The days working at the bakery had flown by and before I'd even had the chance to breath, my time here as a full-time employee was coming to a close. Rue was due back day after tomorrow and I wasn't quite sure how I felt about it. I'd grown to love the people that religiously came into Mellark's every morning and it was nice to feel like I really belonged in this town.
Growing up and especially in high school, people just knew me as the girl who's father had passed away and her mother had gone crazy because of it. Years away though, and maybe the presence of Ross in my mom's life, had pushed that notion from the locals' minds and they treated me no different from the next girl.
"That'll be $3.79, Haymitch," I reminded by favorite customer as I poured him a cup of dark roast and placed a cheese danish on the counter.
"I know Sweetheart, it's the same every damn day," he muttered as he placed 4 one's on the counter. His harsh tone had rubbed me the wrong way at first, but after watching him intereract with other people, I'd come to learn that was just Haymitch. The only exception to his sandpaper attitude was when he was dealing with Effie Trinket, our local newspaper editor.
Those two could not be more different if they tried. She was bubbly, loquacious, and nosy to boot. Haymitch was quiet, gruff, and just seemed to really be put off by everything. I'd asked Peeta one day after work about them and he just shook his head and laughed. If you didn't love Effie, this town wasn't for you, Haymitch included.
"Always a pleasure," I chuckled, sliding his change across the counter. The corners of his mouth moved a tad, like he was almost going to smile, as he dropped the coins in the tip jar. That man was a handful.
It was the morning lull, where everyone who was going to work had already come in, and those who ran morning errands or needed a "pick me up" hadn't graced us with their presence yet. I took the opportunity to see what Peeta was up to in the back.
Waltzing around the corner, I could see him hard at work frosting a large cake of some sort. His face was pensive as he piped the fine details onto the middle tier. Over the past weeks, my feelings for him at only magnified. As did my amazement and appreciation for the talent he had. Just last week, I discovered he was a wonderful artist. I'd heard brief musings about it discussed over family dinners and seen a few simple paintings done by him, but nothing that really said, "Jeez, this guy is a modern day Picasso". He hand painted a beautiful landscape using food dye and special pastes onto the side of a wedding cake for a couple who were getting married two towns over. When it was all said and done, it looked as though he had pasted a panoramic photo onto it; it was a perfect likeness.
His hands stilled in their ministrations, his voice not far behind. "I can't properly pipe when you standing behind me, staring Katniss." He didn't sound mad, but rather more annoyed with an underlying hint of teasing humor.
"Uh, I'm sorry. I.. uh, umm I didn't mean to interrupt you. I think I hear someone ringing the bell up front," I rushed out before he could even turn to look at me. My feet carried me hastily back out to the counter where nothing but silence waited for me. The burning sensation of my embarrassment was finally subsiding from my cheeks much to my relief.
Katniss Everdeen wasn't one to have her feathers ruffled so easily but it seemed that the tides were turning.
The day had been long and it still wasn't over yet. Peeta had asked me to stay and help do inventory of supplies and review the kitchen equipment and appliances for quarterly purposes. He'd spent all day working on the wedding cake and had done zero prepping for the next morning. From my perch in the office, I could hear the mixer kneading away at some sort of dough.
With a final review at my inventory lists, I closed the book and switched off the office light. Peeta was dusting his work station with flour and singing along with the music playing from his earbuds. I took the opportunity to watch him work, unnoticed, which was such a rarity for me. The always knew when I was around, even if he didn't say anything I noticed the way his shoulders tensed and his breath caught.
With a precise and practiced manner, he scraped the dough from the steel bowl, onto the table. He kneaded the dough into the shape he wanted and begin rolling it out. I recognized he was going to make my arch nemesis, cinnamon rolls. Too concerned by watching the way his arms looked as he was manipulating the dough, I slid off the door jam and knocked into a cooling rack.
Moment ruined by yours truly. The blonde man jumped slightly and turned, a smile cracking on his lips as he took in my deer-in-the-headlights appearance. "Katniss, how are you such a skilled hunter and can be so quiet, but in this bakery, you're a bull in a China shop?" he chuckled.
"Just not my scene, I guess." I picked up the pans I knocked off and sheepishly sat on a stool next to him. Out of my periphery, I could see him start to say something several times but then stop. A few moments of awkward silence passed before he finally spoke again.
"So, this is my last pan of prep and then I'll be out of here. You're more than welcome to go, Kat. Besides, I know you're sitting there secretly making bitter remarks about these pastries".
Damn, he knew me so well. "No, I'll stay and keep you company. It's not like it's going to take you another two hours or something to do this one pan. You're damn skilled when it comes to these things."
He pat my shoulder softly, reassuring me in regards to my bitter tone. "It'll be okay, you'll master rolling these things eventually. And if not, I'll just let you man the counter forever. Haymitch loves you."
"Gee, thanks. Maybe if you were a better teacher, I'd be a better student in Cinnamon Rolls: 101." I tried my best not to crack a smile, silently gauging his reaction. He went from humorous to determined in 5 seconds flat.
"You know what, stand up. You're gonna get this down, even if we have to stay here all night."
My heart leaped at his words. Spending an entire night with this man who I'd come to love as a friend and like more than I should. Peeta was kind and endearing and always had everyone's best interests at heart. His passion for life never ceased to amaze me. To listen to him talk about the world, you'd think he'd seen it all and that he'd never seen anything bad in his life. It was refreshing, to be around someone who saw value in the littlest things.
"Fine. Better break out your patience, this could be the longest night of your life," I countered, my tone as equally determined as his.
Peeta took up residence behind me, placing his arms on either side of me. His well-muscled chest was barely touching my back but every nerve-ending in my body was on fire. How difficult this was going to be, trying to stay focused when I really just wanted to turn around and kiss the every living day lights out of him.
"Alright, now use both hands to roll the dough but remember to tuck it as tight as you can. That's the secret for when you cut it. If it's stable to begin with, then it wont' unroll when you begin to slice it."
I did exactly as he ordered, keeping the roll as bunched up as I could. When I released it, it for the first time ever, stay rolled in it's log fashion. I gleefully smiled and begin slicing away, doing my best to keep the circles even.
"Look at you, guess I'm not such a bad teacher after all," he remarked smugly.
"You know what, Peeta Mellark? I don't like your attitude, seems to me like you need to be reminded of your place in life." I whipped around, ready to assault him with pinches but it was him who assaulted me. His head was angled down and we were almost nose to nose, a brilliant smile on his beautiful face. My heart rate instantly kicked up and I tried to remind myself to keep breathing. Sure, we'd been this close before, but the moments were fleeting and not quite as intimate.
I tried to take a step back but was only met with the cold feeling of the metal table. Shakily I raised my grey eyes to meet his unnaturally blue ones, and saw nothing but confidence. Here I was, dying on the inside, and he looked completely unaffected by the current situation. Tension filled the room and if I'd had a knife handy, I could have cut a doughnut out of it like a cartoon.
Finally, he let out a shaky breath but didn't make any sort of move to widen the space between us. Softly, like the meticulous stroke of a paintbrush on a canvas, his fingers moved up my arm and caressed by cheek. My skin was left on fire in the wake of his actions. I wouldn't have been surprised if he could hear my heart racing.
I was trying my damnedest to figure out what was going on, but his eyes gave away nothing. He still wore a smile but it had lessened into a softer one... like a smile of someone who was gazing at something breathtaking that they'd never seen before.
I could see a slight smattering of freckles along his nose and the shadows that his blonde lashes cast upon his cheeks, small things I'd never been given the chance to appreciate before. A dusky pink colored his full lips and slight scruff lined his defined jaw. Peeta Mellark, excuse the cliché, was a work of art. My eyes kept switching from his eyes to his lips, my brain and heart fighting with each other to have the first word. Question this or kiss him.
Questioning him won out, the logical side never backing down. My lips parted to protest this, the beginning of his name already on my lips, but halted by the pad of his thumb stroking my bottom lip. I looked up, hoping he would provide at least one answer to the million different inquiries running circles in my mind.
And boy did I get an answer. Meeting his gaze again, apparently was all the conformation Peeta needed for whatever inner battle he was waging against himself. He closed the minute distance between us, capturing my bottom lip between his dusky pink ones.