Anne awoke the next morning still riding the high of the night before. The adrenalin she'd felt up on that stage - all eyes fixed on her - coursed through her veins. She leapt out of bed and dramatically wrapped the quilt that sat atop it around her shoulders as though it were a cape. Taking a most theatrical pose in front of the mirror in her bedroom, she began:

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts."

She laughed, delighted to be able to recall the Bard from memory and ready to put behind her the deep and unrelenting sadness she'd languished in since the news of Gilbert had first reached her. She threw off her cape and stretched her hands high into the air, feeling every muscle from the small of her back up to the tips of her fingers stretch and extend. She wiggled her fingers slowly, moving them too and fro like the flicker of a determined candle.

Letting out a sudden gustly breath and an audible sigh, she folded at the waist and let her body fall over her toes, gingerly swinging about her arms and head. It was time to let everything go - to let him go - and she knew it. Returning to a standing position, she shook out her arms and legs, shoulders and knees, releasing all of the pain and disappointment of the last few months, and then she jumped up and down a few times like a boxer preparing for a fight. Finally, her body quieted and she put her hands on her stomach. She drew in a deep breath. She was full again. She was herself again.

Sweeping over to the window in her room, Anne dropped on her knees and gazed out into the late August morning, her eyes glistening with delight. Oh, wasn't it beautiful? Growing up in this room, she'd gazed for hours at the huge cherry-tree that grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped against the house, but today she saw her beloved snow queen with new eyes - like a cousin or a sister, wanting to wrap its arms around her in a familial embrace. On both sides of the house the big orchard, one of apple-trees and one of cherry-trees, also called to her and the dizzily sweet fragrance of Green Gables drifted up to the window on the morning wind, filling her lungs and further luring her outside.

Anne had always held a secret conviction that God was in the plants and the scenes of the great outdoors. Why pray to the heavens from the foot of one's bed or in the cold pews of the church when creation was all around? Laying in the fields with one's hands in the dirt and one's eyes cast upwards on the clouds seemed, to Anne, the most divine and inspired communion with God one could possibly experience in this earthly life. She had a sudden urge to pray, in her own way of course, and so she threw on whatever rag tag clothes were within reach, pulled her hair up off her face, grabbed the quilt, and made a run for it.

Down the stairs she skipped, almost tripping on the second to last. Sweeping past the dining table, she flung open the kitchen door and ran out into the yard, basking in the sun shine on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a carriage coming up the road.

"Gilbert?" she said aloud before she could stop herself, but of course it wasn't Gilbert driving the buggy she saw. This driver had lighter hair and a stiffer posture and, besides, Gilbert was in Toronto.

"Who could that be?" she thought to herself, turning to face the mysterious stranger and putting her hands on her hips. She took a few steps in that direction when his features started to come into focus.

"Christopher." She paused, wondering. She cleared her throat. "Christopher!" she called, waving to her old friend and picking up her pace. He brought the buggy to a stop and hopped off.

"Anne!"

"What brings you over so bright and early? I thought we all agreed to meet up this afternoon for lunch?"

"Well, after last night's triumph, I thought it only right that I bring my congratulations first thing."

"But you already congratulated me? Last night after the performance?"

He froze. "I suppose I've been caught in a lie. I set off this morning to apologize again for overstepping last year. I tried all summer to put this in a letter but I knew face-to-face was best. I'm so, so sorry, Anne. I knew you were with Gilbert and I ran my mouth off anyway. I hope we can still be friends. I'd hate to lose you because I said something stupid."

"Christopher, please, it's water under the bridge. Really."

"Really? You're sure?" She nodded. "That's such a relief. I've been beside myself for months."

"I know from first hand experience how wonderful it feels to unburden oneself."

"Indeed. So, how are you? How's Gilbert?"

Anne's turn to freeze. "Um … Gilbert and I are not together any longer so I guess I don't know how he's doing."

Christopher's eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"I'm so … um, I mean, are you … um, I'm not sure what to say."

"It's fine, you don't have to say anything."

They stood there together, not saying anything, for quite some time. In an effort to push past the awkwardness and immerse herself in all of that wonderful creation she was so longing for before the interruption, Anne suggested Christopher join her on a walk. He consenting, parking his buggy outside the bar. Anticipating the great beauty that lay ahead of them and desiring to eat up any remaining silence, Anne acted as tour guide and shared her version of what was all around:

"The garden," she pointed, "is that green field lush with clover slopes down to the hollow where a brook runs and scores of white birches grow, upspringing airily out of an undergrowth suggestive of delightful possibilities in ferns and mosses and woodsy things generally. Beyond it is a hill, green and feathery with spruce and fir; there is a gap in it where the gray gable end of the little house you can see from the other side of the Lake of Shining Waters is visible. Off to the left are the big barns and beyond them, away down over green, low-sloping fields, is a sparkling blue glimpse of sea."

They had hardly taken twenty steps from the when he interrupted:

"Stop, stop please Anne."

"What is it?"

"Well, I suppose I've been caught in a second lie. While I am sorry and I do hope we can friends, I would be lying if I said I did not still have feelings for you. Just listening to you now I can't help myself. I know I'll regret this as I did the last time but I simply cannot stop myself. You are a vision (wrapped in that blanket?) and unlike any woman I've ever met. I know you don't think of me this way but with time I think I can convince you that I am a man worthy of your adoration and affection. Please, let me try." He waited for an answer to the question he hadn't exactly asked.

"I don't know what to say."

"Kiss me?"

"What?!"

"I mean, of course you don't have to, not if you don't want to. But if you want to or … if you're curious … kiss me!"

Anne, still charged up from her dramatic victory the evening before and remembering everything Dianna had told her about the fun of kissing someone that you don't necessarily have feelings for, considered her options.

"Okay" she said, timidly.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"I'll give it a try but I make absolutely no promises."

"Anne …" he stepped towards her and put his hand on her cheek. "Oh Anne." He closed his eyes and leaned towards her.

Anne stood there, motionless, not remembering what to do or how to do it. With Gilbert, kissing had been so effortless, but it seemed that this would require … effort. She forced her eyes closed, and then peaked just a little through her right eye. He was coming for her, although at an epically slow pace, and she was acutely aware of his hand upon her cheek which was very, very sweaty. It was, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable and absurd situation she had ever found herself in, and getting herself in uncomfortable and absurd situations was one of her specialties. Upon realizing this, and clocking for a second time just how wet her friend's hand was upon her cheek, a chuckle formed in her belly and started bubbling up to her throat. She tried as hard as she could to stifle it but it was no use. She burst into laughter!

Christopher's eyes opened with a start and as soon as he registered what was happening his expression shifted, first to embarrassment, then disappointment, then anger. While he understood that she may not have feelings for him, the idea that kissing him was so utterly hilarious to her cut him to the bone. Anne settled herself down and saw the rage in his eyes.

"Christopher, I'm so sorry - please. I didn't mean to, it just happened."

"No need for apologies, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert. Good day."

"Chris, please, don't go. We'll both be able to laugh about this one day, I am sure. Come inside and let's have a cup of tea."

"My sincerest regrets, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, but I absolutely must take my leave. Good day to you."

"Honestly, Chris, come inside, let's talk. Please."

"GOOD DAY, MISS SHIRLEY."