GILBERT

All he heard her say was "I love you" and that was all he needed.

Kissing Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, his Anne with an E, was what heaven must be like. How he could ever have thought twice about Winnifred while this beautiful, fiery young woman had been right in front of him for years was beyond him as soon as their lips melted together. Everything about her felt right. The way her cheek felt under his caressing thumb, the curve of her waist against his arm, the wisps of her brilliant red hair tickling his face as they leaned into each other.

"You are my dream. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I'm in love with you."

How he'd yearned to say those words ever since that glorious slate hit his cheek. Ever since he'd received her letter back on the ship with Bash, when no one else had written. Ever since they'd both leaned in to blow out that Christmas tree candle. Ever since she'd hugged him and hadn't let go when Mary was diagnosed with sepsis, when he'd needed her touch the most. Ever since he'd danced with her, holding her hand and twirling her around, her blazing red hair trailing after. And ever since that night at the Ruin's, when she danced on her own in the firelight, looking like a flame herself. Ever since forever.

She tried to tell him she couldn't offer him anything, and that's when he realized just how deeply he was in love with her. Anne was more than he could ever need. She was his air, something he couldn't live without. So he put everything he could into those kisses and caresses, hoping against all odds she would return them.

And she did.