"- What exactly are your intentions with my daughter?"

As he walked arm in arm with Winnifred through the fair, Gilbert started to analyse Mr. Rose's question, one that, as he made very clear, was purely for humour purposes, right?

No, he couldn't fool himself. Although he was only 18, and even with the absence of a fatherly figure in his late teenage years, he knew the ways of courting. Or at least, he thought he knew.

One thing was for sure, Winnifred bloomed with the plans of introducing him to her parents. And now with Sebastian insinuations and mr. and mrs. Rose's little jokes here and there, the idea of a wedding seemed more present and daunting than ever.

Not that marrying Winnifred would be a nightmare. She was undeniably really pretty, and her sense of humour and perky manners definitely caught his eye. But yet, he wondered of something wasn't missing.

Shouldn't the thought of spending his life by her side make him feel less scared or nervous? Perhaps... shouldn't he feel some sort of thrill while holding her hand?

He honestly didn't know what to expect of love. Was it a synonym to attraction and fondness? Was there more to it than enjoying spending time together?

Gilbert woke from his thoughts as they approached a small crowd gathered in front of a wooden stage. Apart from a few fellas, he recognized Marilla and Mathew Cuthbert, who waved for them to come closer as they excitedly waited for Anne's "Mary's cake" to be judged.

Anne... Perhaps her idealistic views on love were rubbing off on him. After all, Anne was one to always fantasise about heroic romances, and, as she approached them eagerly with rosy cheeks and her flaming hair running loose on her back, he started to wonder if someone would try to turn her love stores into reality sooner than later.

And at that very moment, with an odd feeling, he also realised that he preferred when her hair was kept in braids.

At that same night, as he laid on his bed looking at the ceiling, he let his thoughts run wild. And even though he fought against it, the image of her kept coming back. Her puzzled look as he introduced her to Winnie. And then the odd response when he tried to comfort her about losing the cake competition. "That couldn't be it. I'm probably just twisting her words, giving it a meaning they don't have. That's the same girl that dismissed your company before. That avoided even talking to you for almost a year. That's Anne, for heaven's sake."

And as to give validation to his thoughts, he proceeded to remember how smiley she was when dancing with Charlie Sloane. He couldn't recall if she smiled as much when practicing the Dashing White Sergeant with him, on a friday class.

But at the same time, he couldn't forget how her eyes would not leave his own, how unaware he was of anything but that. How easy it was to leave all their past and history behind and just live the moment. How small her hand felt on his own...

He stopped his train of thoughts as he felt his heartbeat running faster, half surprise, half angry and ashamed at his own feelings. It wasn't his hand that she was holding at the fair.

Furthermore, his talks with Bash made him realise that he shouldn't take those feelings so seriously. They would've probably already faded away if he didn't visited them quite so frequently.

And even if those confusing thoughts would mean anything, he shouldn't mistake them with something as complex as love. He couldn't imagine a future where him and Anne would be able to talk for two minutes without fighting, moreover to marry and spend a life together. So, if not love, how would he find another word for it?

The unlikeness of the whole situation gave him half a chuckle. Closing his eyes in a hope to clear his mind, he assured himself that he was in the right path with Winnie and tried to fall asleep.