Automatically, Anne reached out for the flowers, thrust so determinedly at her, and in that moment, she saw the proud, happy boy that he must have been, and the happy man who had brought his mother flowers. She took them, her fingers brushing against fingers callused by war and work. And then she reached for him, hand closing around his in a grip no less firm for its gentleness. She drew him into her apartment and let the door fall closed. "No, not at all."
Anne was quiet for a few minutes, simply looking at him. Yes, there was Gilbert, but her, too. And -- she couldn't help beaming even as she kept brushing her fingers against her eyes to clear the tears, he was beautiful. "May... may I hug you? And then we will sit and talk for, oh, hours!"