Peeta spins the dandelion around in his fingers, his eyebrows drawn. "And you're saying, I remind you of this? Of a flower?"
My lips twist upwards in a wry smile. "No, Peeta, the flower reminds me of you. The other way around."
He rolls his eyes. "My bad."
I step forward and take the dandelion out of his grip, lacing my free hand with his. Warmth shoots through my body suddenly, and my cheeks flush pink. I think of the moment I had claimed the association of Peeta and the dandelion, and realise how silly I must have sounded while explaining it to him only moments ago. But still, I think, he deserves to know, regardless of how stupid it would appear.
"It was a lot better in my head," I say finally.
"Then it must have been spectacular in there, because it was pretty good out here, too," he smiles. He gives my hand a firm squeeze, and I can easily understand the message. It's something we practiced whenever we could, whenever we were in front of someone and unsure of what to do or say. It means no problem, no big deal, or let it go. But now, I think, maybe it has another meaning.
Maybe it means something along the lines of "I love you".
And, before I can do or say anything, he uses his hand to pull the dandelion close to his lips. He puckers them first, probably mocking me, and then blows. I watch the flower break away, the small white drifting off into the air by a force invisible to the eye, and I smile even broader. I reciprocate the squeeze and his expression softens.
"Now," I say, as I let the flower fall free from my grip, "Are you going to spend all day playing with flowers, or would you like to finish this date?"
