Page 51 of The Dangers of Daydreaming

I’d stood transfixed for so long that the group caught up. Everyone except for poor Lily, who had stayed at the hotel and would be missing at least the morning tours. Gemma had assured me that Lily liked Anne the least of them all and was really just there for the vacation, so she wasn’t too upset.

I still felt a little terrible for abandoning her.

“Go ahead, guys,” Finn called from behind. Not one to disobey a direct order—especially one that would take me inside a literal fairytale—I walked through the white picket gate, enjoying the light creak of extensive use. It would have felt wrong if it had been perfectly well-oiled.

Entering the house was like I’d stepped back in time. The papered walls of the entry were idyllic, and my eyes skipped right past the ropes keeping us from touching everything in the rooms, just taking it all in as if I were the little orphan girl who was supposed to be a boy but had ended up being exactly what Green Gables needed. I caught Gemma’s eye, who seemed just as enthralled as I was, before I pulled out my phone and began taking notes and pictures.

This was one of those places I didn’t strictly need to visit. Yes, a person attending a literary tour here absolutely had to go into the house that had inspired L. M. Montgomery and had been staged to be as close to what the fictional Anne, Marilla, and Matthew would have experienced, but that very fact was why I didn’t need to come. It gained a spot on my tour list on its own without my visit. But I wanted to come, and I also figured some pictures in my final presentation were sure to add interest.

The tour was self-guided, and everyone eventually split off. About ten minutes later, I found myself standing beside the pantry, just outside the plexiglass half-door, looking in and living a waking daydream when I was discovered.

“You fit right in,” Finn said, coming to stand beside me.

“It’s the red hair.”

“That definitely helps.” His eyes traveled across the hair in question, a smile playing on his lips. Before I could ask what he was thinking, he reached out and tugged lightly on a strand. “Would you be offended if I called youcarrots?”

“Honestly, not at all.” I tamped down my smile.

“It doesn’t really fit, though—your hair is too dark.” He let the strands fall, watching them slide between his fingertips.

My neck prickled with awareness that only intensified when he glanced up and we locked eyes. “I never asked whyAnne of Green Gablesended up being your favorite?”

I tore my eyes away, blowing out a breath. What had he asked? Anne. Right. “My mom gave it to me when I was a preteen. Just after my parents’ divorce. I’d worked my way through all the usual suspects, and I guess she decided I should take on the classics.”

He nodded along, waiting for more. I had considered this a lot, actually. I loved books. All books. But something about Anne was different. And something about Finn made me feel safe sharing my thoughts. “Books were my escape during the divorce—I was really lost for a long time… and they gave me someone else’s life to hide in. But Anne…” I watched my hands. “Anne taught me that I could escape without the pages of a book. She taught me the importance of humor and daydreams and reframing the world around you.”

Finn was nodding. “Yes. I see that in you. You always dreamt big—it used to make me a little jealous in school when you’d talk about what you did the past weekend or what plans you had coming up. I thought even going to the grocery store with you must be fun.”

I laughed. “I think I’ve lost a bit of that magic, then, because my grocery trips are downright boring these days.”

“You mean pirates don’t attack you next to the deli meat?”

I pretended to pout. “No. And no princes ever save me from dastardly broccoli.”

He chuckled at that. “Anne grew up, too, you know. She wasn’t the same crazy daydreamer in later books as she was in the first couple. That didn’t mean she lost her magic.”

I froze, watching him. Behind us, someone else walked into the kitchen, I scootched out of the way so I wouldn’t be blocking the pantry. Finn followed. “You’ve readAnne of Green Gables?”

“Of course. My crush liked them in junior high. I had to do some recon.”

I gasped. “You’re lying.”

“Nope. My dad thought I was weird when I asked him to buy me the set.”

“You readallof them?”

“I admit to getting bored afterAnne of the Island, but I picked them back up a few years ago and finished. Hey, don’t look at me like that, I’m sure many grown men have enjoyed classic literature.”

“Wait… is that why you pulled my hair when we had the seat change in History?”

“Guilty.” He was grinning. “I knew it was a long shot since it didn’t even work for Blythe, but you had your hair in braids, I couldn’t help myself.”

I was once again re-examining every one of our childhood interactions. Had he beentryingto be my Gilbert Blythe in junior high? If so, he’d gotten a bit stuck in the teasing part of the fictional hero’s personality. Would he have grown to be the charming, sincere one if he’d stayed in the States?

The answer to that was obvious. Yes. That man was standing in front of me now.

Heaven help me.

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