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Pleasantries. Anne hates pleasantries, at least when they’re exchanged with someone who’s always effortlessly going to be the more pleasant person.
„I should accompany you home, Anne“, Gilbert says in that annoyingly earnest Gilbert Voice where the next sentences, undoubtedly, would turn out to be something like „it’s no problem, really“ and „I insist“. „The road is really slippery these days. I would hate for you to break your leg and stay away from school.“
„Well, I would hate to rob you of an academic challenge!“ Anne teases him, and yet when he offers her his arm like the gentleman he is, she makes a point to dance away from him and step into the right track of the road. Gilbert’s expectant arm falls to his side, and he retreats to the left track. They smile at each other, divided by a heap of snow.
It’s been nice, that roadtrip with him down to Nova Scotia. She’s known for a while that there is no real animosity between them, that in fact, they share more similarities than she would’ve cared to admit to herself at age 13. Their drive, their losses, how they care for other people. The way how he shyly touched her shoulder when she stared up to him and whispered that her parents loved her, right?
These past few days she’s felt closer to him than ever before. She’s not sure yet why on some days she feels like he could become another kindred spirit, yet on some days a single smile of his makes her stomach churn and flip as if she’s sick.
They trade some barbs and jokes, comfortable in their newly deepened friendship, and suddenly they’re in front of her house. „That was fun“, Anne says with a nervous grin. Her gaze flits over the frozen ground.
„I think so too.“ Gilbert looks at her again, his eyes warm on her cheek. „By the way, if you don’t need them anymore …“
„Oh!“ Anne hastily takes off the woollen mittens that he kindly lent to her after she foolishly lost her own pair in Charlottetown. „I truly intended to give them back to you, I swear! I’m not a thief!“
„I believe you, Anne.“ He laughs. She stretches out her hand and he meets her in the middle, his frost-bitten fingers meeting hers in a shiver. „It’s been a pleasure, milady.“
There’s a twinkle in his eyes and for some reason he’s lifting up their entwined hands, his head dipping low …
(His hand is so big in hers, when did he become tall enough to wrap himself around her?)
Anne panics and flips their hands, without thinking … pressing a kiss to his icy, too-big hand. „It’s been a pleasure, Sir. G’bye!“
She runs. In her wake she leaves a poor teenager with a crush bigger than his heart and cheeks just as flaming red as her ears.
Diana’s going to have a field day with this.