Chapter 04

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What if...? A Merry Blythe Ever After

It was Florence's last summer in primary school before she would formally enroll in Queen's College to start her nursing studies. She was wearing her most beautiful gown, which her grandmother had sewn. The sun was shining brightly and the sky was a stunning shade of blues and whites. The previous week, Anne had invited Florence and Moody to spend the day with her at her house and the day had finally arrived.

She dubbed it 'Anne's Fabulous Adventurous Adventures.'

Moody followed Florence as she made her way over to the Cuthbert house, taking in the peacefulness the summer had to offer. With her basket of shortbread cookies swinging around as she danced and whirled, Moody stared awkwardly from beneath his eyelashes, noticing that she didn't really care that the lid wasn't secured that well and that everything could easily open and tumble to the ground in a matter of seconds. She was careless sometimes (much like himself), but he still thought she was gorgeous.

It was a shame that she was-

Florence lost her balance after tripping over a pebble, falling to the ground in a heap. She gave an owlish blink before looking up to see Moody obviously struggling not to laugh. Legs crossed on the sidewalk, she exasperated a sigh. "You can laugh, you know . . ."

He shook his head, clearing his throat. "I'm not laughing. That would be mean."

"Oh, please," she argued as she grabbed his lent out hand and hauled herself to her feet. "I know you're not all that of a saint."

"You have no way of proving it," he claimed, a mischievous tone in his voice. After climbing to his feet once more, he handed her the basket after stooping to pick it up off the ground. She gratefully took it from him.

Florence bumped his shoulder playfully and walked ahead of him. Scrunching his nose, Moody ran up to her and the two of them continued their journey to Green Gables together.

Before any of them could knock, Anne had already answered the door. She stood there, grinning brightly at her two closest pals before drawing them both in for a three-way hug. Florence enthusiastically returned it, although Moody was a little embarrassed by their proximity, his ears turning pink. After a brief moment of holding on, they released each other and moved toward the kitchen to share some tea and sweets.

While her friends were occupied with other activities, Florence made the decision to wander around the rest of Green Gables. When she arrived at the barn to see the horses (and perhaps pet them as well), she was pleasantly surprised to meet Jerry Baynard, the kind French boy who occasionally helped out the Cuthbert family. Jerry looked up when he heard the creaky door open and his face lit up when he recognized who it was.

Rising to his feet, he brushed off his dusty pants and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Florence . . . uh, bonjour. I didn't know you were visiting."

She could notice his accent, but she thought it was so adorable. Also, Jerry was always nothing but kind to her. In fact, ever since she first met Jerry a few years ago, they both appeared to have developed into grownups right before each other's eyes. He was a year her junior, but he now seemed older.

"Sorry . . . I didn't mean to intrude." She gestured to the piles of books laying on the floor where he was just sitting. "I just wanted to see the horses."

He smiled, gesturing for her to go ahead. "Don't let me stop you."

Florence walked over to the horses and reached out to stroke one of their coats, feeling it soft against her fingertips. As it sank its head deeper into her palm, the horse let out a delighted neigh. As another horse neighed almost expectantly and moved its head toward her hand so she could pet it as well, she beamed softly and giggled.

While leaning against the wall with his arms folded, Jerry observed with fascination and a hint of adoration as she seemed to have a natural connection to the horses. As he observed her in awe, he removed his bowler hat and ran a hand over his black hair. Florence was indeed magnificent, despite the fact that he would never admit it out loud. Certainly, he had only ever considered her to be a friend and one of the two individuals who had taken the time to teach him to read and write, as any other boy his age should have already learned. He was beginning to believe that perhaps he never really did think of her as his friend given that she grew up with him and that he didn't see her as frequently as he'd hoped. She radiated a natural glow in all she did.

It was a shame that she was-

When the door unexpectedly opened again, Jerry turned away from Florence as if he had just about been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. Moody and Anne were standing by the entrance before they both entered the barn. Anne began talking animatedly with Jerry. The rest of the afternoon was spent in each other's presence and soon before dinnertime, Florence had decided to finally call it a day as she left.

Florence arrived home, exhausted and starving, only to discover that her grandparents had left her a note explaining that they had gone into town for a while and wouldn't return till later. Florence sighed as she stood by the doorway contemplating whether to give in to her exhaustion and go to bed or to her hunger and prepare something to eat. She chose the former option and went to bed because she was too lazy to make food.

But when Florence fought to get any sleep because her stomach kept growling, this decision quickly turned out to be horrible. She was, however, too exhausted to eat anything. She wasn't even sure what to think because this situation was so dire. She got out of bed and headed back downstairs to the kitchen while groaning in annoyance.

Florence may have been overcome by exhaustion at the time, but when she entered the kitchen shortly after, she was surprised to see Gilbert Blythe preoccupied by the stove. She wasn't even certain of when he came; did he possibly come earlier than she did? She stood by the corner appreciatively as he worked on what appeared to be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

After appearing to be pleased with his handiwork, Gilbert unfastened his apron and tossed it away. His eyes widened as he casually glanced up at Florence, but they quickly returned to normal, and his mouth tipped upward into a handsome smile. She finally leaned off the wall and approached her beau, who grinned and looked ready to receive a few compliments.

She hummed down at the sandwiches. "I suppose they don't look . . . inedible."

His mouth parted in disbelief. "At least I know how to cook."

She turned to face him, raising a brow. "Are you accusing me of not knowing how to cook?"

"Nothing wrong with the truth."

"Then enjoy eating those sandwiches yourself."

Florence turned on her heels to leave, but Gilbert caught a hold of one of her hands before she could take another step. He turned her around, pulling her into his chest.

"You wouldn't do that to me again, would you?" he asked softly and she glanced up at him, their noses were practically touching. "Leave me alone to eat the sandwiches I made?"

She couldn't believe, but at the same time couldn't blame him for it, that he still remembered when she completely ran away from him that one day at his house while he was cooking for the both of them in the kitchen. She was still ashamed of what she had done that day.

"I didn't mean to . . ." She jumped slightly when her lips accidentally brushed his.

He sounded distracted. "I don't know if I believe you."

"Gilbert-"

"On second thought . . . You might have a way of making it up to me."

Gilbert's gaze fell to her peachy lips as he pressed forward, one hand clenching her waist and the other pressed against the counter. The moment their lips met, her hands moved to his chest and she briefly thought about pushing him away because her grandparents could potentially walk in at any moment. He pulled away before she could. When he looked around the room checking that nobody did indeed walk in on them, he straightened up.

She pressed a finger against his chest. "That was uncalled for, Blythe."

But he shrugged innocently. "Makes us both even."

Once the two of them had finished their sandwiches together, Florence had taken Gilbert upstairs to her room where she wanted to show him her latest book collection. She showed him every book in her bookcase, but he was far too uninterested to say much more than "wow" and "looks like a wonderful book." He then noticed Daisy Miller, at which point it had all of his focus. One of the novels she had received for Christmas was Daisy Miller.

He held the novel, turning it around in his hand. "I didn't think you'd keep this."

"Why wouldn't I have?" she asked with surprise. "It's a perfectly good book"

Gilbert was truly delighted that she had decided to keep his gift for her. He wasn't sure if she would enjoy the gift when he first made the choice to get it. While choosing the novels in Trinidad, he had repeatedly questioned Sebastian about whether or not Florence would appreciate them. He kept demanding reassurances from Sebastian, which the older man kept on rolling his eyes at. The boy assumed that she may have disliked the novels because she had never once discussed them with him. This was a relief.

But he was feeling playful today. "I'll just throw it out for you since you clearly didn't like it."

Her eyes widened. "I do like it. Don't throw it out, it's my book."

"But I'm the one who bought it," he pointed out, "And I think it deserves to be in the-"

Florence was chasing after him before he could even finish his sentence. Before she could get to him, Gilbert hurriedly raced away, keeping the book out of her hands. They were relieved to be the only two people inside as they ran about the little bedroom like a bunch of little children. She chased after him, but he was moving too quickly, laughing. But his good fortune was short-lived when he stumbled over one of the books that had fallen to the floor and fell to the ground on top of her bed. She rushed over to him, almost straddling him, and jubilantly snatched the book from his grasp, placing it on the side table.

The distracted twinkle in his eyes had returned as his eyes wandered over her body on top of his. He liked what he was seeing. When he placed his hands on Florence's waist, she flushed and immediately understood what he may have been thinking.

"Um, sorry, I didn't mean-"

She was taken aback by Gilbert's movements as he flipped them over and found herself now beneath him. His look had a distinct tone, one that she had been noticing more frequently ever since they started courting barely a year before. She had no idea why he had always expressed himself differently, but she couldn't pretend to dislike it while he was this near to her.

"Gilbert-"

"Shh."

He started leaning in, but just as their lips were about to meet, he heard her grandfather's footsteps outside the door, which, under these circumstances, were frighteningly familiar but also approaching her room. Florence shoved Gilbert away from her with wide-eyed contempt, and they both sprang to their feet. After dragging him there by his hand, she shoved him inside the wardrobe.

"No, you shh," she threatened, shutting the door of the wardrobe just when her bedroom door opened, revealing her grandfather.

"Oh, Flo, there you are." He smiled. "Your grandmother's looking for you."

"I'll, uh, I'll be right down."

She walked by her grandfather while holding the edges of her dress in her fists just as he casually muttered something next to her that caused her to stop dead in her tracks.

"Aren't you going to bring Gilbert with you?"

She stammered. "G-G-Gilbert?"

"He's in here, isn't he?"

Knowing that it was no use and that they had in fact been discovered despite trying their hardest to disguise it, her closet then opened to reveal a sheepish Gilbert coming out of it. Gilbert gave Edgar an innocent smile while feeling a little self-conscious. While directing his granddaughter out the door and down the stairs, Edgar smiled down at the boy for a fraction of a second before his face turned deadly serious and issued him a look of warning.

Gilbert released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Mentally cringing, he too made his way over to the kitchen where he was certain to meet Elizabeth's astonished gaze as she wondered when the heck he had come by. And honestly? He wouldn't be capable of responding to her.

Especially since he'd now seen the wrath of Edgar Robinson.




























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Author's Note:

Florence and her undying infatuation with cookies 😂

It was a shame that she was-

Taken. The answer is taken.

This final bonus chapter officially marks the end of Florence! Thank you for joining me on this chaotic, sometimes stressful and nerve-wracking, journey.


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