now."

Relief washed over Anne, the tension that had coiled in her stomach since the moment she'd seen Mr. Harrison lying on the ground finally eased. Moments later, Mr. Harrison was wheeled out, grumbling about the "fuss over a little tumble." Anne took the return of his grumpiness as a sign of improvement. She helped him settle in at his home, thankful that the ordeal had been less serious than initially feared.

Back home, Anne flopped onto the couch, drained. Her eyelids fluttered shut, exhaustion finally claiming her and she drifted into a deep and welcome sleep. Oblivious to the world around her, she remained blissfully unaware of the string of missed calls flashing on her phone screen. Nor did she hear the unusual hum of activity coming from the usually quiet and dark cottage next door, now flooded with lights.

Chapter Text

Anne knew someone had moved in next door.

But she still didn’t know who.

Like a ghost, they lingered unseen, slipping in and out of the house next door without a trace. Now and then, she spotted a light glowing all night behind the curtains, but never a silhouette. Never a sound. It was almost eerie, the way they avoided being seen, as if they weren’t entirely real.

One day, she knocked on the door with a tin of welcome-to-the-neighborhood biscuits, but no one answered. She left it on the doorstep and walked back home, another question added to the ever-growing list.

She couldn’t even count on Mr. Harrison for any insight now. A few days after his fall, he’d packed up and left to visit his family, leaving her with strict watering instructions for his plants and zero useful information about the mysterious new neighbors.

Diana had been no help either—her only suggestion had been to call the police to check on “the crazy wife in the attic.” Cole, on the other hand, had come up with a full conspiracy theory, insisting it was either a safe house or someone in witness protection.

But when she had almost stopped thinking about it—

A warm afternoon sun bathed her garden in gold as Anne knelt in the dirt, hands deep in the soil, lost in thought. She had been weeding, thinking about that first morning when her garden began to grow and how much it had flourished since then. Now, she was just absently sifting dirt between her fingers, enjoying the blissful moment of peace and quiet.

Suddenly—

"What have you got there, Carrots?"

Her spine snapped straight.

That voice—low, amused, and entirely too familiar. Heat flared in her cheeks, first from shock, then from something much stronger. She whipped around so fast that the handful of soil she had been holding clenched tighter in her fist.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed, indignant. "How dare you!"

And then—thwack!

The soil left her fingers before she even thought about it, hitting its target dead-on.

With a startled yelp the man standing on the other side of the fence swiped at his face, blinking through the dirt.

"Who do YOU-!"

Anne stormed forward, ready to give him a piece of her mind—until she saw his face.

Her breath caught.

To her absolute horror, he grinned, revealing the dimple she had described to Diana in minute detail and which had been on her mind for weeks.

He shook out his dark curls, and his eyes—hazel, flecked with gold, just as she remembered them—lit up with recognition.

Anne’s stomach dropped.

"You're the coffee girl!"

Standing in front of her, arms lazily folded atop the fence, was the ER doctor she had drowned in coffee that evening in the hospital.

But this time, he wasn’t in baggy blue scrubs under harsh hospital lighting. Gone was the crisp professionalism, the sharp smell of antiseptic lingering in the hospital corridors.

No. This time, he was in a plain white T-shirt that fit entirely too well, exposing tanned, toned forearms. His chocolate curls were a disaster, now dusty with soil from Anne’s very accurate throw.

And that dimple?

Even more dangerous in the golden afternoon light.

Good grief, girl, pull yourself together before you start drooling, she scolded herself.

Anne straightened her back, inhaled sharply, and shot back, "And you're the guy who calls strangers names."

He blinked, then tilted his head. "What? When did I do that?"

She folded her arms, eyes flashing. "Just now! You said, ‘What have you got there, Carrots?’”

A pause. And then—

He threw his head back and burst out laughing.

A full, heart-deep, completely infuriating laugh.

"Oh, I’m so glad you’re finding this amusing!" Anne scowled.

"NO! No—" He held up his hands, still chuckling. "I swear, I wasn’t laughing at you. This is just… a really funny misunderstanding."

"Oh really?" Anne arched an eyebrow. "What, you meant to call me a pumpkin instead?"

"No! I wasn’t calling you any vegetable names! Or any names at all," he said, still grinning as he wiped at his face. "I was asking: ‘What have you got there?’" He gestured behind her. "Carrots?"

Anne blinked.

She turned.

And sure enough, right beside her knees, was a neat row of green carrot tops she had planted earlier that season.

Oh.

…Oh.

Anne turned back.

And there he was. Arms folded, mirroring her stance, still grinning, watching her with an expression that was equal parts entertained and teasing.

"You have a habit of throwing things at people, don’t you?"

Anne lifted her chin. "Only the ones who sneak up behind me."

"Fair. But at the hospital, you walked into me."

"Because YOU were behind me!"

He chuckled, leaning against the fence. "In all fairness, I saved you from that terrible coffee. And I had to sacrifice my scrubs to do it."

Anne scoffed. "Oh, so now you’re a hero?"

"I mean, technically—yes. Doctor, remember? We wear capes without an e." He winked.

Anne rolled her eyes. She felt a surge of irritation with herself, at her own reaction to him. But despite her annoyance, she couldn't deny the flutter in her stomach.

"What kind of opening line even was that?" she challenged. "'What are you growing there?' Who starts a conversation like that?"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "A son of a farmer? Someone who likes gardening? Who grew up by an orchard? Maybe a slightly awkward person with a silly sense of humor who sometimes says things without thinking about how they can be interpreted?"

Anne narrowed her eyes. So there was something else behind that confident front.

"And when did a simple ‘hello’ stop being an option?"

He smirked. "Well, your way of chatting up a guy is throwing him to the ground. Or throwing the ground at him."

Anne gasped. "I didn’t throw you, you fell."

"Oh, so I just happened to trip and land in a pool of coffee?"

"Exactly."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "So, I guess throwing dirt at a new neighbor is a traditional welcome here?"

Anne blinked. "Wait—you live here?"

The dimple in his cheek deepened. "What did you think I was doing? A very casual house call?"

"I just… I never saw anyone. Never heard anything."

"I work a lot. ER hours are unpredictable, so mostly, I just come home and crash on the couch."

Anne tilted her head, considering that. "I left you some biscuits on the doorstep!"

His eyebrows lifted. "That was you?"

Anne scoffed. "Who else? Mr. Harrison?"

"Oh, you mean that nice older man from Number 2?"

Anne’s brain screeched to a halt.

"Nice?"

"Nice" wasn’t exactly the first impression Mr. Harrison had ever left on anyone. And when exactly had they met? Why hadn’t Mr. Harrison mentioned it to her?

"Wait—hold on. Are you telling me he was actually nice to you? No muttering? No barking? No pretending you don’t exist?"

"Well, first, I didn’t spill or throw anything at him…"

She shot him a glare. "Both of those were your fault."

"We have not agreed on that."

Anne shrugged, not budging.

"Secondly,” he continued, completely unfazed, “I admired the wisteria around his front door. He gave me a few tips for my own garden. Like I said—lovely man."

And then, he smiled.

Anne stared at him, trying to figure him out. Who was this guy? He had been living like a ghost, yet somehow, he was already best friends with Mr. Harrison? And here he was, still talking to her, even though the evidence of her temper was literally smudged on his cheek.

His voice pulled her from her thoughts. "So, I guess I should say thank you."

"For what?"

He leaned in slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Those biscuits. Best welcome gift I’ve had so far." He smirked. "Better than the dirt, at least."

"You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked them."

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks slightly flushed—just a little awkward, just a little too charming.

"So… Just so I have this straight—creeping behind you and asking about vegetables are both off the table under the risk of bodily harm?"

Anne let out a breath of laughter, finally relenting. "That’s correct."

He nodded, solemn. "Good to know." Then, his lips twitched. "I suppose inquiring about growing ginger is also forbidden?"

Her eyes narrowed, flashing from gray to green. "You ask that, and I’ll make sure to have some fertilizer at hand."

He laughed again, then—suddenly, effortlessly—he extended his hand over the fence.

"Alright," he said, gaze steady on her face. "Let’s try this properly. Hello. I’m Gilbert Blythe, and I just moved in next door."

Anne stared at the outstretched hand.

As she came closer to him she noticed that there was a clean fresh scent of lemons and grass and leaves about him, almost as if he were made of them. She liked it very much and when she looked into his face with the blushed cheeks and golden eyes she forgot that she had felt annoyed.

Then she reached out and took the offered hand.

Warmth flared at the contact, racing up her arm, straight to her chest. She gasped quietly at the unexpected spark, and from the way Gilbert’s lips parted slightly, his gaze flicking down to their joined hands, she knew—he felt it too.

For a moment, neither of them moved. His hazel eyes deepened, darkening like summer twilight.

Then, softly—

"Nice to meet you, Anne Shirley."

Anne snatched her hand away.

She turned immediately, brushing dirt off her knees in a desperate attempt to compose herself. This… whatever this was—was new. And dangerous. And deeply, deeply unfair.

Because for the first time in forever, she had no idea what to say.

Chapter Text

Anne stood by her bay window, the late afternoon breeze curling around her. The pale-green muslin curtains billowed slightly, streaks of soft light shifting over the floor. A mug in one hand, she nudged the window open a little farther with the other.

“I’m just saying,” Diana mused, “you look at him like some Elizabeth Bennet, all wistful sighs and longing gazes across the ballroom. It’s all very romantic, very Austenesque, you know.” She was sprawled on the couch behind Anne, watching her friend with the smug satisfaction of someone about to be proven right.

Anne huffed a laugh. “Please.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Diana countered, sitting up suddenly. “And I think he likes you too.” She gestured toward the window with her cup. “You two are basically starring in a suburban rom-com. All the helloes, a little smile here, a wave there. You’re both outside at the same time way too often for it to be a coincidence. ‘Pardon me, Mr. Blythe.’ ‘After you, Miss Shirley.’ It’s getting suspicious. Next thing I know, you’ll be borrowing a cup of sugar, and he’ll be putting his big—”

“Diana Barry!”

“—gardening gloves into his back pocket,” Diana finished with a wicked grin.

Anne rolled her eyes, tuning her out as she looked back outside. Gilbert straightened from where he’d been crouched near his flower beds, his T-shirt and hair a complete mess, a smudge of dirt on his cheek just above the dimple hidden beneath his stubble. Seeing him like this reminded her of the day she found out he was the mysterious next-door neighbor. A tiny smile tugged at her lips.

As if sensing her stare, Gilbert looked up. Without thinking, she lifted a hand in a small wave.

And, just like always, he waved back.

Diana giggled into her tea. “See?!”

“It’s called being polite. Didn’t they teach you that in that fancy law school of yours?”

Diana sniffed. “They taught us many things. Mainly how to spot people in denial.” She arched a brow over the rim of her cup. “But go on, tell me—what’s he up to now?”

Anne glanced over again. Gilbert was hauling a small tree into place, its thin trunk wobbling slightly as he adjusted it in the soil. She watched as he stepped back, checking his work.

Her gaze wandered a little. The way his head balanced so easily on the strong line of his neck, the slope of his shoulders shifting beneath his T-shirt. His dark forearms flexed as he steadied the tree. Her eyes trailed lower, down the curve of his back, before she caught herself, heat creeping up her neck.

“He’s planting an apple tree,” she reported, clearing her throat, though it did nothing to ease the sudden dryness there.

Diana hummed. “How wholesome.”

“He said it’ll take at least three years to actually produce fruit, but he’s not planning on moving anytime soon.” She repeated his words from the other day without thinking, something warm settling in her chest at the idea of him staying.

Diana took a slow sip of tea, giving her a long, knowing look. “Interesting.”

Anne was just about to throw a seat cushion at her when the sound of a front door slamming snapped her attention to the right. Mr. Harrison, now fully recovered and back from his trip, had taken it upon himself to resume his self-appointed supervisory duties. He strode over to Gilbert’s yard, arms swinging with purpose, scanning the garden like a general assessing his troops.

“Well now,” he grunted, nodding. “That’s not half bad.”

Gilbert smiled, resting his hands on his hips. “And that’s nearly a compliment.”

“Don’t get cocky, doc.” Mr. Harrison motioned vaguely around the yard. “All that grass still needs cutting.”

Anne pressed her lips together to keep from giggling as Gilbert slung his arm around Mr. Harrison’s shoulder, leaning in with an impish look flickering across his face. “I like it a bit wild.”

Mr. Harrison let out a sharp, exasperated breath and shrugged him off. He squinted at the yard. “It looks like a blasted thicket!”

“But garden meadows are in,” Gilbert countered smoothly. “Butterflies love them.”

The old man grumbled something about “lazy people excuses” but gave a reluctant nod before shuffling off, muttering about how at least Gilbert had pruned the lavender.

Gilbert pulled off his work gloves, holding them in one hand as he walked toward his house—only to glance up and catch Anne watching.

“Are you judging my gardening choices too?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. I’m planning to install an urban hive next.”

Anne blinked. “Like… bees?”

He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. “They’re good for the garden. Should like it here.” He glanced around, as if picturing them already.

“And your grand plan is to become a beekeeper on top of everything else?”

Gilbert’s brow twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slow, easy smirk. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Anne shook her head, but she couldn’t quite stop smiling.

Diana, who had been quietly observing the whole exchange with the air of someone watching their favorite slow-burn romance play out, sighed dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.”

Anne ignored her. But as she watched Gilbert rake a hand through his curls, the sunlight catching on his tanned skin, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Diana might be onto something.

The following Saturday Anne stepped outside on a breezy morning, already picturing the flaky almond croissants she was determined to snag before the bakery stall at the market sold out. The scent of blooming honeysuckle lingered in the air, mixing with the quiet hum of the slowly waking neighborhood.

Basket in hand, she was just about to turn around to lock the door, key in hand, when something unusual caught her attention—a lone figure slumped over the steering wheel of a car parked right in front of her house.

Her stomach tightened. She recognized that car.

Gilbert.

Was he okay? Had he fallen asleep mid-drive? Was this the moment she’d have to heroically smash a car window to perform an emergency rescue?

Without a second thought, she run to the gate, onto the pavement, up to the car and tapped on the window.

Nothing.

She knocked louder.

Still nothing.

Finally, she rapped her knuckles against the glass with enough force to wake the dead.

Gilbert startled awake with a dramatic jolt, eyes wide, hair a complete disaster. He blinked at her in confusion, like a man trying to piece reality back together.

“Anne?” His voice was thick with sleep. “What—what are you doing?”

“Fishing for lake trout,” she felt relief washing over her. “Gilbert, why are you treating your car like a five-star hotel?”

He rubbed a hand down his face. “I must’ve dozed off.”

“You think?” Anne crossed her arms. “You can’t sleep in your car. Come inside before you get arrested for suspicious loitering.”

Gilbert blinked at her, then at his house, then back at her, as if trying to remember how doors worked. “Just finished a double shift,” he mumbled. “Didn’t make it inside. Just needed a minute to close my eyes.”

“That was more than a minute. That was an entire REM cycle.”

A slow, lopsided smile tugged at his lips. “Well, at least I made it to the right address.”

Anne’s initial worry was quickly giving way to sympathy. “Come on, I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “You already passed out in front of my house. The least I can do is caffeinate you before you wander off like a zombie.”

Gilbert groaned but let her guide him inside where he plopped onto the couch.

“Stay here. No sudden movements. Try not to faceplant. I’ll be right back.”

Gilbert immediately slumped against the cushions, looking seconds away from slipping back into unconsciousness, whilst Anne headed into the kitchen.

She set the kettle to boil, grabbing the first mug she could find. As she waited for the water to heat, she nervously drummed her fingers against the counter, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that Gilbert Blythe was in her living room.

They’d talked plenty of times. He’d even handed her misdelivered mail more than once. But somehow, having him here felt… different.

The kettle clicked, stopping her from overthinking. She exhaled, relieved, loaded the tray with drinks and shortbread, and carried it into the living room—only to find Gilbert fast asleep again, head tilted back, breathing slow and even.

His tired face, usually full of teasing grins, was relaxed, the worry lines smoothed away. Anne set the tray down, grabbed a blanket and draped it over him, then went back to the kitchen and settled at the table with her laptop. Hours slipped by unnoticed, lost in emails and deadlines, until a sleepy voice interrupted her thoughts.

“You should’ve woken me up.”

Anne looked up to find Gilbert standing in the doorway, running a hand through his hair. His shirt was rumpled, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and he looked entirely too good for someone who had spent the night in a car.

“You looked like you needed it.”

He yawned, leaning against the counter. “But I messed up your plans.”

Anne shrugged. “I caught up on work I’d been putting off too long, so technically, you did me a favor. You may owe me a couple of almond croissants, though.” She eyed the cold coffee on the tray. “And before I send you back into society you need one properly brewed coffee."

Gilbert looked at the mug in front of him, reading aloud, “‘What superbly featured room and what excellent boiled potatoes.’” He chuckled. “I should've known you were a Pride & Prejudice fan.”

“Well spotted”, said Anne, slightly impressed.

"My mom’s obsessed. The book, movies, especially the Bollywood version. On their 40th wedding anniversary, my parents went to England to do one of those Austen tours. My dad even dressed up.” He pulled open her cupboard without hesitation, scanning her collection. “Got any more?”

The ease with which he did that struck her, like he’d done this a hundred times already.

"‘Talk Darcy to me.’ Oh, she’d love that.” He turned to her. “Okay, you need to tell me later where you found these."

Anne watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity as he closed the cupboard.

“Don’t get up,” Gilbert said, grabbing his now-cold coffee. “I’ll just reheat this—” He found the microwave, popped it in, and pressed start.

Anne gasped. “Marilla would never forgive me if she knew I let a guest drink microwaved coffee.”

“You can blame me for that.” Gilbert shot her a lazy smile.

“Oh, I do.” She let out an exaggerated sigh. “At least let me offer you some of her shortbread as compensation.”

She passed him the plate, and he took a bite, eyes widening. “This is insanely good!”

“It better be, with the amount of butter and sugar in it. You should probably check your cholesterol after this.”

Gilbert, with a slow, deliberate look, reached for another piece. “If I’m going to sin, I might as well do it right.”

Anne’s breath hitched. The microwave dinged, Gilbert retrieved his coffee and dropped into the chair across from her.

“Gluttony sounds like a seductive life choice when the shortbread is worth it,” he said, popping another piece into his mouth, without looking away from her.

Anne took a sip of her tea to distract herself. This man was dangerous. Not even five minutes into the conversation, and he’d already made her mind fuzzy.

“So,” she said, steering the conversation elsewhere, “was your night particularly eventful, or is this just standard Friday night ER chaos?”

Gilbert stretched, suppressing a yawn. “Oh, you know. Broken bones, some questionable life choices, a couple of people yelling at the nurses because the waiting room TV wasn’t on their favorite channel—”

“Go on.”

“Let’s see… it started slow with a kid who got a finger stuck in a door.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, we did an X-ray and only the tip was broken. But the good news is little bones heal fast. Just needed some tape and pain relief, no cast. It’ll be good as new in a few days.”

"Then came the usual parade of drunk people—alcohol poisoning, falls, cuts, broken noses, bar brawls. And, of course, the ones who argue about the wait time, complain that somebody who came after them was admitted faster, or whine that the TV in the waiting room isn’t on their favorite channel."

Anne shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. “So not only are you saving lives, but you’re also a customer service rep? Sounds like you deserve a raise.”

Gilbert rubbed his face. “We have to make sure no one slips through the cracks. Can’t get distracted.” His voice was quieter now.

“Then there was a pile-up on the Don Valley Parkway. Ambulance brought everyone to us, so it was all hands on deck. No time to breathe.”

Anne hesitated, then reached out, covering his hand with hers. His skin was warm beneath her touch, grounding. It felt very comforting, and she wondered if he felt that too.

Then Gilbert exhaled. “But! We also get some truly ridiculous cases.”

“Like what?”

“Once, a guy came in insisting he’d been bitten by a zombie and he was turning into one.”

“Diagnosis?”

“Food poisoning. Eating expired sushi is always a gamble.”

“Honestly? That’s a little disappointing. I was hoping for at least one real-life paranormal emergency."

“Oh, and then, of course, there’s the light bulb people.”

Anne gaped. “The what?”

"You’d be surprised how many people get light bulbs stuck in their mouths. Easy to get in, but once it’s in, the jaw locks. Can’t get it out without muscle relaxants. Then it pops right out.”

“But what if they sneeze before it’s out?!”

“Fortunately, I’ve never had to deal with that.”

"And this is something you have to deal with regularly?"

"Yes. Once, we had a guy with an average A size light bulb stuck in his mouth, and then his friend—who came with him!—showed up an hour later with an even bigger light bulb because, and I quote, ‘he thought it was a matter of technique.’”

Anne clapped a hand over her mouth, and they both started to laugh.

“ER nights are a wild mix of serious cases and insanity.”

“And you’re out here making sure the light-bulb-eating public stays alive.” She raised her mug. “To you, Dr. Blythe.”

He chuckled, mirroring her toast. “To ridiculous life choices.” he sipped. “And now I want to hear all about you. What type of job requires a mean throwing arm?"

Time ticked by, marked by drink refills, stories about her job, Marilla and Matthew, and her life before moving here.

“So you understand I had to show her that I can walk on that roof,” Anne said, leaning forward.

Gilbert stared at her, brows raised, lips twitching. “Something tells me you’d be a frequent patient in my ER.”

“I’ll have you know, my survival instincts are impeccable. It’s just…my decision-making skills that are questionable.”

Suddenly the clock struck midnight.

She blinked. “Wait, what? When did it get so late?”

Gilbert tilted back in his chair, looking perfectly content. “Good conversation does that.”

“Alright, Doctor Blythe, it’s time for you to finally get some real sleep,” Anne stood up to clear their empty mugs.

Gilbert grabbed the empty pizza boxes—the ones they’d somehow demolished at some point in the evening—and followed her to the door.

He lingered there, hand resting on the frame, as if debating something. “This was… nice. Very nice. Thank you for having me over.” He hesitated for a second. Then he reached for her hand, lifting it gently to his lips. His eyes held hers as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Maybe we could do this again sometime. Preferably without me passing out in my car first.”

Her cheeks went up in flames and a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies burst to life in her stomach. “I’d like that. Very much,” she said in a hushed tone.

Gilbert opened his mouth as if to add something, but instead, he just flashed her one last dimpled smile before stepping out into the night.

Anne closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment. The house fell quiet again, but the air still buzzed with his presence.

Well. That was not how she thought this Saturday would pan out.

A faint scent of lemons and grass lingered in the kitchen. She moved through the space absently, rinsing mugs, stacking plates, wiping down the counter, her body going through the motions while her thoughts refused to quiet, wandering elsewhere.

Eventually, she switched off the lights and made her way to the bathroom, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of the long day. But even as she slipped into bed, the warmth of his lips lingered on her skin, like a spark refusing to fade.

Chapter Text

The evening air was thick with syrupy summer heat that seemed to refuse to let go. Even the slightest breeze felt like a gift. Somewhere in the distance, a sprinkler sputtered and hissed to life, the scent of damp earth and wildflowers mingling in the air.

Anne, in a pair of khaki shorts and a thin tank top, stepped barefoot onto the grass, her red toenails gleaming like freshly picked cherries against the green. Her hair was piled into a high bun, though the humidity had its own plans, sending unruly curls tumbling free. Two ice-cold bottles dangled from her fingers, condensation dripping onto the ground, almost like water hitting a sizzling hot stove.

“It’s like an oven in there,” she said, handing one to Cole, who—completely shirtless, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat—was sprawled out on Mrs. Lynde’s quilt.

He took the bottle with a dramatic sigh, pressing it to his forehead. “Bless you, my angel. You may have just saved my life.”

Anne dropped down beside him, stretching her legs out. The coolness of the grass against her overheated skin was divine.

Cole took a swig from his bottle and moaned with relief. “You should get a paddling pool.”

“I tried! All sold out, along with fans and air con units. Here, have this instead.”

She tossed him a spray bottle filled with water, the ice cubes clinking inside. He took it gratefully, misting his face and sighing in relief, only to suddenly jerk and swat at his arm with a muttered curse. “I’m being eaten alive,” he grumbled, inspecting the fresh mosquito bite before rubbing it. Another one buzzed near his ear, and he batted at the air with an irritated huff.

“Stop complaining. Become one with nature.”

“If I wanted to become one with nature, I’d move to a cabin in the woods and start a podcast about it.” He swatted at another mosquito. “This is personal now. I swear they’re targeting me.”

“It’s probably all the overpriced matcha in your system. You smell fresh.”

“Will you just let me have one nice thing? I already gave up my avocado toast! Yes, it was expensive, but I’ll be damned if I let capitalism and mosquitoes ruin my night.” Cole gave himself another generous spritz, tilting his head back as the cool mist settled over his face and neck. He fanned himself with his free hand, then groaned. “Ugh, I’m so sticky. How are you so dry while I’m melting here?”

“I don’t sweat. I perspire.”

“Sure, and I don’t hook up on Grindr—I cultivate meaningful interpersonal connections.”

Anne snorted, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. A lazy, easy silence stretched between them, filled only by the flicker of fireflies, the rhythmic hiss of the sprinklers, and the distant hum of passing cars. She traced a finger along the rim of her bottle, eliciting a high-pitched sound, breaking the quiet. Cole shifted onto his side.

“So…” he drawled. “Did you get any more calls from Roy?”

Anne made a non-committal noise before taking another sip of her drink. “Not him per se,” she said finally. “But his sister showed up the other day to collect some of his old CDs. Apparently, even though he gifted them to me, they were never really mine to take when I moved out. And, obviously, he desperately needed them back.”

“Damn. He went full Gotye on you.”

“All that’s missing is me painting myself into his wallpaper.”

“Next time he calls, tell him there’s this thing called Spotify.”

“Hopefully, there won’t be a next time.”

Cole raised his bottle. “Cheers to that.”

Their bottles clinked, and his expression softened. “In all seriousness, are you okay?” He remembered how she had been after the breakup, how she’d plastered on a brave face, moving on with her new life, laughing at all the right moments, but her smiles had never quite reached her eyes.

“As much as it hurt then,” she admitted, “I’m fine now.”

Cole studied her for a beat before nodding. “You deserve to be more than fine.” He reached out, wrapping his fingers around hers, his thumb brushing slow, comforting circles against her skin.

She exhaled, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but being ‘fine’ alone is so much better than being ‘amazing’ with him.”

“Look at you being all ‘I’m no bird and no net ensnares me.’”

Anne chuckled, but before she could retort, Cole arched an eyebrow. “Speaking of being alone… how’s your new neighbor? You know, the tall, dark and apparently very handsome doctor? And why does Diana call him Sleeping Beauty now?”

There was no way for her to stop a treacherous blush creeping up her cheeks.

Her new neighbor. Well, she no longer called him that after that morning when she found him asleep in his car. From then on, he was just Gilbert.

Infuriatingly funny, ridiculously attractive, annoyingly charming, and disarmingly kind Gilbert.

She’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t attracted to him. That her heart didn’t do that little flutter every time she saw him. That she wouldn’t feel as if she’s on fire at the occasional touch of his hand. He was in her head far too often, so much so that she’d caught herself daydreaming about him more than once. And last night? She’d woken up flushed, her pulse racing, the remnants of a dream she definitely wasn’t ready to analyze still in her mind.

Cole caught the reaction instantly and nudged her playfully with his shoulder. “Oh, did I say something wrong? Why are you blushing like a Victorian maiden?”

Anne scowled, feeling the heat creeping up her neck now, annoyed at her own reaction, annoyed that Cole was prying, and especially annoyed that she couldn’t just be cool about her crush. Without a word, she grabbed the spray bottle and drenched him.

“I am not blushing. It’s the weather.”

“You so are.” Cole sputtered, shaking out his wet bangs, grinning, eyes flashing with triumph. She hadn’t been like this with Roy, never this flustered, never this obvious. Her behavior now was so telling, and Cole was absolutely reveling in it. He’d been waiting for a moment like this, and judging by his smug expression, it was even better than he’d hoped.

“I am not ‘getting’ anything.”

“Well, then it’s high time to change that.”

She huffed, lifting the spray bottle again, ready to unleash another attack and to drown his smugness. But before she could do it, a door clicked open, the unexpected sound cutting through the night.

They both turned as Gilbert’s French doors swung open, golden light spilling briefly onto his patio.

"I thought I heard some voices," Gilbert stepped outside, lazily coming up to the fence and leaning his arm on top of it.

Anne sat up so fast she nearly spilled her drink. “We’re just—uh—cooling off. It’s like sauna inside.” Oh God. Has he heard anything? Cole’s teasing? Her reaction to it? Her pulse stuttered at the thought. She took a too-long swig from her bottle, hoping it would somehow cool down the warmth rising under her skin.

“So it’s not just me being spoiled by hospital air-conditioning,” he sighed. “I had to take two cold showers just to recover from the walk from my car to my front door.”

“Somebody here could do with a cold shower too.” Anne definitely heard Cole mutter under his breath into his bottle.

Really subtle, Mackenzie.

Gilbert’s gaze flicked to Cole, amused.

“This is my friend Cole. Cole, this is my Gil—” Anne caught herself. “My neighbor, Gilbert.” She corrected quickly, hoping they were too tired from the heat to notice her little slip.

Cole waved lazily from his spot on the quilt. “Wanna join us? We’ve got cold drinks and enough mosquito bites to start a support group.”

Gilbert grinned. He perked up visibly at the invitation, his whole body seeming to instantly lighten. “Well, since you put it like that…”

Without waiting for further invite, he hopped the fence effortlessly, landing with a grace that made Anne’s stomach flip.

He looked freshly showered, damp curls clinging to his forehead, a loose T-shirt draping over his broad shoulders, shorts hanging just low enough on his hips to make her thoughts veer straight into dangerous territory. His movements were unhurried, the way a tiger might stalk its prey, confident, controlled and completely unaware of the effect he had on her. As he closed the distance, she couldn’t take her eyes off his frame.

Cole let out a low whistle. “Do they teach that at med school?”

“Years of practice hopping fences back home—usually because I was running late for lessons.”

“I see,” Cole laughed, scrambling to get up. “I’ll grab you a drink.”

As Gilbert sat down next to Anne, his T-shirt rode up just slightly, revealing a sliver of tanned skin, the flat plane of his stomach, and—God help her—the shadowed dip that disappeared beneath his waistband. Her mind betrayed her, far too quick to fill in the details from last night’s dream. And now, sitting beside him, it was all too real.

Anne’s brain short-circuited.

Cole’s voice yanked her back before she could linger.

“Welcome to our very exclusive “Oh, Those Summer Nights” gathering, featuring gay Danny Zuko and redheaded Sandy. Rules are simple: Grease is the word, we’ll always be together, and if your chills are multiplying, you have to take a shot. Mooning is optional.”

Anne had never wanted to strangle Cole more in her life.

Gilbert reached for the bottle, his lips twitching as he played along. “Do I need to meditate in your direction too?”

Anne shot Gilbert a sharp glare, her eyes flashing from gray to green in an instant. “Don’t encourage him.”

“He can stay.” Cole leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

Gilbert nodded gratefully. “Glad to have your approval.”

Cole took another sip and then shot Gilbert a lazy grin. “So, Dr. Gilbert. How was your day saving lives?”

Gilbert exhaled a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. Anne had noticed it was a little habit of his and somehow, that small, self-conscious gesture only made him more endearing in her eyes. “With days like this, we had to deal with a lot of heat stroke cases,” he said, shaking his head. “People don’t realize how fast it can sneak up on them—dehydration, dizziness, nausea—and by the time they come in, some of them are completely out of it.”

Cole’s brows pulled together. “That bad?” His usual jesting edge was gone now, real concern slipping through.

“Elderly patients and young kids get hit the hardest. We had a few severe cases today—one guy passed out on the sidewalk, and a little girl nearly fainted at the park.”

Anne’s stomach twisted. “Are they okay?”

“They’re stable now,” Gilbert reassured her. “IV fluids, monitoring, making sure their vitals were steady before sending them home.” He spoke almost absently, like he was still running through the steps in his head, replaying every detail to make sure nothing had been missed. “It’s scary how quickly it happens. People always underestimate the heat.”

She nudged his knee with hers. “Sounds exhausting in this weather.”

Gilbert shrugged, like it was nothing, but there was a tiredness in his eyes. “It’s part of the job, like everything else.” Then, turning to Cole, he asked, “What about you? What do you do?”

“I teach art classes,” Cole brightened instantly, straightening his back.

Gilbert leaned in slightly, genuine interest flickering across his face. “Anything specific?”

“A bit of everything, really. Painting, mosaics, sculpting. I run a ceramics workshop on Tuesdays, a mural project for teens on Saturdays. And,”—his grin turned absolutely wicked—“live drawing sessions. We’re always looking for models, so let me know if you’re ever free in the evening,” he finished with a wink.

Gilbert, completely unbothered, smirked. “Depends. What’s the dress code?”

“Next week, we’re doing sketches inspired by classic Greek sculptures. Interested?”

“I should have David’s outfit lying around somewhere,” Gilbert hummed, rubbing his chin, knowing full well it was better to lean into the teasing than fight it.

Anne nearly choked on her drink. So much for keeping the conversation—and her thoughts—clean.

Cole’s gaze flicked between them, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then he made a few quick swipes on his phone, let out an exaggerated yawn and stretched. “Alright, I’m tapping out. My ride’s waiting out front.” He pushed himself up, dusting off his shorts. “Thank you Gilbert for deciding to join us. Anne, always a pleasure. No, don’t get up, I’ll let myself out.”

He bent to scoop up his T-shirt from the grass, shaking it out before pulling it over his head. The fabric clung briefly to his skin, catching on the lingering heat of the night.

“See you next Friday at Diana’s.” said Anne.

“I’d never deprive you of my presence,” Cole leaned down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Then he turned to Gilbert, flashing a grin. “Nice meeting you, neighbor.”

Gilbert nodded. “Likewise.”

As Cole disappeared inside, the backyard fell into a hush. The air was thick with the smell of grass, honeysuckle, and something deeper—woodsy, citrusy, and warm. A scent she now recognized instantly as Gilbert. Somewhere in the distance, a faint melody carried from some open window, low and lazy, drifted through the night.

“Don’t take Cole too seriously,” Anne said softly, not wanting to disturb the silence. “He’s always like that.”

“Not at all. He seems like a really nice guy.”

She glanced at Gilbert. He was leaning back on his elbows, eyes flicking up toward the sky, completely at ease. The warm glow from the lights carved out the sharp lines of his profile—the strong cut of his jaw, the slight shadow of stubble, the shape of his lips. His lashes were long, annoyingly long, and Anne found herself thinking how unfair it was that a guy could have lashes like that.

And how lovely it was to be next to him.

“The sky is so clear here,” he murmured. “I don’t remember seeing this many stars in the city before.”

Anne tilted her head back, letting her eyes sweep across the sky. The stars stretched endlessly above them, scattered like spilled glitter, blinking against the vast velvety darkness. A whole universe looking down at them.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she said, mesmerized.

And then she noticed—

His gaze had shifted, his attention no longer on the sky but on her face.

“What?” she asked, her heart skipping.

Slowly and gently, as if she might shatter under his touch, Gilbert reached out, his fingers ghosting along the bridge of her nose.

Anne froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“You’ve got a whole constellation here,” his voice even lower now. “Ursa Major.”

Anne blinked. “What—?”

His touch was featherlight as he connected freckles, tracing an invisible path and raising the fire inside her. Something flared up inside her, thick and consuming, something she felt too scared to name. Then he lifted his hand, pointing upward.

“See?” He whispered. “The Big Dipper. Matches perfectly.”

Her skin burned where he’d touched it. Anne looked up and found his gaze already back on her, heavy-lidded and intense.

The air between them shifted.

A new kind of heat unfurled between them, curling in their veins. She wanted to reach out, to thread her fingers through his hair, to pull him down to her. To feel his weight press against her and let herself sink into the flames he was stoking. The realization sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

Her breath came shallow.

His eyes flicked down to her lips.

She parted them, just slightly, a tiny, involuntary gasp escaping. His eyes darkened, his own breath slowing, and for a moment, they hovered at the edge of inevitable.

The night pulsed around them, the electric charge of anticipation stretching between them, daring one of them to make the next move.

And then—

Just as suddenly, he exhaled and sat up, shaking off the moment like he was breaking from a spell. “It’s getting late. I should head back.”

The words tumbled out too quickly, too forced, like he didn’t quite believe them.

“Good night,” Gilbert’s voice rougher at the edges. “Thanks for the drink.”

He got up, stretching, muscles shifting under his shirt. Just as easily as before, he vaulted over the fence, landing on the other side with catlike agility. Anne flopped onto her back, groaning in frustration, wanting to scream at the moon.

What the hell just happened?

Chapter Text

Before she knew what she was doing, Anne was storming out of her house—down the garden—past her gate—turn left—his gate—up his path, feet crunching against gravel. She didn’t slow down, didn’t hesitate, her hands curling into fists at her sides as she knocked on his door, hard, impatient.

With no immediate answer, she knocked again. Harder.

Then the door swung open, and there he was—barefoot, not even a bit winded after that jump over the fence.

Seeing her standing on his doorstep knocked the air right out of him. His eyes went wide, lips parting in a small, startled oh.

“Anne—?” Gilbert’s voice was slightly hoarse, like he wasn’t sure if she was real.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, breathless, heart pounding against her ribs.

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t do that,” she took a step closer, staring him down, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Anne searched his gaze, frantic, desperate, her skin still alive with the feeling of his fingers—those barely-there touches that somehow set her entire body on fire. How did he do that? she thought, frustrated. How did he make me feel like this with almost nothing at all?

“Why did you leave?”

Gilbert opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I—”

“I saw it,” she whispered. “In your eyes. You felt that too.”

Something shifted.

His gaze lifted, locking onto her, and there it was again, those searing flames, that hunger, that unspoken, undeniable pull. The thing they’d both been dancing around since they met. The space between them felt charged, electric, waiting for a single spark to ignite.

Then—

he groaned, low and deep, before closing the distance between them like gravity had decided for him.

And suddenly, he was kissing her.

His lips were on hers, raw and desperate, hands grasping her waist as he pulled her inside. The door slammed shut behind them, his palm fumbling to lock it without ever breaking contact. He backed her against the wall, his body pressing flush to hers—solid, warm, intoxicating. One hand tangled in her hair, the other traced a slow, deliberate path up her spine.

Her head fell back, a gasp slipping from her lips as he left a trail of kisses down her neck, his nose grazing her skin, his teeth skimming the delicate curve of her collarbone. She moaned, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her again, deeper, hungrier, like he had no intention of stopping.

Her fingers tangled in his curls, exactly how she’d imagined—no, fantasized—gripping, tugging, pulling him impossibly closer. She felt dizzy with the overwhelming pleasure, drunk on his scent and the feeling of his body pressed to hers. His lips hovered just below her ear, sending a shiver of something dangerously close to need down her back.

“I’ve dreamt about you every night this week,” he whispered, before catching her earlobe gently between his teeth.

Anne melted at the sound of it, at the way his breath, thick with want, skated over her skin. A wave of heat coiled low in her stomach, her pulse a frantic, unsteady rhythm. Her eyes met his, still starving, still aching. His dark gaze flicked over her face, drinking her in, an unspoken question lifting his brow.

She swallowed. Nodded.

His smirk was slow, wicked, before sinking to her lips one more time. His hands roamed, sliding over her waist, up her back, tugging her toward the stairs, his touch leaving her lightheaded, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded. She reached under his T-shirt, her fingers skimming over the firm lines of his stomach.

He let out a low, needy sound that sent a rush of heat straight through her. She trembled in response, gasping at the feel of his skin under her fingers. His mouth curved against hers at her reaction, like he liked knowing what effect he had on her. They moved messily, blindly, somehow reaching his bedroom, kissing and laughing between stumbles, until he walked backward into the bed, knees hitting the edge.

He sat, chest rising and falling, lips parted, gaze burning.

Anne stood before him, breathless, heart thudding. Slowly, she reached for the hem of her tank top and peeled it off, letting it drop to the floor.

Gilbert’s eyes darkened.

She stepped closer, his hands immediately finding her waist, his fingers dragging up, over her ribs, to her neck. He pulled her down, their lips meeting again, his other hand sliding to the small of her back, tugging her into his lap.

She gave in to him, her body molding effortlessly to his, getting utterly lost in that feeling, her hands sliding into his hair, the world narrowing to just this—

“And then I woke up.”

Anne groaned and threw an arm over her face, as if sheer willpower could erase the dream that had been haunting her since last week.

The silence in the room was deafening.

“What the actual fuck,” Diana said flatly.

Anne peeked between her fingers to find both Diana and Cole slack-jawed, staring at her like she’d just confessed to not liking books.

Cole was the first to recover. He blinked rapidly, then sat up straighter, flinging out his hands in pure exasperation. “Wait, hold up— so you two spend a hot, romantic, novel-worthy night under the stars, looking at each other with those ‘I wanna see you naked’ eyes, and then just—what? Did nothing?” He scoffed. “Anne, if a man looked at me like that, I’d be climbing through his window. I literally left so you two could finally start making out. Even your subconscious is telling you to do him! What happened?”

Anne groaned again and sank deeper into Diana’s couch, like she could disappear into the cushions and avoid this conversation entirely. “I couldn’t.”

Cole narrowed his eyes. “And why, exactly, not?”

“Have you even talked to him since that night?” Diana leaned forward, arms resting on her knees.

Anne stiffened, then grabbed a throw pillow and pressed it over her face, releasing a deep, frustrated huff.

Cole smirked and turned to Diana. “I think that means no.”

Anne sat up, cheeks flushed, hair wild around her face, looking absolutely helpless. “How could I? How could I look at him and pretend I wasn’t thinking about kissing him? That having him there, so close, didn’t mean anything?” Her head dropped back against the couch. “I can’t even get that stupid dream out of my head.”

Diana sighed. “Maybe that’s a sign you should, I don’t know, talk to him? Give him a chance to say something? How did you even manage to avoid him for an entire week?”

“I just… didn’t leave the house while he was home,” Anne admitted, staring up at the ceiling before shifting her gaze back to her friends. Her expression was tight, uncertain. “What if—for him—it was just casual? What if he didn’t feel what I felt?”

Diana uncrossed her arms, her expression softening at the way Anne visibly struggled. “We both see the way you look at him.”

“And the way he looks at you,” Cole added, pointing a finger at her.

Anne huffed, pretending to be occupied with the loose threads on an embroidered cushion. “You guys are reading too much into this.”

“Leave those poor flowers alone.” Diana reached out, snatched the cushion from Anne’s hands, and tossed it across the room. “Anne, you two practically set things on fire just by standing next to each other.”

Cole nodded solemnly. “It’s actually a public safety hazard.”

“It’s not like that,” Anne rolled her eyes.

Diana and Cole exchanged a look that screamed: It’s exactly like that.

Diana tilted her head. “Okay, fine. Let’s entertain your delusion for a second.” She leaned forward. “If Gilbert doesn’t like you the way you like him, then explain why he’s been circling you like a lovesick puppy since he moved in?”

Cole gasped, snapping his fingers. “Oh! Or how about last Friday when you invited him—”

“No, YOU invited him,” Anne corrected.

Cole waved off the interruption. “Only because you were too busy ogling him.” He continued, undeterred. “Anyway, he sat down right next to you.”

“That was accidental!” Anne protested.

Cole smirked. “It was a big quilt, Anne. He could’ve picked another spot. And—” He tilted his head, a wicked smirk on his face. “How many times have you checked if it still smells like him?”

Anne’s eyes went wide as her face turned red. “You are evil.”

Cole cackled.

Diana jumped in. “Or that time he brought you your favorite iced coffee from that little shop on the corner?”

Anne scoffed. “Miss Baker knows my order!”

“But he went out of his way to ask her.”

“Or when you wore that rosebud-print sundress and he looked like he forgot how to breathe?” Cole pointed.

“Or when your pollen allergies flared up, and your eyes went all red and puffy, and he brought you antihistamines?”

Anne threw up her hands. “It was just convenient! There’s a pharmacy in his hospital! Nothing romantic about me looking like a swollen tomato!”

Cole clasped his hands together, eyes twinkling. “Or how he always finds an excuse to talk to you when you’re out in the garden—”

Anne groaned. “We talk about plants! He grew up on a farm!”

“Then why does he ask you all these questions like he doesn’t already know the answers?” Cole shot back.

Diana leaned in. “Ooooor—” she dragged the word out dramatically, “when you invited him for coffee, spent the entire afternoon together, had dinner, and then hung out until midnight?”

Anne scoffed. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Pray tell, what was it then, Anne? Because that sounded suspiciously like a date.”

Anne opened her mouth. Then shut it.

Damn them and their stupid, accurate observations.

Diana grinned like a cat that got the cream. “That’s what I thought.”

Anne exhaled sharply and pushed herself upright. “Okay, yes. I like him. And yes, I noticed all of these things. Obviously. I’m not blind.”

Cole clutched his chest. “The confession we deserve.”

Anne pointed at him. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

“Oh, we’re definitely making a thing out of it,” said Diana. “Now explain why you won’t do anything about it.”

Anne sighed, rubbing her temples. “Because! He lives right there. Right there! Do you know how horrific it would be if we dated and then broke up? I’d have to see him all the time. Every day. Just there. Existing. Being all hot and charming and—” She cut herself off abruptly.

Diana and Cole exchanged another look.

She just played herself.

Anne scowled. “Shut up.”

Diana pressed a hand to her chest, feigning innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

The room fell silent, each second marked by the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock.

After a moment Diana got up and sat beside Anne. Her voice was even softer now. “Anne, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this—not all guys are like Roy.”

Anne flinched.

“And we really think there’s a possibility for something great here,” Cole added.

Anne flopped back onto the couch. “Look. It’s just—he’s already said he’s staying. For longer. And I like living here. It finally feels like my place. I don’t want to pack up my life again and leave.”

Diana frowned. “But isn’t that… a good thing? Him wanting to stay?”

Cole nodded. “Yeah, if anything, that makes it better—less of a countdown, more of a chance for something real.”

Anne pressed her lips together, her heart beating a little too fast.

Diana hated seeing her friend tie herself in knots. “Anne. What if it doesn’t end badly? What if it works?”

That was the real problem, wasn’t it?

It was so much easier to pretend Gilbert Blythe was just a passing thing. A summer crush. Something fleeting with an expiry date marked by the beginning of September.

But if he stayed—if he was here, really here—then there was no ignoring what she’d been trying (and failing) to suppress.

The thought of getting together only to lose him and then having to see him every day terrified her.

But the idea of never trying? Never exploring what could have been?
That scared her more.

Diana and Cole were still watching her, waiting, hopeful.

Anne exhaled sharply, pushing off the couch. She grabbed her bag and marched toward the door. “I need air.”

Cole groaned. “Which means she’s not doing it.”

Diana sighed, throwing herself back against the cushions. “I hate it here.”

“I heard that,” Anne called over her shoulder, refusing to give them the satisfaction of looking back.

Diana barely lifted her head from where she was sprawled on the couch. “Good! Maybe it’ll haunt you into making a move!”

Cole sighed dramatically, tossing a cushion in the air and catching it. “Godspeed, Anne. May your avoidance bring you endless peace and fulfilment!”

Anne bit her tongue, ignoring them both, and shut the door behind her with a little more force than was necessary.

As soon as they heard her footsteps fade down the stairs, Cole turned to Diana, propping himself up on one elbow. “So. Will she go for it?”

Diana scoffed, tucking her legs beneath her. “Absolutely not. But we’ve done all we could.”

Cole groaned. “Right? The more we tell her it’s a good idea, the less she wants to do it. It’s like trying to convince a cat that it actually wants to come inside.”

“Maybe we should call Josie Pye and dare Anne to date him. That might actually work.”

They sat in silence, both lost in their thoughts.

Cole started tossing the cushion again. Then—

“Is it morally wrong to place bets on our best friend’s love life?”

Diana sighed. “Probably.”

Pause.

Cole smirked. “Twenty bucks says she caves.”

“You’re on.”

Chapter Text

Anne spotted him the moment he stepped out of his car.

She had been finding things to do in the living room all day, hovering by the window. She even moved her writing desk closer to it so she could work whilst keeping an eye on the street. Every time she heard the slam of a car door outside, her heart jumped into her throat.
She had arranged it perfectly: a totally unsuspicious, completely accidental meeting. Just her, heading to the shop for some figs and a baguette to pair with baked feta for dinner (a solid backstory is crucial to any good plan, she had told herself). Just two neighbors running into each other at the right place, at the right time.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed a hand to the door handle, running through her strategy in her head.

Step one: Pretend you haven’t seen him.

Step two: Act surprised.

But don’t overdo it.

Step three: Be breezy.

Be the girl from the freaking mascara commercial.

She fumbled with her keys, staring at the lock like securing her door required deep concentration—

Until she heard the voice she’d been waiting for.

"Hello, neighbor! Long time no see!"

Anne dropped her keys.

So much for being breezy.

Maybe she wasn’t born with it after all.

She scrambled to pick them up with as much grace as she could muster, turned around, and schooled her features into casual surprise—only to be immediately derailed.

Gilbert stood on his garden path a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, tie loosened, jacket slung over one arm. Anne had to stop herself from gasping.

Business casual Gilbert was just as attractive as blue scrubs Gilbert. Or, her personal favorite, white t-shirt Gilbert.

Why does he have to be so damn good-looking? she thought irritably. Can’t he do us all a favor and dial it down so we can form coherent thoughts?

But what really sent her heart into a tailspin was the way he was looking at her—like he was drinking her in, his gaze roaming from her hair down to her toes.

“I was starting to think you were avoiding me on purpose. Even Miss Baker was worried.”

Anne had purposely stopped going to the corner shop, specifically because she was terrified of bumping into him. And yet, somehow, not only had he noticed, but he had asked around about her.

Did that mean something? Anything?

She forced a smile, striving for nonchalance. “Oh! Hi, Gilbert! No, of course not. I was just feeling a bit under the weather, so I stayed in.”

Immediately, his playful expression shifted to concern.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, stepping closer. "I could’ve helped… Was it your allergies again? How are you now?"

The genuine worry in his voice made Anne instantly regret her excuse.

She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, really. Just a little cold.” She cleared her throat for good measure, as if that would sell the lie.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “You know, people act like you can’t get sick in the summer, but trust me, it happens more than you’d think."

Anne nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m all good now. Nothing a cup of tea with honey and lemon couldn’t fix. Good as new!”

That statement would have sounded much more convincing if she hadn’t immediately stumbled over her own feet.

Stupid wedge sandals.

Yeah, but you wore them because you know they make your legs look sensational, didn’t you?

Gilbert moved instinctively, his body leaning forward, hand extending—like he was ready to catch her. But Anne straightened quickly, shooting him the I’m fine smile.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping back.

Then—his tone shifted. “Listen, Anne… about that night.”

Her stomach clenched, but she kept her expression neutral. Breezy. Be stonking breezy. Queen of breeze.

“Was there something about it?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay light.

Gilbert studied her like he was debating something. “I just wanted to say sorry for leaving so suddenly. I didn’t want to—” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Didn’t want to what?” Anne prompted, her pulse quickening.

He exhaled, giving her a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “I really like you, Anne. And I’d hate to do anything that could ruin what’s between us.”

Anne felt the words land softly but the impact was anything but gentle. An instant rush of something heady and sweet, before doubt crept in.

What did he mean by that?

Was he… friendzoning her? Letting her down easy? Was this his way of drawing a line, of making it clear that whatever had been simmering between them—whatever she had felt—wasn’t something he shared?

Or was it the opposite?

Was he saying he cared too much? That there was something between them, something real, something worth protecting?

What exactly was between them? And—more importantly—was that "I really like you" or "I really like you"?

Her brain scrambled for a response, something cool, casual, safe and totally unaffected that wouldn’t betray the way her heart was currently slamming against her ribs, trying to decide between soaring and sinking.

She nodded a little too cheerfully. “All is good! Peachy!”

Why did I just say peachy? she groaned inwardly.

Gilbert let out a breath, visibly relieved. “Good. Good! Oh, I’m so glad.” Then, more tentatively, “I’ve missed you,” he said, and something unreadable in his eyes sent a million butterflies fluttering in her chest.

His gaze lingered on her.

"Are you busy this Friday?" The words tumbled out in a rush. "I finally unpacked the last of my boxes, so I’m throwing a little housewarming party. Just some friends from work, nothing big, very casual. I’d love for you to come."

Anne hesitated.

And he noticed.

Still, undeterred, Gilbert gave her a small, easygoing smile. “Well, the invite stands. Pop in whenever you want. There’ll be food, drinks, and some questionable music choices. All casual. No pressure.”

He shifted his weight like he wanted to say something more, then shook his head slightly, sent her one last smile and headed toward his door.

Anne stood frozen in place, watching him disappear inside.

And that was it.

No tension. No lingering frustration from their almost-moment. Just him being a good neighbor. Friendly.

Very friendly.

But was that all she was prepared to settle for?

Friday afternoon, and Anne was back at the front window, peeking through the curtains at the steady stream of guests arriving at Gilbert’s house.

Laughter and music drifted through the evening air, mingling with the warm glow spilling from his windows. It felt so alive. And nice. And inviting.

And what was she doing instead of joining them?

Hiding.

She had been on edge all day, her phone buzzing with missed calls from Roy—enough to make her seriously consider changing her number.

What did he want this time?

Anne exhaled sharply, already anticipating the message he’d send when she didn’t pick up his tenth call. Something about Aline coming tomorrow to grab another something that he’d just remembered belonged to him.

And she thought that chapter of her life was truly over.

So, watching the party unfold next door? A welcome distraction.

Her stomach tied up in knots with indecision.

To go or not to go—that was the question looping in her mind.

Apart from Gilbert, she didn’t know a soul there. The last thing she wanted was to get stuck somewhere between hummus and guac with nobody to talk to, awkwardly sipping her drink while her heart insisted on sinking whenever she saw his smile.

Maybe she could just… step outside for some air? Take a casual stroll past his house, just a little peek through the window? No harm in that.

Anne opened the door and stood on the porch, craning her neck, pretending to enjoy the evening breeze when—

“Sounds like a nice party.”

She jumped at the voice behind her.

Spinning around, she found Mr. Harrison standing on his porch, watching her with a knowing smirk.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Anne feigned lightness, as if she hadn’t just been caught red-handed peeping like a nosy neighbor. “Are you going?” she asked, deflecting.

Mr. Harrison shook his head, slipping his keys into his pocket. “No, I have other plans tonight.”

It was only then that Anne really looked at him.

Mr. Harrison was in pressed slacks, a neatly buttoned jacket, and a crisp shirt with a tie. His wisps of white hair were carefully combed, and in his hands, he held a bunch of yellow roses and irises.

A nervously gripped beautiful bouquet.

He glanced at Gilbert’s house. “What about you? Are you going in?”

Anne hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know…”

Mr. Harrison studied her for a second, then asked simply, “What other plans do you have for this evening?”

Anne crossed her arms. “Cozy plans. Safe plans.” Plans that didn’t involve putting herself in a situation that could make her living arrangements painfully complicated.

He cleared his throat.. “You know… when you cling too hard to the idea of ‘safe,’ sometimes you end up alone. Take it from me.”

Anne bit her lip, glancing sideways at Gilbert’s house again.

Sensing her hesitation, Mr. Harrison just chuckled. “Anyway, you’ll do what’s best for you.”

He adjusted the bouquet in his hands, looking, for the first time since she has known him, flustered.

Seeing this, Anne smiled warmly. “I hope you have a lovely evening.”

The tops of his ears went pink. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Then, just as he turned to leave, he plucked a single iris from the bouquet, walked over, and passed it to her over the garden wall.

“You could always go just to say hi.”

Anne twirled the stem between her fingers, watching him drive away. She went inside, put the iris in a vase, and determinedly picked up her book.

Three pages later, she had no idea what she’d read.

The noise of the party filtered in through the open window, pulling at her, making her restless. She got up to shut it, but her eyes caught on the iris once more.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she marched upstairs, changed into jeans and a soft green top with delicate lace frills along the neckline, then headed back to the kitchen. She left her phone on the table—a problem for later—grabbed a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and the gift bag with the small bronze pineapple she’d picked up after Gilbert’s invitation.

She took a deep breath.

Then, she was out the door.

When she turned the key in the lock, realization settled deep in her bones.

She no longer found their friendship satisfying.

But if she wanted more, she would have to take the first step.

And one way or another—she would get her answer.

The music grew louder as Anne approached Gilbert’s house. Laughter and snippets of conversation spilled from the open windows, the warm hum of voices carrying into the night.

Balancing her gifts in one hand, the other nervously fidgeting with the hem of her top, she took another steadying breath. A flicker of nerves twisted through her stomach, but before she could rethink her decision, she raised a hand and knocked.

The door swung open—

And there he was.

Gilbert stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned just at the top. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and for a moment—just a moment—Anne swore she forgot how to breathe.

Give him a long coat, and he could walk through a misty morning straight out of a novel, she thought fleetingly, before mentally shaking herself.

His gaze roamed over her, slow and lingering and a smile spread across his face.

“Anne.”

There was something in the way he said her name—something undeniable. A surprised delight threading through it, unraveling a slow, dizzying rush inside her that dissolved into a wild kaleidoscope of butterflies, impossible to ignore.

“You made it.”

Without missing a beat, he stepped aside. “Come in.”

Anne hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Just for a bit,” she hedged, stepping inside, willing herself to appear far less nervous than she felt. She lifted the bottle of wine. “Oh—I brought this.”

Gilbert took it, grinning. “Excellent. Much appreciated.”

“And this.” She handed him the small gift bag.

Curious, he peeked inside, pulling out the brass pineapple. His brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“It’s supposed to bring good luck. And you can use it as a paperweight. People used to place them on their front porches to invite guests in.”

Gilbert turned it over in his hands, his expression unreadable before he looked up at her.

His eyes softened.

“That’s so lovely. Thank you, Anne.”

And again—that something in the way he said her name.

A warmth that settled deep in her bones.

He held her gaze a moment longer, then his lips quirked into a boyish, dimpled grin. “Come on. Let me introduce you to everyone.”