After breakfast, with their bellies full, the twins handled the dishes. Katherine Brook took the puppy, the newly christened Fido for a long rambling walk, or so she said. Marilla and Mrs. Lynne stayed at the kitchen table, nursing their coffee, with a perfect view of the porch, where Anne had set up one of the chairs from the kitchen table and one of the small tables from the edge of the couch. He had helped her find the pieces for the set-up, reenacting the scenes from many Christmas mornings of his childhood.

For a moment, the two of them simply looked at each other. She giggled and he couldn't help but giggle along with her.

For a moment, the nervousness was palpable between them. He wondered if he should dare trust her with a blade. He had long ago learned not to trust her with a slate. A blade was much more dangerous, but the slate had been years ago. Since then, she had grown into a much better temper. He took a deep breath and sat down.

If she slit his throat, he decided he would die a happy man.

Slowly buy surely, he talked her through it. From the preparation of his face with the warm towel and the shaving cream to the first pass of the blade. When she was ready, he chose his next words very carefully in case they were his last.

"Do your worst, Anne-Girl." The nickname was new, something he hadn't really thought before it left his mouth, but the way her eyebrow quirked and the sly smile made her dimples appear, he knew he had done something right.

The same smile disappeared as she approached him with the blade. Anne nervous was not something he was used to, but ever since they had become engaged, and everything was new and forbidden and held so much more weight it had become the new normal.

The nerves should not have been normal. He swallowed gently and looked up at her, a soft smile on his lips, the lather light and airy on his cheeks, the familiar mahogany with a hint of lavender scent all around him. "Is this your first time with a blade?"

Her lips cracked into a gentle smile. "Not quite," she said, her eyes sparkling with the smile. "But I have been more used to fighting off pirates with a tree branch or two."

As she described it, he could see it. The dappled light through the trees as she wielded a long tree branch like a pirate's sword, mastering her footwork, her wild red hair swinging in the breeze. Even well into their twenties, she had been known to taking to fancy when it distracted her enough. Her imagination had started to rub off on him in her letters.

"Still taking on Blackbeard and his rogues?"

Her eyes lit up. "Oh yes," She said. "The oak branches are particularly well weighted this year. I have to save the pirate prince and flimsy branches simply won't do." She laughed, but cut it short. She looked down at the long razor, nearly too heavy in her delicate hands. "A razor isn't quite the same." Her eyes roamed his features in a way that made him nearly feel naked. "I don't want to cause any permanent scarring."

So that was what she was nervous about.

"I don't know," he said, drawing out his words in a way that made him seem unsure. "I think a scar would make me look more dignified." He couldn't help it, the laugh slipped out.

Anne's eyes traced him over once again. "That may be so, but I won't be the one to give it."

He extended his hand. "Hand it to me, I'll show you how to do it properly." She handed the blade over a bit too quickly. He swore not to hold it against her. "And the mirror."

She held it in front of him. He showed her how to make the first pass with the blade, explaining it step by step as slowly as he could. He hadn't been a teacher in years, but the training had never left him.

Once he was done teaching, he watched her. Her eyes were far off away in dreamland, her gaze on him and somewhere else far away.

Typical Anne. He couldn't really hold it against her.

"Anne?" He asked. In an instant, her attention returned, a bright pink blush covering her cheeks.

"Do you think we'll be happy when we're married?" The question was not entirely unexpected, but not a question he was expecting at that moment.

"Very happy," he said without a doubt in his mind. "As long as I have my Anne-Girl in my life, I'll be the happiest man alive."

She took the razor from him and handed him the mirror. She took her position on his side and pulled back the skin of his cheek so it was taut. "Like this?"

"Yes."

The first pass of the blade was painless, despite the slight shake in her hand.

"Just like that," he said, closing his eyes. Soon enough he would have to go back to Medical School. Soon enough, he would be back to shaving himself. Soon enough it would be another year to a year and more before they could be married. He savored those moments with her. He craved them when he was away, and that one he wanted to commit to memory to hold onto until the end of his days.

For the moment, she was concentrating. He could hear the slick flick of the blade against his whiskers, could feel the chill of the blade as she moved with a gentle dexterity. Just inside, past the window in the kitchen, Mrs. Lynde and Marilla chatted away about them and wedding plans. Mrs. Lynde was making a quilt for their bed. Marilla debated what she should work on for them.

After a few strokes, he felt her hand relax. She paused then. He opens his eyes to see her gaze directly on him with that same far off look. She snapped out of it as soon as he caught her.

"What are you thinking about Anne-Girl?" He found he liked the nickname. He would definitely keep using it.

The smile never faded from her lips. "Our future," she said. "I can't help but imagine what Christmases will be like for us when we're older together."

He smiled too, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. He hoped they would be as happy as his parents had been all those years. "All of them happy, my Anne," he said. "As long as we're together."

For a little while, as she shaved him, she rambled on about their future together. From the largest details to the smallest ones.

"We'll have at least ten children," she said. "So if you have a beard every once in a while it's well deserved."

He laughed out loud at that, but he knew there would be no dissuading her. "You had better get knitting away on booties." He said, careful not to move his lips too much as she shaved around his jaw.

She turned solemn for a brief moment. "Oh no. Don't you know it's bad luck to knit for a child who hasn't been fully imagined yet?" Then, just as quick as it had come, the solemnness was gone and she was all smiles again. "Besides, we have a little time before that. You still have a few years in medical school ahead of you."

He dreaded the reminder, but somehow it felt sweeter coming from Anne's lips. "How right you are."

Reluctantly, she moved to the offending mustache. "Short gentle strokes," he said before he pushed out his upper lip with his tongue to give her a more taut surface.

The upper lip was always the hardest, as she was to find out.

The first few strokes were short and gentle. The blade caught over the imperfection over his lip from months ago and revealed all.

"Gil—!" The rest of his name was swallowed in the shock, most likely at the silvery scar over his Cupid's bow. She ran her thumb over it gently, as if she wasn't sure if it was real or not.

He relaxed into her touch. "I did say a scar would make me look more dignified."

She leaned down and kissed him hard. In those brief moments of romance, it was so easy to lose himself, so easy to get distracted and forget everything else around them.

He would kiss her every single day for as long as he could if the universe would let him. Of course, timing was currently against them.

Mrs. Lynde's cough sounded loudly from inside the kitchen. The warning of undignified behavior. He held on for a fraction of a second longer and then did the dignified thing and pulled away.

"Let's finish up here," he said, even though there was nothing else he would rather do than sit there with her until it was time to board the train to Redmond. "You shouldn't keep your guest waiting on my account and I should go see my parents."

"We'll go over for dinner," Anne said, her voice heavy with need. "I don't think Marilla will let you stay tonight."

Gilbert laughed. "I know she won't."