I watch him peeling away the aging sign, leaving behind the faint outline of Mellark's Bakery. Slowly climbing down the latter, he grabs a can of orange paint, his long sleeved black shirt splattered in paint. He opens the can, pushing his blond curls back from his forehead, unknowingly streaking his hair with paint.
I continue to watch him as he makes his way back up the ladder, tracing a large 'M' onto the blank sign, his shirt rising up every time he stretches. Instead of golden skin, I see dark ink swirling across his lower back.
"Ahem," a man coughs, annoyed as I stared – observed – the blond tattooed man.
"Hi, welcome to Everdeen's Flowers, how can I help you?" I ask, plastering on a smile for the frowning man.
"I want two of your most expensive bouquets. One marked for Glimmer and one for Clove," he said, looking impatient in his tailored suit and loafers. Many men bought flowers for their wives and for their girlfriends, but they were never this explicit. "Can you make it quick? I have a meeting in ten minutes."
I scowl at his rudeness, but give him his receipt as I go to the back to create his order. Regardless of his snappy attitude, I pick up the pink oriental lilies and camellia foliage, placing them in an embossed paper box. Ever since I was young, I remember enjoying creating the displays, from choosing the flowers, to deciding the arrangements.
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"Sweetie, that looks lovely," Papa praised, proud to see his young daughter share his passion for flowers.
"I added primroses and used the pretty pink paper, Papa!" I exclaimed.
"Primroses, huh? Does that have anything to do with your new sister?"
"I know she's only little now, but I thought if I showed her how pretty the flowers are, she would stop eating them…"
Papa smiled, picking me up. "Well she's taking a nap right now. Why don't we put them at the front of the store, huh?" I grinned, jumping from his hold and rushing to the front. In my haste I collided with a blond boy, causing the flowers to fall to the floor.
"Prim's flowers!" I cried, trying to pick them up. "You ruined them!"
"I didn't mean to!" he apologised, hurriedly picking up the wilted primroses. I scowled, about to yell at him some more when Papa came out.
"Katniss!" Papa yelled in mild anger. "Apologise right now!"
"But Papa, he ruined Prim's flowers-"
"No excuses Katniss. You say sorry for yelling."
I looked away, dejected at being reprimanded. Papa looked me, eyes darting to the wet-eyed boy in front of me.
"I'm sorry for yelling…" I mumbled, looking at my shoes, not meeting the boy's eyes.
"S'okay. I really am sorry. I just wanted to look at the pretty flowers…"
"What's all this commotion, John?" A man walked in, arms dusted in flour, looking between Papa and the fallen flowers. The boy ran towards him, clutching his apron in his tiny hands, burying his head into the man's side.
"Don't worry about it, Adrian. I think Katniss and Peeta just met." Papa grinned, picking me up.
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"What is taking so long with the flowers?! I said I wanted two bouquets, not a whole garden!" the man yelled.
"Be right there!"
I come out to see a small line had formed in my absence. I cursed Haymitch and his eternal hangover for leaving me to man the shop alone.
I didn't mind too much though. Even as a little girl I had always wanted to take over Everdeen's Flowers.
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"One day I'm gonna be like Papa," I said to Peeta as I put flowers on the stand outside. "He said that when I turn 6 next year I could help him make the orders and maybe one day I would make all of them." Peeta walked with me, carrying a small bucket of chalk, eager to start decorating the pavement at the store front.
"I think Mitch is gonna have the bakery, even if all he cares about right now is kissing his girlfriend." Peeta said, sitting down as he began to trace a line with the green chalk.
"You don't wanna be a baker like your dad?" I asked him, motioning towards Mellark's Bakery across the street.
"I like icing the cakes, but I think I want to be a painter," Peeta said choosing a new chalk colour.
"What are you drawing?" I asked after a moment.
"A flower," he said, making long yellow petals. "A dandelion."
"A dandelion?" I laughed. "That's not a flower! Papa says it's a weed."
"Well I think they're pretty," Peeta said quietly, shading in the stem. "I always see them at kindergarten. They make me happy. Maybe I could paint dandelions one day."
"Well you have to paint one for me first. I want to remember it forever." He paused, looking at me.
"Wait right here." He went in, coming back with a small butter knife. He turned towards the flower bouquets lined outside on the wall, moving one aside to reveal a brick. He began etching a small stem, then long petals.
After he finished I traced my small fingers over it, following the curves of the leaves. "Thank you Peeta." I stood on my tippy toes and kissed his cheek, running away right after.
"Catch me if you can!"
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I spend the morning preparing and delivering flowers.
"Sorry I'm a little late, Sweetheart," Haymitch says, strolling in, clothes dishevelled, smelling like the alcoholic he was.
"Don't call me that," I growled.
"Whatever you want, Sweetheart."
"I'm going to lunch," I huff. "Make sure to not scare off every customer?"
"Me? The town drunk? Anything but kind?" Haymitch joked, laughing at himself. He was known for his drinking, but no one could ever doubt the kindness and love he had shown his nieces when they needed him the most.
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"I'm so sorry Katniss. I'm so sorry." Peeta said, rubbing my back in small reassuring circles. I moved away from him, anger boiling inside of me.
"What's 'sorry' going to do, Peeta? Is it going to bring my parents back?" I yelled, trying hard not to cry.
"Katniss, I –"
"I want to be alone right now."
"Katniss wait, I need to tell you something –"
"I don't want to hear it," I said, walking away from him.
The next day I realised that I needed him, I needed my best friend. When I went over to the bakery to apologise, instead of seeing his father's bright face, I saw 'SOLD' in bold red letters across the front door.
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I step through the door, intending to go down to the Sae's but distracted by the blond man covering his newly painted sign. The old bakery had been sold years ago, but the new owners never showed up. Seeing him, I guess he's the newest owner.
He steps down the ladder, wiping his hands on his pants, eyes locking on me. Even from across the street I can see his blue eyes. I'm brought back into a time of chalk buckets and kisses, but a truck passes by, whisking away the thought.
He smiles, waving slightly. I try to return it, hoping it doesn't come off as a grimace. He begins to cross the street, walking up to me.
"Hi, I'm your new neighbour," he says, strong hands coming out from his sides to shake my hand. "Well, not really neighbours… I, uh, opened my parlour across from you. Well from your shop. As you would have just seen. Because I crossed the street to get to you…" he blushes, taking his hands out of his pants and scratch his blonde stubble, embarrassed about rambling on.
"I'm Katniss. I own Everdeen's Flowers," I say, looking behind me.
"I know," he says, smiling knowingly. I raise an eyebrow in suspicion.
"You said you opened a parlour? Like an ice-cream or pancake parlour?"
He chuckles. "No, I don't need to add any more inches to my ever increasing waist," he laughs depreciatingly. My eyes trail over his body, noticing his thin waist and broad shoulders. Reluctantly dragging my eyes back up, I realise he had caught me staring. "It's actually a tattoo parlour."
I suddenly think of his back … patterns inked across golden taught skin… I feel my face redden. "Uh, how did you get into that? You don't seem too inked up, other than your back I guess." He looks at me sceptically. "I, uh, saw them before. When you were painting your sign."
"So you were watching me?" he teases. I look at my shoes, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. "But you're wrong. I do have a lot of tattoos."
He pulls his sleeves up, revealing swirling blue, green and black ink. He lifts the hem of his t-shirt, showing me his chest piece. I gulp, resisting the urge to trail my hands over his toned stomach, following the path of ink. I think I see an arrow-headed leaf, but he pulls his shirt down, smiling secretly.
"Those flowers are beautiful," I say, still entranced by the details.
"I did a lot of them myself, you know." I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Not the ones on my back, but a lot of the ones on my legs. It's how you learn to tattoo. That and practising on banana skin."
"Bananas?"
"Apparently banana and human skin is really similar in texture." My stomach grumbles loudly. "Are you hungry?"
"Yeah I was just getting some lunch…"
"Where to?"
"Just a café down the street."
"Greasy Sae's?
"Yeah, have you been before?"
"A very long time ago," he smirks. "Lead the way."
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"And then I decided that wrestling wasn't for me. Yeah, it got me a scholarship into college, but I wasn't happy."
"So you just dropped out?"
"Not that easily," he winces at the memory. "I lived with my mother at the time and she didn't make the decision very easy. Eventually, I moved out and worked odd jobs for a bit. It was pretty difficult. But when I had saved up enough I wanted to a get the tattoo that reminded me to have hope," he moves the neck of his t-shirt, lowering it to his chest, showing me a single dandelion on his heart. I search his eyes but he looks down at the table. "It's how I found Mockingjay Tattoos. I saw they were hiring. They gave me a job and I started training right away." He smiles. "What about you? Did you go to college?"
"I took some botany classes at the community college, but it wasn't for me. Prim was the one who always wanted to become a nurse. I always knew that I wanted to take over my family's shop. A college degree wasn't going to help me with that."
"How old is Prim now? It's been years since I last saw – " The waitress cuts him off, handing us our sandwiches.
"Is there anything else you guys need?" she asks, batting her eyelashes at him.
"No, I think we're good," he says. She leaves, glaring at me. We eat quietly for a moment.
"So what made you want to open your own parlour?" I ask.
"Well Cinna was amazing, but he didn't have a permanent place for me. When people started coming in more frequently specifically for my designs, I thought I could open my own salon."
"You designed as well?"
"Flowers, mostly. They've always been special to me." He smiles, his grin reaching his blue eyes. "What about you? When did you inherit the floristry?"
I gulp. "It was my parents' before it was mine," I pause, blinking back tears. "My dad had opened it up when he was young, invested all of his savings into the tiny shop. But then he passed away and my mother wasn't coping with his death –"
"I'm so sorry Katniss. You don't have to tell –"
"No, it's okay," I say, surprised to be able to speak to him so easily. "After they died, Uncle Haymitch took us in and took over the shop for a while. When I turned 18, Haymitch gave it to me, said it was always mine."
He reaches for my hand, squeezing it lightly. "I hear that people from the city come all the way to get their bouquets from you. Your father would be proud."
"So this is me." He says as we walk in front of his parlour.
"When do you guys open?" I say, noticing his sign still up.
"Tomorrow is the first day." I nod. He speaks up after a moment. "We should do this again sometime."
"Stand in front of your tattoo parlour?"
"No. Eat lunch. Together."
"Oh."
"Or we don't have to. Oh god, we can just pretend that this never happened –"
"Give me your phone," I cut him off.
"My phone?"
"Yes your phone." He hands it over to me, confused. I slide his IPhone, opening up contacts and adding my number. "This is my number."
He looks shocked and then smiles mischievously. "Don't you need mine?" I give him my phone, realising that he never told me his name. I'm about to ask him, but he turns away, climbing back up the ladder. I look at my phone as he pulls the sheet covering the sign.
Peeta Mellark
959 555 0169
I shoot my head up, cursing myself for not recognising him after all these years. I look up at the sign, reading Mellark's Tattoos as recognition floods through me. I remember summer afternoons planting seeds, winter mornings in the warm Mellark's Bakery and a sweet kind boy who left me when I needed him most.
"Peeta," I say in shock.
"I didn't mean to not tell you –"
"You just left," I cut him off, as he climbs back down the ladder. "You just left. My parents had died and you just left without a word!" I began to yell, tears brimming my eyes.
He reaches for me, arms wrapping around my shoulders, pressing me to his chest. "Katniss I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you, but then you said you didn't want to see me. By then it was too late –"
"Too late? Where did you go?"
He sighs. "My mother had always been bitter and I guess dad had had enough of it. They got divorced, but by some cruel fate the court decided my brothers would stay with dad and I would go with my mother.
"I'm so sorry Katniss. I tried telling you but you were grieving and mother didn't want to stay here any longer." He looked distressed. "I'm so sorry for leaving you in a time like that."
"Why didn't you tell me? You know… when I saw you this morning?"
He looked sheepish. "I didn't think you remembered me."
"Of course I did. I never forgot you Peeta," I trace his cheek with my fingers. "But in my defence, you really do look different."
"What?"
"Last time I saw you I was taller than you! Your voice was breaking. And now…"
He smirks. "And now what?"
I don't say anything, but just lean forward and press my lips to his. He seems shocked, as if he never thought I would want to kiss him, but after a moment he drags his hands to my face, holding me in place as he traces his lips over mine.
Too quickly we stop, catching our breath, foreheads resting against one another's. "I've wanted to do that forever," he says, softly kissing my temple.
"Me too." His face brightens up and he reaches in to kiss me again, but someone yells from across the street.
"Hey Sweetheart, don't wanna cock-block you or anything, but we kinda need your help here," Haymitch exclaims, making sure everyone in the street can hear him. I glare at him, deciding to pour all his liquor down the drain.
"Sorry," Peeta says, holding me close.
I pull away, looking at his face. "No you're not," I grin.
"No I'm not." He grins, kissing me again.
"I wasn't joking before! You and the boy really need to keep it in your pants until the afternoon rush dies out!" Peeta groans as Haymitch continues to yell.
"I've got to go…" I say apologetically.
"I'll let you go, but only on one condition."
"And what would that be?"
"You'll meet me here, tonight, after you close up," he propositions, smiling widely.
"Deal."