It started with a loaf of bread.
The first thing she noticed was the heat. The automatic doors hummed softly as they closed behind her, sealing her off from the bitter cold and falling snow. In an instant, the warmth of the brightly lit building began to revive her aching body. 15 hours spent driving cross-country in a blizzard had taken a definite toll. She paused in the wide entryway to shake most of the frozen, brown slush from her boots, but decided to leave her thick coat and wool scarf on. She wasn't going to be here long.
The second thing she noticed was the silence. The store was almost entirely empty. Aside from two bored cashiers chatting over their empty registers and the faint music trickling down from the speakers overhead, the entire building was still. Confused, she turned to look at the signs on the wall behind her. Had she read the opening hours wrong? No, there it was: OPEN 24 HOURS, emblazoned in bold, red lettering. So where was everybody? It was barely 9pm, back home, the stores would be bustling and full of life for at least another two or three hours. She had been counting on a throng of late-night shoppers to disappear into and render her uncomfortable errand inconspicuous. Instead, she could feel the bored teens' eyes all over her as she shuffled through the entrance. Dead at night. Lesson number 1 about the small town she would call home for the next four years.
When Prim had come into the office that afternoon and shoved the piece of paper in her sister's face with trembling hands and red-rimmed eyes, Katniss had expected the very worst. But for the first time in years, a manila envelope had brought good news to the Everdeen family. That night, over celebratory mocktails and Prim's favourite fish stew, the girls had made their plans. Four months later, the house was empty and boxes full as the sisters pulled out of the driveway for the very last time. As the house they had lived in all their lives faded from sight, Prim gazed back, blinking back tears. Katniss did not. She didn't have any grand illusions about what might be awaiting her in the new town, but there was nothing left for her there either.
The third thing she noticed was the smell. As she scanned the unfamiliar aisles, it came down like an avalanche; the smell of freshly baked bread, yeasty and sweet, overwhelming her senses. Her mouth watered as her eyes came upon the source, the cheerful, yellow-painted bakery section in the far left corner of the store. Everything within her yearned to run over to the shelves stacked full of floury loaves, to inhale deeply and grab everything in sight. A warm, dense loaf of pumpernickel to toast, some flaky, buttery croissants for breakfast, maybe even a couple of dainty cupcakes to surprise Prim. But the 49 coins clinking noisily in her pocket brought her back to reality in an instant. Biting back a sigh, she set her chin and strode towards the aisles of canned food.
Prim's hard-earned scholarship money wouldn't come through until Monday and the last of Katniss' wages had been carefully budgeted to cover the bond on their tiny new apartment and gas to get them across six states, with enough left over to get them through the weekend. However, what hadn't been accounted for was their father's old truck breaking down in the middle of Iowa, and their 'weekend survival' money quickly becoming 'emergency roadside assistance' money. When all was said and done, with a thorough search through the car for loose change, Katniss was left with exactly $3.42 with which to feed two people for two days.
It was more than doable, she told herself. Of course it was. If she had kept Prim fed, clothed and in school single-handedly for so long after… She shook her head. It was doable. She just had to be smart about it. And as tempting to her senses as it was, fresh bread was just not on the cards tonight. Cans were good, cans were cheap. The Everdeen sisters had lived off cans for long enough and even as it broke her heart to start their new life in a new town like this, Katniss knew one last lean weekend wouldn't kill them. It had better be the last one…
The heavy weight of coins clinking in her pocket as she walked sent her straight back to the Dark Days. Back to junior high, back to the afternoons when she would walk into the local store with a bag of cans emptied of soda, and leave with a few precious ones filled with soup. Back to the evenings when she would make sure the ladle favoured Prim's bowl. Back to the nights when she would lay awake for hours, the sound of her mother's heart-broken sobs reaching through the thin walls. Back to the mornings when she would walk past the broken-down, old truck still sitting in the driveway, the worn flannel shirt and empty brown bag still waiting to be collected from the driver's seat.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the memories threatened to overwhelm her. She was good at containing them, packing those days into their little box deep in her brain and shoving the lid on tight. She had invented a trick the morning of the first funeral, reciting the Latin names of plants in her head to distract herself from the gnawing ache that tore her very being in two afresh with every breath and heartbeat. Years later, the second funeral had flown by in a blur of pseudotsuga, populous and salix.
After pretending to examine a display full of expensive granola bars, with primulaceae running through her head, she was back on task, searching the aisles with grim determination for the cheapest possible combination of the most nutritious food she could afford. One packet of store brand spaghetti noodles, check. Two large cans of whole peeled tomatoes, no, wait, diced were on sale today, perfect. One can of beans for protein, and a bag of marked-down, somewhat wilted lettuce leaves to round it out, with three pennies to spare. It was going to be a stretch to get eight meals out of this, but she'd done it before, and she knew Prim would never complain. At least there were only two people to feed this time.
Clutching her five items tightly, Katniss began to make her way towards the self-serve checkouts. She had no desire to face the gossiping teenage cashiers right now. She had almost made it when it hit her again: the smell. Her head turned instinctively and she gazed over at the inviting bakery area. Her stomach rumbled loudly and her heart began to race. She knew that in just a few days they would be able to fit a freshly baked loaf of bread in their budget somewhere. Just not tonight, she tried to tell her exhausted body. But she hadn't eaten since the greasy fast-food breakfast on the interstate at 7am and it just smelled so damn good. Without hesitation, her feet began to move towards the shelves of baked goods. Maybe if I put back the pasta and go for a stew instead, we might be able to afford just one small loaf?
As she reached the shelves, she was overwhelmed by the array of flour-dusted loaves in various shades of golden brown. She tenderly picked up a loaf of rye, still warm to the touch, adorned with a white label boasting of its 'artisanal perfection'. Her mind already calculating the numbers, she glanced down at the yellow sign displaying the price and her heart sank.
$4 for a loaf of bread?
She regretfully lowered the warm loaf back onto the shelf and sighed, turning to a shelf on her left. Yellow, spongey, processed Wonder Bread, a dollar a loaf, that was more her price range. As she stared at the colourful bags in disappointment, a voice rang out from behind her.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you. It's just not worth it."
Katniss turned and found herself staring into the most intensely blue pair of eyes she had ever seen. They belonged to a young man wearing a flour-stained apron and a thin, white cap that appeared to be struggling to contain a head of thick, blonde curls. All of a sudden, Katniss regretted leaving her coat and scarf on; the temperature of the room had instantly raised 15 degrees.
The man smiled and gestured towards the rack of artisanal loaves. "I promise you, this stuff is infinitely better. I made it myself only an hour ago. Scout's honour." He held up three fingers with a grin.
It took a few moments for Katniss to find her voice. "I'm sure it is, but it's also infinitely more expensive," she mumbled, looking away from the blue-eyed baker as a familiar rush of shame engulfed her.
There was a moment of silence and she glanced back to see that his face had fallen. She watched those blue eyes flicker down to her arms and settle upon her meagre items, staring at them intently. She instantly felt a scowl work its way across her face under the weight of his gaze. She knew full well what it felt like to be pitied. Pity was useless, the only purpose it served was to make the other person feel better and her feel worse. She refused to tolerate it from literally the first person she had met in this town. Her mind searched for an appropriate response to whatever clichéd phrase was about to come at her. She had heard them all.
Instead, as the baker opened his mouth, the words that came out startled her. "Tell you what, you try this…" He picked up a dark brown loaf from the top shelf. "And tell me what you think. It's a new recipe I'm trying out, so we'll call it market research."
Katniss stared back at him, dumbfounded. What part of 'I can't afford it' does this guy not understand? But before she could string together a coherent response, the baker had pulled a small roll of blue and white stickers from his apron pocket. He deftly peeled one off and stuck it on the loaf's label, obscuring the barcode completely. Shoving the roll back in his pocket, he held the loaf out to Katniss, his mouth quirking into a crooked smile with a hint of shyness. It was close enough for her to read the writing on the label, 'CHECK SEAL: EMPLOYEE PURCHASE'. Confused, she just stared at the loaf, then at the baker, then back to the loaf.
"What?" she barked. Words were never really her strong suit. But the baker was nonplussed and his smile just grew larger.
"Seriously," he insisted, holding the loaf out further, "I have no idea if this recipe is any good. You'll be my guinea pig, let me know if it's terrible. You'll be doing me a favour, really." He chuckled softly as Katniss continued to eye him warily. In her world, there was no such thing as a free loaf of bread. There was always a catch, a trick, a scam. But the man before her looked so genuine, nodding and smiling and gazing at her with those piercing blue eyes. And that smell. The air swirled with the competing scents of cinnamon and dill, but the bread in his hand looked to be a hearty loaf, packed with nuts and fruit. Prim would love it.
Slowly, she reached out her hand to grasp the warm, dense loaf. "Okay," she murmured, the ghost of a genuine smile peeking at the edges of her mouth. The baker's smile seemed to grow even wider and something flickered inside her chest. As she noticed for the first time a small flower embroidered on the front of his apron, she felt a warmth spread throughout her body. Maybe spending the next four years in this tiny, middle-of-nowhere town would be better than she had expected. Maybe there was hope for her here after all.
The bread was good.
From the moment she burst through the door, the cold apartment full of unpacked boxes had been filled with a sense of warmth and light and home. Katniss had carefully cut thick slices of the loaf and toasted it gently in the oven. The sisters had shared half the loaf that night, moaning in delight at the taste and collapsing into hysterical laughter as they each pretended to sneak another piece. That loaf of bread transformed their first night in their new home, their first night away from the ghosts of the past, from what could have been a grim evening spent rationing dry spaghetti into instead a memory filled with laughter and joy and hope.
As Katniss collapsed into bed that night, a smile still upon her lips, her mind was filled with thoughts of the blond baker, and when she awoke, he was still there. That loaf of bread got them through the weekend and she would never forget the boy with the bread that had given her hope. But Katniss Everdeen was taught never to leave a debt unpaid and, as much as he had insisted she would be doing him a favour, Katniss was certain that he would have had to personally write off that loaf of bread from the night's takings, maybe even had to pay for it himself.
That was how, Monday afternoon, after she had seen Prim off to her first day of class, Katniss found herself once again walking through the automatic doors of the superstore. The first of Prim's monthly scholarship deposits had been made that morning, but with the cost of textbooks, rent and utilities, the account was already almost depleted. Until Katniss could find work, a far from simple task in this economy, they would have to focus on absolute essentials only. Nevertheless, she clutched the four one-dollar bills tightly in her hand as she strode towards the bakery area.
The store was full of people this afternoon and she pretended to browse the aisles as she searched for her blond baker. But there was no sign of him. Of course, she realised, he doesn't work here 24/7. He probably only does the night shift. Biting back a sigh, she realised that she was disappointed in more than one way. She turned to leave but a flash of colour caught her eye. She wandered over to the wooden display; it was full of colourfully iced cupcakes. They were decorated with flowers of different sizes and colours with a thick swirl of luxurious buttercream.
Katniss wanted nothing more than to shower her baby sister with all the good things in the world, and these cupcakes called out to her desperately. She longed to snatch one up and take it home, to present it to Prim in celebration of her first day at her new school. The rational side of her brain, the side that was responsible for the two of them even still being alive, for making it through the Dark Days, was adamant that she couldn't, she shouldn't. But there was no harm in looking. She gazed at them all, finally landing on one with simple pink frosting and a single white flower. She glanced down at the four bills in her hand. Well, if he isn't even here…
"Hey, you're back!" The voice broke through the hum of the crowd and she turned to see the baker emerging from a doorway that looked to lead to the kitchen area. The same wide grin was plastered across his face, but this time his apron was covered in smears of frosting. There was a streak of purple across his cheek and Katniss felt a smile cross her face at the sight.
"So, how was it?" he asked as he made his way towards her.
Katniss thought back to Friday night, to the smiles and the laughter and the light in Prim's eyes, and answered honestly, "It was the best bread I've ever eaten."
A faint blush crossed the baker's cheeks. "You're not just saying that, are you?"
"Oh no, that recipe is definitely a winner. My sister loved it too," she assured him.
"Well, that's great news, thank you."
There was a moment of silence as Katniss's mind raced, trying to come up with the best way to give him the money. Failing to come up with any eloquent speech, she held out her hand awkwardly.
"Here. For- for the bread."
The baker stared down at the notes in her hand and shook his head. "No, no, I told you, it's on the house."
"Well, yeah, but- No, I mean- It was good, so…" she trailed off. There was something about this baker that sent her brain scrambling and tongue twisting. "Just take it. Please." She held the bills out again and watched his face carefully. His eyebrows furrowed as he bit his lip in consideration before gently reaching out to accept the money with a grateful smile. Katniss let out a breath she hadn't noticed she had been holding and felt a weight lift off her shoulders.
The baker tucked the bills into the pocket of his apron and cleared his throat.
"So, uh, I noticed you looking at my cupcakes…" he smiled, "I actually just finished a new batch, so if you want, I can go grab you a fresh one?"
Katniss chuckled softly. "Yeah, um, I could tell."
He looked at her quizzically and she gestured to his face. "You got some frosting…" She bit back a grin as he swiped his hand across his face and succeeded only in spreading the smudge.
"Ah, well, consequence of the trade," he laughed, "You should see us when we're doing the cinnamon buns. You know, I haven't seen you around before last Friday. Are you new in town, or just stopping by?"
"New in town," she confirmed, "My little sister got accepted for mid-year entry into the pre-med program at the U and we moved up here together."
"Pre-med? Wow. That's a tough program." He nodded his head in appreciation. "You must be proud of her."
Katniss grinned. "Very proud. She started classes today, actually."
The baker raised his eyebrows and held up one finger. "Wait right here, okay? I'll be back in one sec."
Confused, Katniss nodded and watched as he disappeared back into the bakery prep area for a few moments before emerging carrying a small cardboard box. He handed the box to Katniss with a smile. "For your sister," he told her, "To congratulate her on her first day." She opened the lid to find one of the elegant cupcakes staring up at her. But where the cakes in the cabinet were a pretty dessert, this was truly a work of art. The marbled cake was topped with a swirl of creamy white buttercream like the others, but it had delicate yellow and purple flower buds and tiny green vines piped all over in an elaborate pattern. It was beautiful. Katniss looked up at the baker in shock. He smiled.
"This one had a bit an accident." He pointed out a tiny blemish that Katniss wasn't sure she could even really see. "So I had to mark it down to half-price, but it's still good, I promise!"
It wasn't until she got home, cupcake in hand, that she found the four one-dollar bills tucked gently into the open pocket on the side of her bag.
That damn baker.
First the bread, now the cake. How on earth was she going to pay him back? There was nothing in the world that could ever match the way Prim's face had lit up at the sight of the delicately-iced treat. Katniss had very little at her disposal, and no clue what baker-man could possibly want or need. But she needed to do something. You could take the girl out of the Seam, but you can never get the Seam out of the girl. The 'no more owed' mentality was so deeply ingrained in her that she knew she would never feel comfortable walking into that store with this debt hanging over her head. And being the only grocery store in town, her choices were clear: pay the baker back somehow, or live off delivered pizza.
She had spent most of the last two days wracking her brain, interspersed only with an increasingly fruitless job search online and quizzing Prim on her first week of classes. The baker had featured heavily in her mind since their last encounter, but she had to admit that not all of her thoughts revolved around her debt. She blushed at the memory of one particularly invasive thought as she walked through the sliding doors, brown paper bag clutched tightly in hand.
It had hit her early that morning, an ancient memory worming its way to the forefront of her mind and causing her to sit up straight in bed. Still half-asleep, she searched through the dozen unpacked boxes in the living room haphazardly until she found it.
Her father had never been one much for books, preferring to spend his time outdoors, in perpetual motion. Katniss clearly took after him, while Prim was more like their mother, who had treasured her large collection of books. Most of them had been sold after the funeral, out of necessity, but Prim had first carefully selected a few to keep. She had insisted that Katniss select one too, and she had complied with only a little reluctance. As she had stared blankly at the pile of books, only one held any semblance of meaning to her, an ancient cookbook she remembered her mother telling her the story of when she was little, a gift from somebody special in her teens. 'Secrets of the Artisanal Baker', a book full of recipes for fancy types of bread. She was never going to get any use out of it, but could the blonde baker?
It was still in good condition for its age and, after a quick Google search revealed it had been out of print for two decades, she had come to the conclusion that it would make an acceptable offering for the baker. A limited edition cookbook might even be worth a couple of future free loaves of bread forced upon her; based on previous behaviour, she felt it more than likely to happen again. But as she walked towards the bakery section and spotted a head of blonde curls peeking out from the prep area, her stomach began to flip over violently. What was she thinking, giving him an old, second-hand cookbook? He would probably hate it. Maybe the all-pizza diet wasn't such a terrible idea after all.
But it was too late. He was walking right towards her, arms laden with a metal tray of iced buns, a familiar grin plastered across his face.
"Hello again," he said cheerfully, stopping in front of a shelf and beginning to fill it with the contents of the tray.
"Hi. My sister loved the cupcake." She paused. "Thank you."
The baker stilled his movements and looked up at her intently. "You're welcome. I'm glad she liked it." He opened his mouth to speak again but shook his head softly and just offered a crooked smile instead, returning to the tray of buns.
A rush of nerves shot through Katniss as she crumpled the top of the paper bag awkwardly in her hands. She had no idea what made her so tongue-tied around the baker, but suddenly her mind was blank and she struggled to find any words at all.
"Katniss," she eventually barked out. His head turned up sharply and gazed at her questioningly. "My name is Katniss." A wide smile spread across his face. He stood and wiped his hands across his apron before offering one to her. "Hi, Katniss. Nice to properly meet you. I'm Peeta."
Peeta. Suddenly, he was no longer 'the baker', he was Peeta.
She took a deep breath and held out the heavy paper bag. "Well, Peeta, this is for you. I was unpacking and found it, and Prim and I don't bake much, but I thought maybe you could get some use out of it."
He seemed genuinely excited as he pulled the book out of the bag and flipped through the pages eagerly. "Katniss, this is incredible. Are you sure? Thank you so much!"
He likes it. Katniss breathed a sigh of relief and nodded her head. "It's all yours."
"I can't wait to try out some of these! But I think you're going to have to be my guinea pig again, deal?"
Her hunch was correct. But the look on the baker's – Peeta's – face told her that the book was well worth a few more loaves of bread to him. "Deal."
"So, Katniss…" he drew out the word deliberately, as if testing it out on his tongue. "Your sister, Prin?"
"Prim," she corrected, "Short for Primrose. Our parents liked flowers."
"And mine like bread," he chuckled, "So Prim is pre-med, but what about you? What do you do?"
"Uh, well, I'm in the process of finding a job here, actually. I was working in a taxidermist's back home and I definitely wasn't sad to say goodbye." Peeta grimaced. "But, of course, I had to move to the state with the second highest level of unemployment in the country."
"I think we're actually down to fourth-highest now," he joked, "But it's pretty bad, yeah. What kind of work are you looking for?"
She laughed mirthlessly. "At this point, I'll take anything. I've never been picky about jobs. Whatever pays."
He frowned and a flicker of shame shot through her. "I know everyone is supposed to have that one big 'dream job'. I've just never been able to afford to think like that."
"No, I get it," he responded softly, "But what about when you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?"
Alive.
But she could hardly tell him that, so, just for a moment, she allowed herself to think back to the fleeting days she had actually been a child. A sad smile crossed her face as she finally spoke.
"Outdoors. In the woods. My father was a bow hunting guide and he used to take me out every weekend. When I was little, I was convinced one day I would just run off and live in the woods forever."
Peeta was once again gazing at her intently with those piercing blue eyes. "Maybe one day you will. I know that I wouldn't make it five miles, I belong indoors," he laughed. "Wait. Bow hunting? Like, archery?" His face lit up. "So you know all about bows and things like that?"
"Well, yeah…" Eleven years of her father's lessons were the only reason she was standing here today. Before she had started lying about her age and managed to secure her first part-time job in the local food court, the Everdeen family had survived solely off the proceeds from the cans she collected every day from the dumpster behind the school cafeteria and whatever game she could rustle up from her early-morning expeditions.
"I might just have a lead for you," Peeta told her enthusiastically. "The store's looking for someone for the sporting goods section. It's not exactly outside, but we do have a good selection of bows and I know they need someone who knows about all that stuff. Plus, employee discount!"
"Are you serious?" Her heart raced. She could totally do sporting goods. And if they were definitely hiring… "Where can I get an application form?"
"I can talk to the store manager for you, if you like?" Peeta offered.
Katniss felt a wide grin break out across her face. "That would be amazing. Thank you, Peeta."
Once again, this baker had offered her the precious gift of hope. How would she ever repay him?
Peeta did speak to the manager.
The next morning, Katniss awoke to a phone call from a woman with a high, trilling voice, asking her to come into the store at 11 to discuss employment opportunities.
She had an interview. Katniss couldn't contain the joy that rose up inside her. After weeks of disappointment, she finally had an interview. When she woke Prim excitedly and told her the good news, she let out a shriek and embraced her older sister tightly before insisting on helping her pick out her interview outfit.
As she printed off her resume, Katniss chided herself for allowing her hopes to be raised so high. It was only an interview. But it was something. And if she nailed this meeting, there might just be a chance she could get it.
As she drove to the store with butterflies running wild in her stomach, she thought of Peeta the baker. He had gone and gotten her a job interview, how could she ever thank him enough?
She walked through the automatic doors briskly and headed straight for the customer service desk, asking for Mr. Abernathy like instructed. The clerk behind the counter looked to be a few years older than Katniss, with long black hair falling down in waves. She smirked and reached for the PA system microphone. "Haymitch to Service Desk, please, Haymitch to Service Desk." Turning back to Katniss, she offered a word of advice under her breath, "Whatever you do, don't call him Mr. Abernathy." She looked up and raised her eyebrows. "Here he comes."
Katniss turned to see a paunchy, middle-aged man walking towards her, his wrinkled shirt working its way untucked from a pair of stained pants. This was the store manager?
"Kate?" he barked gruffly.
"Katniss, sir. Katniss Everdeen."
"Katniss Everdeen. Okay then. No more of this 'sir' business, alright?" His eyes narrowed as he took her in. "Peeta tells me you know a thing or two about archery. Is that right?"
"Yes, si-. Yes." She nodded enthusiastically. "My father was a bow hunting guide, I've been shooting my whole life."
He nodded tersely. "Great. The other kid I've got working the section is fine, but he doesn't know a thing about the bows, and they're one of our biggest sellers these days. Alright, come this way."
He turned and walked back in the direction he came from and, after a moment of confused hesitation, Katniss quickly followed. He led her to a small office. It was full of overflowing filing cabinets and smelled distinctly of liquor.
"Sit." He gestured to a chair and turned to rifle through one of the cabinets. Katniss quickly sat and pulled out her resume, mentally rehearsing her prepared spiel. She jumped as a stack of papers landed loudly on the desk in front of her. The man took a seat across from her and leant back in his chair, eying her fixedly. Katniss stared back nervously, unsure whether to hand him her resume or wait for him to ask.
Finally, the man let out a deep breath and nodded. "Alright, so, you get $12.34 a hour weekdays, more on weekends. We work on a rotating schedule so you'll do three daytime shifts and one night during the week and one weekend day a week. Medical and dental after three months, one week paid vacation a year."
Katniss just stared at him in confusion. Wasn't this the part he was supposed to ask about references and experience? Why was he acting like… She looked down at the forms in front of her. It was a contract, her name already filled out in the box up the top. Her mouth hung open slightly as she stared at the papers in shock. She looked up to find the man rummaging through another cabinet. He pulled out a bright red t-shirt and cap and dumped them on the desk next to the forms.
"Is that all okay with you?"
Wait, what?
"Uh... yes! Yes, absolutely." She decided to just go with it. "When- when do I start?"
The man smirked. "How's tomorrow?"
"Perfect!" She nodded furiously. "Tomorrow's great."
The man walked over to the door and stood there waiting for her. She rummaged around the desk to find a pen and quickly skimmed the contract before signing it. She grabbed the uniform and followed him back out to the store.
"9am," he told her gruffly before nodding to the woman behind the customer service desk and heading back to his office.
Katniss stood there immobile in a daze, her heart and mind racing. What just happened?
The black-haired woman cleared her throat to get Katniss's attention and smiled warmly. "I'm Annie. Come round back here and we'll get you set up in the system." As Katniss complied, still in a daze, she caught a glimpse of Peeta across the store, talking animatedly with a group of children, each clutching an iced bun tightly.
He had got her a job.
The baker had actually got her a job.
It seemed she would never stop owing the boy with the bread.
She had a job.
At the end of her second full week at the store, Katniss was beginning to think that she might actually enjoy working there. Archery had experienced a renaissance lately, after some big movie came out last Spring with a bow-wielding protagonist. As a result, the store was heavily promoting its range of equipment and there was a steady stream of customers driving over from other towns. Katniss found it unexpectedly satisfying to finally be able to share her knowledge and expertise with other people.
She shared the Sporting Goods section with Gale, a tall man two years older than her who shared the same dark hair and grey eyes as she did. They looked so much alike they could easily be mistaken for cousins. But they hadn't exactly started off on the right foot. He had misheard Katniss's name when Annie introduced them on her first day and continued to call her 'Catnip' in jest, much to her consternation.
The first few days had been tense, but as Gale showed Katniss the ropes and they got to know each other, the atmosphere lightened. Katniss felt herself begin to open up to him and they soon shared jokes and stories eagerly between customers. After she was fully trained, they would begin trading shifts during the week with only an hour or two overlap, but they would both be rostered on for the store's busiest nights, and they would spend all of Sunday together.
She found herself growing to like most of the other employees. They ranged in age from tiny Rue who worked after school in Produce up to the old security guard missing a hand, Chaff. But there was a close-knit group of fellow twenty-somethings she quickly found herself adopted into. Bubbly, cheerful Delly, who worked in Shoes, and sweet, quiet Madge from Cosmetics had invited her to sit with them as she stood awkwardly in the back room her very first lunch break. Ever since, they had seemed to take Katniss under their wing. Madge, in particular, made a habit of stopping by Sporting Goods to check in, although Katniss wasn't certain it was entirely for her benefit.
She already knew Annie, who quickly introduced Katniss to her fiancé, Finnick, who worked in Seafood, and Johanna, who manned the Hardware department. Finnick was undeniable charming, with striking looks and a winning grin. Katniss wondered how much of that was the reason his face was plastered all over the Seafood department noticeboard as 'Top Seller of the Month' nine months in a row. But Katniss also saw how he brought Annie her cardigan when he saw her shivering from the store's powerful air-conditioning but unable to leave her counter, or how they snuck subtle kisses in the back dock as they took inventory together.
Johanna was loud, sarcastic, brash and abrasive, and she took an interest in Katniss straight away. For the first few days, it seemed to be her mission to cause the appearance of Katniss's signature scowl as often as possible. But Katniss quickly proved she could give as good as she got and the two of them found themselves in an unlikely alliance against the pack of brutes working the back dock everyone knew as 'the Careers'.
And then there was Peeta.
Everywhere she turned, the baker was there. He worked most morning shifts and the occasional afternoon. She learned that the night they had met he had been covering for one of the other bakers, he wasn't even supposed to be there. She shivered when she thought about how different her life might have been right now if he hadn't been.
Most mornings when she pulled into the parking lot, his – much nicer, much newer – truck was sitting there, the windshield already iced over. On the days he took the first shift, she would find him eating his lunch when she escaped into the break room for her mid-morning 15 minute break. He would look up and smile, gesturing to the seat next to him. She would sit and they would chat, discussing anything and everything. He would tell her stories of his family, the bakery he grew up in, his brothers, hilarious anecdotes about their co-workers. She would share snippets of her childhood adventures in the woods, proudly recount Prim's success at school and describe the worst of the many terrible jobs she had worked over the years. If he noticed that she never once mentioned either of her parents, he didn't bring it up.
Peeta was always so genuinely nice to her. He always listened attentively to everything she said, asking questions in all the right places. He made her laugh so hard she cried on more than one occasion and she began to appreciate his company more than she realized. At the end of almost every shift, he would present her with a loaf of bread. "From the book," he would tell her with a smile. She always accepted it gratefully, but added it to the running tally growing ever longer in her mind.
For as much as she grew to enjoy spending time with him, every moment she shared with Peeta was spent with a distinct weight pulling sharply on her heart. The bread, the cake, this job. Her debt hung heavily over her head and every day she searched for a way to repay him.
As she made her way out back to clock off, she realized that she hadn't seen him all day. He must have been working the afternoon shift. And sure enough, as she peeked into the break room, he was there. He wasn't sitting at the large table in the middle of the room, instead curled up on one of the cheap couches the lined the back wall. He was focusing intently on something in his hands and, as Katniss crept closer, she realized that he was scribbling in a small notebook.
It hit her in a flash. He was a writer. It made sense, he always knew how to spin words into the most compelling stories, and it meant that she knew exactly how to pay off some of her debt.
Over the course of her high school career, Katniss had worked too many different jobs to count. But for the summer between junior and senior year, she worked for an old friend of her father's, a leatherworker. It didn't pay exceedingly well, but she enjoyed the work, as well as getting to hear stories of her father's exploits as a teenager. And at the end of the summer, she had been allowed to take home a couple of pieces she had worked on, including a journal full of fancy paper bound in leather she had dyed herself. She had kept it, pristinely wrapped in tissue paper, for all these years under the assumption that she would someday find a use for it. And now, she thought with a smile, she finally had.
A weight was lifted.
She had snuck the journal into Peeta's locker late Sunday night, hours after he had left for the day, when she thought she had the least chance of getting caught. She had decided to bestow the gift upon him anonymously. That way, there was no chance of him trying to pay her back for it. She stuck a simple Post-it note on the front with his name – she was so anxious about being found out, she had Prim write it – and left it for him to find Tuesday morning. They both had Monday off, and she hoped that it was enough to cover her tracks.
As she walked into the store on Tuesday, Katniss felt a peace she hadn't before. She knew she would never be able to fully repay Peeta for what he had done for her, but the load had been lightened significantly. She didn't realize a contented smile was fixed across her lips until Gale smirked at her suggestively. "Good weekend, Catnip?"
The store was busy today and the morning flew by in a blur of customers. By the time she made it to the break room, she was exhausted. Peeta was in there, writing in something, and her heart leapt as she realized it was her journal. When he noticed her walking towards him, he quickly shut the book and shoved it in the pocket of his apron, offering her a wide smile.
"Good morning. How was your day off? Did Prim finally get that paper done?"
Katniss sat down beside him and they chatted amicably until the clock ticked over and they both had to head back to the floor. Peeta picked up the can of soda in front of him and drained the last of it. As they walked towards the doorway, he dropped it on the lid of the full trashcan. Without even thinking, Katniss reached down and picked it up. Peeta turned and frowned apologetically. "Oh, sorry. I don't hate the environment, I swear. There's just no recycle bin in here."
Katniss looked down at the can in her hand and turned crimson as she realized what she'd done. "Sorry, force of habit," she muttered as she slowly returned it to where it had stood.
"No, it's great! I wish the company would be a bit more environmentally conscious." He chuckled. "I bet you were part of the recycling club in high school, right? Went round the whole neighborhood collecting cans?"
Katniss tried to hide her grimace. "Something like that."
Six hours later, her shift was finally over and Katniss headed back to her locker to grab her coat and keys. When she got there, she was shocked to find a piece of ivory-colored paper sticking out of the door. She looked around the room, but it was deserted, and there was no trace of whoever might have left the note.
Filled with curiosity, she plucked the note out and opened it slowly. What she saw made her gasp audibly. It was an intricate sketch of a beautiful woman. It was incredible. There had obviously been a high level of skill and large amount of effort put into this artwork. The woman's wide eyes stared hauntingly off into the distance and her dark hair hung in a long braid over her shoulder, with gentle wisps framing her face. Whoever she was, she was gorgeous. Katniss was confused.
It was an incredible drawing, but why was it in her locker? Had it been put there by mistake, meant for a co-worker instead? She traced the edges of the paper with her finger gently, three were cleanly cut and one was ragged, as if it had been torn out of something. As she studied the paper, she finally noticed, in the corner of the page, a set of familiar three-petal flowers. Katniss flowers. Her heart skipped a beat. There was no mistake, this was meant for her. But why? Was it…? Was it her?
She stared at the features of the woman in front of her and, slowly, she could begin to see her own face reflected in it, but a much more beautiful version than the one that stared back at her from the mirror. She turned the paper over, searching for a signature or name, but there was none. The artist didn't want her to know who they were. Her finger brushed the ragged edge of the page and, suddenly, she recognized the paper. It was the fancy paper from the leather journal. There was no mistaking it. Her heart began to race.
Did Peeta draw this? Did he know? That must have been what he was doing this whole time, drawing, not writing. Her eyes were fixed on the woman and she found herself unable to look away. Did Peeta draw this for her? Did Peeta draw this of her? Was this how he saw her? Katniss suddenly felt as if she were underwater, overwhelmed and struggling for air. A lump had formed in her throat and she furiously blinked back tears that threatened to fall.
Taking a deep breath, she carefully folded the paper and tucked it gently into her pocket. She managed to hold it together until she made it to her truck, where she pulled the drawing out again and finally allowed the tears to stream down her face. This gift was priceless.
She may as well just give up.
The fact of the matter was that Katniss Everdeen was going to owe Peeta Mellark for the rest of her life, she didn't see any possible way around it. No matter how many times she tried to pay him back for everything he had done for her, his infuriating, seemingly innate perfection led to an ever grander gesture from him. She supposed it could be a liberating feeling, abandoning all hope of settling her debt, but every time she looked into those sparkling blue eyes, her stomach flipped over in a mix of guilt and something unfamiliar she choose not to dwell on.
It had been a week since she had found the drawing. Oh, that drawing. It had found a home, carefully folded and tucked deep into her wallet, its constant presence both soothing and stirring her deep inside. Every time she looked at it, she imagined Peeta drawing it, studying her face, memorizing it, transposing it into this thing of beauty. The idea of it was all too much and left her burning inside.
The afternoon was dragging on. The store was empty, the heavy snow drifts outside keeping all but a few brave customers from the store. Katniss had been bored stiff after the first hour. Thankfully, Gale would be there to relieve her in exactly 97 minutes, not that she was counting.
As she decided to make a fifth pass of the bike aisle, hoping desperately for a customer in need of assistance, Katniss was pleasantly surprised to look up and find a familiar face browsing the glass cabinets full of archery equipment. Peeta didn't often venture back here, Sporting Goods being located in the furthest possible corner from Bakery. But there he was, still clothed in the basic store uniform, but missing the flour-covered apron and cap Katniss so strongly associated him with. With a start, she realized that it was the first time she had ever seen him without them. She stared at the blonde curls she only ever saw peeking under the edges of the white cap, now cascading in waves over his forehead. She instantly hated that hat.
From her vantage point behind the counter, Katniss watched as he studied each bow closely, intermittently glancing over his shoulder in her direction. With a sly smile, she began to move towards him.
"Can I help you find anything today, sir?"
His lips quirked into a grin as he turned to face her. "No, thank you, ma'am, I'm happy browsing at the moment."
Raising her eyebrows, she cleared her throat. "So, how long exactly have you had an interest in archery then?"
"Oh, you know, a while…"
"Mmhmm."
"Does that surprise you?" He asked with a grin.
She laughed. "Yes."
"Well, you know, I've actually always had a bit of a fascination with archery," he said casually, "I've always wanted to learn how to shoot some day."
Her face lit up. "Seriously?" Finally, was this something she could actually do for him? "If you're being serious, I could teach you?"
He stared at her, smile stretched wide across his face. "That would be amazing."
She would teach him how to shoot. This was going to be great.
It wasn't great.
It was terrible. Over the time she had known him, Katniss had seen Peeta Mellark demonstrate a wide range of talents and activities at which he was naturally gifted. Archery was definitely not one of them.
To start with, he was just so loud. As Katniss stalked silently through the underbrush, his footfalls behind her were heavy and noisy. At first, Katniss had thought he was actually stomping roughly on purpose and was dismayed to learn that he wasn't. But, she reasoned, he had asked her to teach him how to shoot, not how to hunt. That was a whole other realm that could be tackled some other time. She tried to stay optimistic as she led him to the clearing.
But when they arrived, she discovered the next problem: the boy could not shoot for the life of him. She had no idea how hands that could pipe such intricate details and draw such beautiful scenes could be so clumsy and ungainly with a bow. They were out there for an hour, trying and failing to have just one arrow meet its target. With each and every attempt, Katniss felt her frustration growing, not with Peeta but herself. In her eyes, his failure reflected not on his own abilities (she had seen what those hands could do), but on hers as a teacher. She was hopeless. The one thing he had finally asked of her and she couldn't deliver.
But he did not seem overly heart-broken when finally she suggested they call it a day. In fact, he brightened considerably as soon as they were back inside his truck, the heater working full blast. Peeta stopped the car at the local Panera Bread on the way to take Katniss home because, although he took issue with their bread-making practice, he admitted with a grin, he was obsessed with their chicken stew.
As they sat and allowed the warmth of the hot soup and coffee to revive their frozen limbs, Katniss took note of how much more alive and energetic he seemed here compared to half an hour ago. She decided that maybe he really did belong inside.
His eyes shone brightly as he recounted a story, something about Delly, she thought, but she found herself struggling to concentrate. She felt terrible, guilt and failure weighing deep on her heart. After a few moments, Peeta must have noticed her distraction because he stopped his story abruptly and gazed at her in concern.
"Katniss? Are you ok?"
She frowned. "I'm a terrible teacher. I'm sorry. I wanted to teach you, but I can't, I just-"
His jaw fell open. "What? Are you kidding me? You were excellent out there, even when I was doing so horribly! I'm just no good at that kind of thing, Katniss, believe me."
"No, you wanted to learn how to shoot and I let you down. I'm sorry." She found it hard to meet his eyes as he sighed and shook his head sadly.
"No. Katniss, I- I never really wanted to shoot. I've never had any kind of interest in archery before. I lied. I'm sorry."
Her head shot up. "Then why…"
He sighed again and reached up to rub the back of his neck.
"Because- because I wanted to get to know you more. And the things you're passionate about. I just wanted to spend time with you," he admitted softly.
Katniss didn't understand. "Why?"
"Because you're incredible, Katniss! I mean, look at you, I don't even-"
"Stop! No." She couldn't let him begin to compliment her, not after everything. Kind words to build up her soul, yet another thing to add to the list of things Peeta Mellark was willing to give her. "I'm not incredible. Wh- I don't- I owe you so much, Peeta. This was supposed to be the one thing I could finally do for you."
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.
"What are you talking about?"
She lowered her eyes to the now lukewarm bowl of soup and fixed them on the floating pieces of carrot as she spoke.
"Since we met, you've done so much for me. So much. And every time I try to pay you back, you go and do something else! I owe you so much, and I don't know how to repay you, Peeta. I don't think I can."
"Katniss…" he paused, waiting for her look up at him, locking eyes with her intently when she did. "You don't owe me anything. Nothing. We're friends, we do things for one another, I don't need to be paid back for anything. You don't owe me anything. That's not how it works."
"Not in my world," she whispered. He waited patiently as she tried to fathom the thoughts swirling around her head into coherency. How could she begin to explain it to someone who hadn't grown up in the Seam, in a place where every day was a struggle and every favor had a price?
"Where I grew up…" she began, "Debts means death. You pay people back, no more owed. I don't know how to live any differently."
His eyes remained fixed on her as they sat in silence. She began to fidget in her seat, growing self-conscious under his gaze. Of course he wouldn't understand.
"No more owed, huh? Ok. Fine. There is one thing you can do for me, Katniss."
"Anything."
"One thing, and then, we're square. Your debt is paid in full, no more owed," he told her in a low voice.
She nodded.
His face remained solemn, but the corners of his mouth began to quirk up, his irrepressible grin peeking through.
"Go on a date with me."
Her heart began to race. "What?"
"You heard me. Let me take you out to dinner and we're even."
"Peeta, that's not really-"
"I get to choose, right? And this is what I want. One date, no more owed. Deal, or no deal?"
He waited for her response with wide eyes and a crooked grin. Her mind racing, Katniss studied him intently. Those blue eyes were filled with the same sincerity they had been that night, all those weeks ago, when he had filled her hands with a loaf of bread and her heart with a burst of hope. She thought about everything he had done for her since that night, running through the list in her mind. She recalled his words from a few minutes ago, how he had done all those things expecting nothing at all in return.
She thought about their lunchtime conversations, the way he made her laugh until she cried, the way his eyes lit up whenever she walked in the room, the way her stomach flipped every time he did. She thought about the picture in her wallet and the journal in his bag.
She glanced through the large glass window to the parking lot, to a cluster of yellow weeds poking up from a mound of slush.
"Deal."
It ended with a kiss.
I now pronounce you and two became one. Lips met in a well-rehearsed encounter, cheers and smiles and flying rice. A steady beat, swaying bodies and arms wrapped tight.
"Well, Mrs Mellark," he whispered, "What's mine is yours now. No more owed."
Her lips met his in confirmation.
"No more owed."