Gilbert knew next morning's conversation would be an important one; the kind of conversation that would permanently shape his and Anne's relationship, for good or for ill. He took the long way back to the dorm after he and Anne parted ways, wandering up and down the city's streets trying to really puzzle things out. Why did Anne have to be so competitive all the time? What was she trying to prove? And why was he so incredibly annoyed with her tonight? Anne really knew how to push Gilbert's buttons, even when she didn't realize she was doing it.

He sat down on a small wooden bench in the middle of Queen's Park and took off his hat, slowly passing it from one hand to the other and back again. After a time, he admitted to himself that, yes, some of what was sticking in his craw was the missed opportunity to dazzle Anne with his vast knowledge and trivia skills. Typically, Gilbert dominated the game, rivalled only by Christine who was a formidable foe to be sure. He realized he'd brought Anne to the pub that night in part because he wanted to show off, and he was frustrated that the opportunity to do so hadn't presented itself. But there was something else. He couldn't put his finger on it but something was off between them.

Gilbert came calling bright and early the next morning ready to sink his teeth into the all-important discussion, even though he had no idea what he was going to say. The house mother at Christine's dorm, Mrs. Allen, turned him away, however, stating emphatically that her charges needed to finish their Sunday morning devotionals before she would release them into the company of suitors, even if those suitors were escorting them to church.

Gilbert anxiously waited for Anne for over an hour. In an effort to calm his nerves, he pulled out the fountain pen he kept in his shirt pocket and tore a blank page from the back of a ladies magazine sitting on the front porch. He put pen to paper, hoping that the exercise of writing down his feelings would help him to process them as it had in the past.

When she finally passed through the front door, Anne was wearing the blue, velvet dress she'd had on so many months ago when she and Gilbert had kissed. She was a vision, and Gilbert's breath caught in his throat.

"I'm happy to see you," they said hurriedly and at the same time.

"There is a lot to talk about, " said Anne.

"Agreed," affirmed Gilbert, pulling out his father's pocket watch. "Unfortunately, we haven't time at the moment. Can we postpone until after church, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert?"

"Of course," said Anne, blushing a little at the formality of Gilbert's address.

Anne opened her lace parasol and swung it over her shoulder. They walked arm-in-arm down University Avenue, not talking. Not in an awkward way, but in a familiar and comforting way. Gilbert led Anne up the stairs and in through the main doors of St. Andrew's Presbyterian Church. She closed her eyes and opened them again, dazzled by her surroundings. St. Andrew's was so much bigger and more magnificent than any church she'd ever seen on the inside. She and Gilbert made their way up the long, wide centre aisle and found a seat on the right hand side in the middle of the pew. While they waited for the service to start, Anne drank in the tragic scenes etched into the church's stained glass windows and marvelled at how the yellow light passing through them made the sanctuary glow.

"Reverend Macdonnell is a renowned orator," Gilbert whispered in Anne's ear. "I think you're going to really appreciate his modern world view."

"I look forward to drinking in the sermon," Anne responded. She was unable to focus on the Reverend, however. All she could think about was Gilbert's right hand resting gingerly on his leg. He was so close; so close in fact that if she were to move her left hand one and three quarter inches her pinky finger would be touching his thumb. She longed to hold his hand, to feel the rush she'd felt that day during dance practise when they'd briefly held hands.

Little did she know, Gilbert was thinking the exact same thing. He considered actually going for it but his ingrained reserve in combination with the fact that the church was extremely warm and his palms were sweating excessively convinced him otherwise. The service was lovely and afterwards the two old friends agreed to take a walk down by the waterfront.

"Gilbert, I am sorry for last night at the trivia …"

"You don't have to be sorry for your performance, Anne," said Gilbert, cutting her off. "You were sensational! You're incredible mind can be so richly explosive at times; I never know when you'll strike a match to it, or why, but I'm always in awe of the results!"

"Thank you," she said, "but I wasn't finished." Gilbert flashed his surprised and intrigued grin in her direction, his eyes sparkling.

"I am sorry for last night at the trivia game. Not my behaviour - it brought me much joy to wipe the floor with those U of T brainacks - but for my motivation." She took a moment to find her next words. "I was putting on airs for Christine ... and trying prove myself to you."

"Prove yourself?" he asked. Anne took a deep breath to summon the courage for what she was about to say.

"It took me a long time to believe that I was worthy of love. First, the love of a family, Matthew and Marilla's love, and that of my birth parents. And now, the love of a …" She stopped.

"A man," said Gilbert.

"Yes," she said, stammering a little. "A man. The thing is, I can't get the picture of you and Winnifred arm-in-arm at the county fair out of my head. I had only come to know my heart that morning, Gilbert, and had just started to think that the connection between us - the gravitational pull I'd felt since the first moment I met you - was real. I had started to think that maybe you had feelings for me too, and that maybe I was worthy of your affection, but when I saw … when I saw you and … it was … crushing."

"Anne, I'm so sorry ... " Gilbert started, trailing off. He had felt a pang of guilt every time he thought of Winnifred but he hadn't really understood how much his relationship with Winnifred had hurt Anne. He was angry with himself for all of the stalling and indecision, especially when Bash (and Mary too for that matter) had seen the truth and spelled it out for him so expressly.

Seeing his expression, Anne quickly added: "I don't blame you, Gilbert, but I understand now that a seed was planted that day. A seed of doubt. Somewhere, buried deep inside me, lives the belief that someone better will come along and you'll choose her over me. When I saw you and Christine together at the train station, it triggered something in me that I'm not proud of and which has only grown over the last two days. Not to mention Kathleen's inconsiderate …"

"Not Kathleen! What did she say?"

"It doesn't matter. All of this to say that I imagined our reunion a thousand times in my head and never once did I envision being plagued by insecurity. Nor did I think you and I were going to fall victim to old patterns."

"We do have a way of not saying the things we're actually thinking and feeling," Gilbert said. Anne nodded. "I imagined our reunion a thousand times myself," he added.

"You did?"

"I have been cursing the stars that our stories didn't align and intersect until so very late. I have been thinking about all of the wonderful times we could have spent together in Avonlea or elsewhere had I gotten to the bottom of all of this sooner."

"Gotten to the bottom of what?"

"Here," he said, pulling the note he scribbled earlier on the porch from his pants pocket. "Read this."

Dear Anne,

Please accept this abridged version of the note I left for you on your dresser during harvest. If I remember correctly, some 'mysterious force' prevented you from reading it at the time.

'You are the fond object of my affection and my desire. You and you alone are the keeper of the key to my heart. I am not engaged, nor will I be unless it is to you, Anne. My Anne with an E. It has always been and will always be you.'

These words are as true now as they were then. I love you.

Gilbert

P.S. May I borrow your pen? This one is entirely inadequate and I have a lifetime of love letters to write to you, my darling.

Anne finished reading the note and looked up at Gilbert.

"I think I was trying to cram a lifetime of romance into one weekend and as soon as something didn't go as planned I was gone for," said Gilbert, a little sheepishly.

"It's a beautiful note, Gilbert. I will treasure it always," Anne said sincerely.

"Always?" Gilbert asked.

"Always." She smiled. "So what was it exactly that didn't go as planned?"

"You're going to laugh."

"Try me."