I yawn and stretch my arms before getting out of bed. The spot where Peeta usually sleeps is empty; the sheets are thrown back, as if to suggest someone had, in fact, slept there earlier. I absentmindedly graze my fingers over his pillow—that smells of cinnamon and vanilla and Peeta—and acknowledge that it's cold. I had expected that; Peeta gets up and bakes before dawn. Bakers' schedule, I guess.

I pull open my drawer as my hands reach out for the warm knit sweater that I usually go hunting in. I fondly recall my father's hunting jacket and—even though only a very small part of me does—regret sending it to my mother as a sort of peace offering. My eyebrows furrow together in confusion; something is missing, I'm just not quite sure what yet. It's only a moment later when I realize that my pearl, the cool, iridescent pear that I had clung to during the worst times when Peeta was gone, is missing. I gasp and suddenly start throwing things over my shoulder at random, hoping it'll just show up. This can't be happening; I need that pearl, almost as much as I need Peeta…it's a sort of 'home' for me. I can't let Peeta know something is wrong—and he will know if I don't return home with my game bag full—so I take a shaky breath and repack my belongings into the drawer.

Reminding myself not to hyperventilate, I plan on finding it when I return home from hunting. I retreat downstairs to eat breakfast before going hunting; Peeta always makes me something to eat. I wonder why he does it, sometimes. It's only got to be more trouble for him, what with Mellark & Sons' Bakery reopened now. But I've never asked him about it, and never will. He'd just shrug it off anyway, as if it were the simplest of things. Coffee bread is waiting for me downstairs; I breath in deeply, loving the heavy scent. After finishing off two slices and grabbing my bow, I head out the door.

The sun's gleaming rays beat down on me as I attempt to drag my game bag to the house. It's not really working for me—what with me being only 110 pounds and practically qualified as a midget and all—but I continue on anyway, because who else is going to help me with it?

When I reach the door, a note taped to the glass panel stands out at me. I hastily peel it from its taped position on the door and read:

Katniss-

I have to finish up a wedding cake at the bakery, but I'll be home around 6. Could you check the flowers please? There are a few weeds growing and I won't have time to pull them tonight.

Love Peeta

I smile tugs at my lips when the word 'love' jumps out at me; it's short-lived, though, because an even heavier word was used as well. Primrose. I sigh and fold the note up, opening the door to place it inside real quick. I don't worry about my game bag—I'll get it on the way back inside. Walking around the house, I suck in a breath at the pastels of evening primrose that jump out at me. I glance over them, looking for weeds. A few grab my attention and I pull them up quickly-

And jump back when something white catches my attention. What is it? I've taken an awful fear to spiders since everything that's happened, for some reason. But there aren't any white spiders—are there? As I bend my head to get a better look, a word suddenly pops into my head.

Pearl.

It's my pearl, the one that reminds me of happiness and sunshine and dandelions and Peeta and things un-Katniss like. I pick it up, relieved but also curious as to how in the world it managed to end up beside a primrose bush. As I pick it up, though, something else catches my attention; it's not just my pearl, but now there's a sort of small metal loop surrounding it that makes it…

A ring.

I blink as the sudden force of one simple word hits me. Ring. Only four letters, yet so much more than that. Peeta hadn't wanted me to pick the weeds; he was proposing.

To me.

I don't even realize that I'm crying until I see salty tears dripping from my cheeks onto my hands. It was perfect, somehow. I imagined Peeta proposing in reality and shuddered, knowing that it would have been too much for me. Yet he had known that it would, and asked me without asking me, technically.

He had known that…

I love him.

My feet dig into the hard-packed surface of the dirt as I race towards Mellark And Sons' Bakery, a small white pearl clutched safely in my fist.

I'm thinking of making this a two-shot, whereas the next chapter would be Katniss and Peeta's conversation after she reaches the bakery and Haymitch finding out later on. Sound good? Review Please! Bonus points if readers of 'Are We Real?' (another Fanfic of mine, check it out!)recognized Mellark And Sons' Bakery.