After Mara had departed, I walk to the back of the store to find Peeta waiting with little Katniss by the big ovens; Katniss is mesmerised by the fiery glow emanating from the furnace. I shoo them outside into the yard, where they can easily play away from the danger of the fire but within easy sight of the kitchens.
"Peeta, why don't you take Katniss outside into the yard," I say gently, "You can play with your wooden animals there. Maybe you can try and find Lox's ball and show Katniss how to play catch?"
"Yes, Papa," Peeta says seriously before addressing Katniss, "C'mon, I can show you the tree my brothers like to climb. It's so high!"
The pair race outside and it's not long before I can hear their laughter from inside the bakery; sweet, high-pitched squeals and giggles that warm my heart. It's wonderful that they get along together.
Eventually, they tear back inside, grinning widely but slightly dishevelled. Katniss' hair has fallen out of her braids and is full of grass and leaves; Peeta's knees are grass-stained and his clothes are a mess. As untidy as they look, I can hardly berate them, with their healthily flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
"Papa," Peeta groans, "we're hungryyyyyy, aren't we Katniss?"
Katniss says nothing and stares at the floor; no doubt her parents have already trained her not to complain of hunger, when here in District 12, so many starve every year.
Normally, I wouldn't give in to Peeta so easily, but I find myself quietly admiring this tiny little girl from the Seam; this thin, pretty creature with the fiery personality.
"Katniss, it's your birthday, is it not?" I ask her gently.
"Yes, Mr. Baker," she replies quietly.
"I would like you to be very honest with me Katniss," I continue, "are you hungry?"
"A bit," she admits, with a shy smile "but not like Peeta!"
"Well then, let me see what I can go find you two little larks, shall I?" I say, before walking into the shopfront.
I return a few minutes later with two small cheese buns that haven't gone too stale and as a special treat for Katniss' birthday, a cookie broken in two for them to share.
"Ok you two," I say, "sit on that bench over there and you can have these buns and this cookie whilst I finish these rolls. "
Obedient as puppies, they sit at the bench and Katniss stares in wonder at the bread I set before her. It's true that her father looks after his family, but even so, I bet cheese buns and cookies aren't something she gets very often.
"Thank-you Mr. Baker," Katniss says.
"Thank-you, Papa," Peeta follows.
As I return to my baking, their childish chatter fills the bakery, making me smile. She's a bright little girl and has a voice as musical as a mockingjay's, you can't deny it. I can't help but listen to them and smile.
"My daddy brings me all sorts of treats," brags Katniss, "feathers and rocks and flowers from the woods!"
"Really?" says Peeta, enthralled, "what else does he do?"
"He's a miner! And he sings!" she says.
"My dad makes cakes! And cookies! And buns!" Peeta laughs, "He lets me help sometimes, if I'm good!"
"I wish my daddy made cakes. We don't have cake at my house," she says.
"I bet if you ask my dad, he'll give you one!" Peeta offers; I admire his generosity, though he simply doesn't understand life in District 12 yet. I cannot simply give Katniss a cake.
"Oh, that's okay," says Katniss, "I'm already getting a ribbon for my birthday."
Their chatter continues this way for some time, until it gets quieter and quieter before slowly fading away. I pull the last tray of rolls from the oven and turn around to find them both asleep on the bench, cuddled together like a pair of kittens.
A few moments later, I hear the front door jingle; I walk out to the shopfront and find Mara there, her arms laden with packages from the market.
"Hello Mara," I say, "did you get everything you needed at the market?"
"Yes, yes," she replies, sternly "Where is Katniss? And Peeta? Did she behave for you? I hope she wasn't any trouble."
"Not at all, not at all," I assure her, "she's out back here with Peeta. Why don't you come and see?"
I walk out to the back of the bakery and Mara follows me. I sense, rather than see her disapproval when she catches sight of her beautiful, bedraggled daughter curled up on the wooden bench with my sweet little son.
"Katniss!" she says sharply, "Katniss, wake up. It's time we were going. Whatever has happened to you? You're filthy!"
"They were simply playing in the yard," I say, "they're children. They're bound to get a little untidy."
Mara simply glares at me.
Katniss opens her eyes sleepily and frowns, unsure of her surroundings.
"Mama?" she says, her tone confused.
Mara places her packages on a counter and walks over to her daughter and picks her up, setting her on the ground. Peeta is only just beginning to wake from his slumber.
"Katniss. We have to go. Your father will be home from work soon and we don't want to keep him waiting, do we? I'll have to change your clothes too, just look at you." Mara sighs.
A crease appears in the middle of the little girl's forehead as the frowns; she can tell that her mother isn't happy.
"Okay Mama," she says, "but I wanna say goodbye to Peeta first."
She runs over to Peeta, who grins at her before thrusting one of his wooden animals - a small bird, no less –into her hands.
"Katniss! Give that back to Peeta now," Mara snaps.
"You can have it Katniss," he says, when she stares at it and then her mother, shocked, "I've got a pig and a goat and a horsie..."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" I ask Peeta softly. He simply nods.
Smiling hugely, she flings her arms around him and kisses him playfully on the cheek.
"Thanks Peeta! You're the bestest!" she laughs.
"We have to be going now," Mara says again, "What do you say to the baker for letting you stay?"
"Thank-you again, Mr. Baker," Katniss whispers, the bird clutched close to her chest as she addresses Peeta, "thank-you for playing with me and giving me your birdie."
"It's okay Katniss," Peeta replies.
"You're very welcome," I say to Katniss with a smile, before giving her a small package of a cookie wrapped in paper. She opens it and beams, to Mara's obvious displeasure.
"Come, Katniss. We're leaving now." Mara says icily.
"Bye bye Katniss," Peeta says sadly, "Maybe you can come back soon?"
"I will! I will!" she says happily.
"Not likely," I hear Mara mutter under her breath, as I bid them both farewell.
Mara collects her packages and takes Katniss by the hand, leading her out of the shop. Though she's not resisting her mother, she's making it difficult for them to make any progress as she continually turns back and waves at Peeta, the cookie and bird clasped in her fist.
***
Of course, Mara never brings the little girl back to the bakery again. Occasionally she comes alone, and if Peeta is around, he cannot help but to ask where Katniss is, though he is always met by a stony response thinly veiled in indifference. Eventually, he forgets about Katniss and begins to make friends with the other merchant's children. That is, until their very first day of school, over a year later.
We're standing in the schoolyard, waiting for the roll-call. Katniss, dressed in a pretty plaid dress, is waiting with her father, Aaron, who has probably taken a precious day off of work to bring his daughter to her first day of school. As the children line up, I point her out to Peeta.
"You see that little girl over there? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner," I say.
He stares at Katniss; she catches him and smiles shyly at him, and he waves at her. I don't believe for a second they remember each other.
"Why'd her mother do that, Papa?" Peeta replies.
"Because when he sings, even the birds stop to listen," I say.
"Oh," says Peeta, as he takes his place in line, "That's sad. But you love Mama, right?"
"Of course, son," I confirm, "You be good today, you hear? And have fun."
When Peeta arrives that afternoon after his mother has brought him home, he races into the kitchens.
"Papa! That girl, Katniss... she's amazin'," he says breathlessly.
"What?" I say, confused.
"Oh Papa... she can sing. The music teacher asked her to sing the valley song... In front of everyone... And when she sang, the birds... the birds... every bird went quiet when she sang," he gasps, "it was so pretty."
I smile benevolently, and send him outside to feed the pigs; he cannot be allowed to see the pain in my eyes.
My son. My poor son. A goner, just like his father; he's in love with her, and he doesn't even know it yet.