A/N: Thank you for your lovely reviews to Chapter 11 and the follows and favorites. I think I missed responding to a few, so if I did, I apologize. Thanks also to the several guest reviewers who continue to support this story and I can't personally thank. I appreciate all your feedback so much!

Many thanks to jeeno2 for her general legal expertise and to fenderfreak81 for his long dissertation on divorce laws and mediation that is the backbone of the next few chapters. I am so grateful for their generous advice, as my own knowledge stems from Law and Order reruns and John Grisham novels, haha.

And as always, ILoveRynMar and streetlightlove...thanks for reading, advising and just being you.

Happy 4th of July to all the American readers out there.


Chapter 12-Tuesday, April 28th cont.

(Peeta)

"She's up to something." He paces in front of the desk, periodically sliding his eyes at Katniss, who hasn't moved since hanging up the phone.

"It's my fault. She probably doesn't want to be in the same room as me."

"Would you stop it?" he says harshly. "Stop blaming yourself, Katniss. Enough."

Her eyes flash with something akin to shame, and she stands, adjusting her skirt and checking the buttons on her shirt again. "I'll get back to the front now." She avoids his gaze and moves past him. He didn't mean to yell at her, and he feels awful being the cause of the wounded look on her face so he reaches out impulsively and grabs her upper arm gingerly, but with just enough force to cause her to freeze.

"I'm serious," he says, his tone softer, and her eyes wander to where he grips her arm so he releases her quickly. "I don't want to hear you blaming anyone but her from now on. She did this, not you." He shoves one hand in his pocket and scratches absently at his chin with the other. "But I'm sorry again…for kissing you."

She opens the door and pauses. "I'm not." She licks her lips and brushes at the bottom one with her thumb idly as she walks away.

He heaves a sigh and turns his back to the door so that he can readjust his pants again, the pain finally alleviating as his hard-on shrinks. Fuck. It will be hours before he can seek a release, and even that will pale in comparison to how he imagines it would have felt to bury himself in Katniss just now.

It was the right thing to stop, but as he told her, it's getting more and more difficult to stay restrained around her. He doesn't really trust himself to be alone with her…and yet, that's all he thinks about. And hearing her say that she wants him too…he's not sure how much longer he can keep torturing himself. They're both consenting adults, and his marriage is effectively over. He's desperate for the court-mandated mediation—the divorce still won't be final at that point, but in his mind, it's the last potential hurdle to being with Katniss guilt-free.

But right now he needs to deal with Glimmer. His ire at his soon-to-be-ex wife has reached new limits with her preposterous lawsuit against Katniss. It's low—even for Glimmer. He picks up his cell phone and paces as he waits for her to answer and his pulse quickens when it goes to voicemail. Uttering a quiet curse, he listens to her annoyingly cloying voice —the same one she uses when she's trying to impress people—announce she's not available and to leave a message.

"Glimmer. Call me when you get this." His tone is sharp and the message is blunt, but he's far past caring about her hurt feelings. She forfeited any right to his sympathy a long time ago. He disconnects and shoves his phone back in his pants pocket, stalking out of his office to get back to work.

But he doesn't get very far. He stops short at the sight of Glimmer and Clove at a small table near the middle of the dining room. They are talking and laughing and Clove is sipping some kind of a martini. Glimmer sporadically scans the room, clearly on the offensive, looking for him, and the smug look on her face when she locks eyes with him curdles his blood. She could have gone anywhere for lunch, chosen any restaurant—but here she is. And much like the incident with his mother last Friday, it can't be a coincidence.

But he's not going to play her game. Smiling politely, he visits a few tables that appear to be finishing their meals and asks how their experience was. One old woman tells him there was too much lemon in her iced tea and her tuna steak was dry, but most are effusive in their praise. He's careful to avoid where Glimmer and Clove sit, but he feels their eyes shadowing him.

He's lingering near the front of the dining room when Katniss breezes past him, leading a party of four businessmen to a table near Glimmer's. She gets them settled and turns to walk away when Peeta sees Glimmer nudge her oversized Michael Kors purse directly into Katniss's path. He's dumbfounded at the blonde's childish antics, but when Katniss deftly steps around the handbag, he can't contain the smirk that forms on his lips.

"When did she get here?" he asks her, placing a hand on her wrist to stop her as she begins walking past him.

"Oh, she and her friend were already seated when I left your office. Aisleyne sat them. I didn't have to say a word to her."

"She never eats here. She's obviously trying to see your reaction to the papers," he whispers, and she nods, chancing a look back at the two women.

"Oh, I know," she replies. "They glare at me every time I come in here. But I just keep smiling. Look." She flashes him a dazzling smile. "My cheeks are actually starting to hurt." She darts another glance past him and keeps the grin plastered on her face. Peeta turns and sees Glimmer seething from her seat as she throws her napkin to the table and pushes back her chair. Katniss seems to sense a confrontation brewing. "I'd better get back."

"You enjoy flaunting your little slut in front of me?" Glimmer hisses as she approaches him and Katniss rounds the corner. He rolls his eyes.

"You tell me, Glim, because you're the one who chose to dine here when you knew Katniss would be working. Why else might you be here?" He feigns puzzlement and her eyes narrow. "Oh, wait. Might it have something to do with the papers Katniss received this morning?"

Glimmer sticks her nose in the air as she turns and struts back to her table. He follows. "I figured I'd return the favor," she sneers.

"That's bullshit and you know it. I'm not sure what kind of a lawyer you retained that thought it was a good idea for you to file such a stupid lawsuit, but Plutarch assured us it's going to get thrown out."

She crosses her arms and flashes him another haughty smile while she takes her seat across from Clove. "We'll see about that." She refolds her napkin and places it back in her lap, smoothing it with her hand.

"Did your lawyer also tell you to demand to be interviewed separately for The Caesar Flickerman Show?"

"Actually that was my idea," Clove pipes up, narrowing her brown eyes at Peeta. "I think it's only fair that Glimmer gets to tell her side of the story without you and your mistress butting in every two seconds."

He ignores her erroneous reference to Katniss, not wanting to engage the bristly brunette in a war of words. "You're one to talk, Clove. You've enjoy nothing more than butting into my marriage. But it's nice that Glimmer has such a good friend to hold her hand through all this." He gives them a facetious smile. "Enjoy your lunch, ladies."

Fortunately, he never sees them leave—and that's largely because he spends the better part of the next hour loitering in the back of the restaurant with only an occasional visit to the floor. He and Thom complete the week's orders and after that he finally immerses himself in the books he had been working on earlier that morning.

A quick glance at the clock surprises him; he's been so immersed in his work that it's nearly five, and Katniss will be leaving soon. He removes his glasses and places the book on Finnick's desk so that he can start entering the information tomorrow morning.

To his dismay, Katniss has already gone home when he saunters to the front of the restaurant. He's slightly insulted that she didn't say goodbye when she gathered her things and left, but Lavinia mentions something Katniss said about working at her uncle's and that she had seemed in a hurry to go.

When he leaves his restaurant an hour later, he decides that he might be in the mood for a burger and a beer.


Abernathy's is considerably busy for a Tuesday evening, but when Peeta steps inside and looks around, he doesn't spot Katniss behind the bar and wonders if she could be in the back changing a tap or something. Settling on a stool and reaching for a menu, he hears a gravelly voice announce, "She's not here." He glances up and sees Katniss's uncle staring at him. Haymitch leans back against the register and gives him a smirk. "I assume you're not just here for my haute cuisine, Blondie."

"I…uh…" He tries to find a logical response to justify his appearance, but the expression on Haymitch's face says it all—he knows damn well why Peeta is there. "I thought she was working tonight," he supplies lamely, laying the menu down.

"Get you a beer?" Haymitch asks. "Or something stronger?" He raises his arm and Peeta sees a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. "Macallan. Private reserve."

"I'll stick with beer, thanks. I've got to drive back to the hotel," he answers, watching Haymitch set down his scotch and fill a frosted pint glass with the IPA Peeta favored the last time he visited Abernathy's. "Good memory." He accepts the glass and takes a long sip of the foamy, cold beer.

"It's good business to know your customers whether they're in every night or just once in a while." He sips at his scotch and scrutinizes Peeta.

"So Katniss isn't here, huh?"

"Oh, she was supposed to be. But Vick showed up instead and said he'd switched with her." He throws back the rest of the alcohol in the tumbler and refills it, swirling it contemplatively. "But I know my niece. She'd show up for work if she were on death's door. So I knew something was wrong."

Peeta considers the morning's chain of events and he nods in affirmation. "She had a rough morning."

"Getting blindsided with a horseshit lawsuit from your boss's wife will do that."

He falls quiet for a moment and gazes down into the head of his beer. "She told you about that."

"She doesn't keep many secrets from me. But I had to really pry this one out of her." He levels Peeta with a severe look. "Katniss doesn't open up to many people. If she's spending time with you and freely talking to you, you can be sure she's got feelings for you. And not much rattles her. She's always been real good at taking care of herself. But whatever went down this morning musta did a number on her."

Peeta feels a stab of anguish at the notion that Katniss is so distraught—he thought he had successfully reassured her that everything would be okay. "She, uh, seemed fine at work." Haymitch guffaws and swirls his tumbler again, appraising the liquor.

"Katniss is also real good at making people think she's okay when she's hurting on the inside. She's been doing it for years."

"I hate that she's hurting," he says, staring down at his beer again.

"So do I. So let's get something straight, Blondie. You hurt my niece, I'll fucking break your legs."

"Mr. Abernathy—"

"I know what you're gonna say, so save your breath. I know you didn't mean to do it, but she's upset nonetheless. She's caught in the crossfire of this war you're waging with your wife." He sets down his scotch and leans on the bar, his steely eyes boring into Peeta's. "I'll tell you something else. I can count on one hand the number of guys Katniss has dated, and I've never seen her like she is around you. So watch yourself. Don't go starting something you're not willing to finish. It will fucking crush her."

He swallows and reaches for his beer, downing the rest of the pint in one gulp then wipes his mouth hastily and reaches for his wallet, throwing down a ten-dollar bill on the bar. "I care about your niece, Mr. Abernathy."

"Haymitch," he scoffs.

"Haymitch," Peeta repeats. "I care about her a lot. And I'll do everything in my power never to hurt her. I promise you that. Your niece can tell you all about me and my promises."

Haymitch retreats, straightening up, though he keeps his stony gaze fixed on Peeta. "You're seem like a good guy, Blondie. You were always a good kid. But don't think I never saw the way you looked at Katniss when you two were teenagers. I wish you had had the balls back then to show her the attention you're showering her with now. Things mighta been different."

He sighs and rubs at his temples, closing his eyes momentarily. "They can be different now. Life doesn't give you a whole lot of second chances," he begins, sliding off the stool and showing his wallet back in his jeans. "I don't intend to let this one pass me by. It's only a matter of time."

"She's been waiting long enough for Mr. Right," Haymitch calls after him. "So don't you fucking keep her waiting too long."

Her uncle's words of advice—or his threat, whichever he intended them to be—echoing in his ears, Peeta exits the bar, unlocks his car, starts the engine and drives straight for Katniss's place. He has a profound need to see her—to reassure her one more time that everything will be fine; he can't let the rest of the evening pass if he knows she's hurting because of him.

He finds a parking spot a few blocks away from her building and walks briskly back towards her apartment, presses the button to the intercom and waits for a response. Her voice comes through the garbled speaker hesitantly. "Yes?"

"Katniss, it's me. Peeta." She doesn't reply, but the door clicks and he slips into the vestibule and realizes he has no idea what floor she's on or what her apartment number is. He scans the tiny row of mailboxes and searches for her name. A few minutes later, he locates the neatly lettered 'K. EVERDEEN' beside Apartment 12D just as a door creaks and a soft cough commands his attention.

"12D," she says, leaning against the doorframe and giving him a slight smile.

"Yeah, I found it," he replies drolly, laughing.

"What are you doing here?"

He swallows and tries to keep his eyes on her face when he notices that she's wearing a tiny camisole and a pair of worn plaid boxer shorts. Her loose hair blows lightly as a result of her position directly under the cooling vent, and he can see her puckered nipples through the flimsy material of the little top. "I, uh, went to visit you at Abernathy's and grab some dinner. Your uncle said you had Vick take your shift."

"Oh, yeah." She crosses her arms, but she positions them below her breasts so that they are still displayed to him. "I had a really bad headache come on just as I was leaving Thirteen-12, and I just wanted to lie down and nap."

"Katniss," he begins gently. "Haymitch told me you were upset when he talked to you. He didn't say anything about you not feeling well or having a headache." She presses her lips into a thin line but remains quiet. He steps towards her and she sucks in a breath as he places his hands on her bare arms and rubs them up and down, attempting to keep the gesture comforting and not allow it to venture into sexual territory, which is a challenge with her nipples still so prominently visible, straining against the thin fabric. It gets more challenging when she draws her lower lip between her teeth and worries it—he wants to be the one nibbling on those lips. "He also said you never miss work for any reason."

"Peeta, I…" She blows out an exaggerated breath. "Why are you here?" she asks again.

"I just needed to see you and promise you that this whole fucking mess with Glimmer isn't going to materialize any further. We'll go see Plutarch tomorrow and it will get dealt with swiftly. Okay?" She shrugs and looks uncomfortable. He sighs. "Do I keep my promises?" She nods and he uses his index finger to lift her chin, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Say it," he whispers.

"You keep your promises," she murmurs.

"And this is no exception," he assures her.

The air between them is electric, and he can practically feel the heat radiating off her skin as she moistens her lips and keeps her eyes locked on his. "Did you…ah…did you want to come upstairs? I think I owe you a coffee."

"Katniss," he warns, closing his eyes to break the intense gaze they are sharing. "I think you know as well as I do if I come upstairs there is a better than good chance that we will do a lot more than drink coffee."

"I have coffee, Peeta," she emphasizes, "Unless you prefer tea. And I'd have to check if I have that."

"Actually while I'll drink coffee, I do prefer tea. Green. Or Chai. Or Black." He laughs. "As you can see I'm very particular."

"I don't mind 'particular.'"

"As tempting as it sounds, I shouldn't."

"No? Why not?"

"I don't trust myself alone with you right now."

"You're going to give me a complex, constantly turning me down, you know," she says, and while he can hear that she tries to keep the tone playful, there is a grain of honesty behind her words. His heart beats a syncopated rhythm as he impetuously reaches around her neck to draw her closer and lowers his mouth to hers, brushing her lips ever so gently.

"I'll make you another promise, Katniss," he whispers. "You won't have to wait for me much longer." Her eyes flutter open, and her pupils are black pools of desire.

"I'm going to be holding you to that one," she breathes, touching her fingertips to her lips.

"Good. I'm counting on it." He gives her a smile and turns for the door. "Hey, I'd be happy to pick you up tomorrow and we could go to Plutarch's together, if you'd like."

She twists her lips into a smirk. "I don't know, Peeta. Wouldn't we be alone together in your car?"

"Touché," he laughs. "About eight-forty-five, okay? It's not far to Plutarch's office from here."

"Sounds great," she replies. He reaches for the doorknob and steps out onto the stoop, turning to say goodbye when she smirks again. "Oh and Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

She crosses the tiny vestibule and rises up on her toes, her mouth flush with his ear. "I may be going upstairs alone, but you know there are some things a girl might do to herself when she's all alone. And I might just be thinking about you tonight when I do them." She flashes him a devilish smile, her brazenness catching him completely off-guard in spite of the light flirting they've engaged in just now. Wiggling her fingers at him, she leaves him standing on her apartment steps with the tantalizing vision of her hands on her breasts and her fingers between her legs—and his own erection straining against his jeans. Fuck me—he can't get back to his hotel fast enough.


Katniss is seated on the stoop the next morning when he idles in front of her building and she rises, striding towards his car and he lurches across the console, stretching for the door handle so he can still open the door for her. She gives him a coy smile as she settles inside, adjusting the seatbelt as he veers back into traffic. "Always the gentleman," she muses, lowering her sunglasses from their perch atop her head to rest on the bridge of her nose. His eyes are drawn to the rosy sheen of her mouth, glistening with the dewy luster of her lip-gloss.

Her eyes flit down to the console, and he smiles at her when she notices the two cups, steaming piping from their lids. "I took the liberty to bring you coffee. A latte actually. Vanilla. I wasn't sure how you take your coffee so that seemed like a safe compromise." She raises an eyebrow at him, a pleased smile crinkling her eyes as she inhales deeply before taking a slow sip.

"So good," she appraises. "Thank you."

"So, how did you sleep last night?" He meets her eyes when he brakes at a stoplight, and a lovely shade of pink blooms on her cheeks.

"Oh, just fine, thanks," she demurs, taking another quick sip of her latte and glancing away. He grins and decides against teasing her, though he's aching for confirmation that she really did touch herself to thoughts of him. He had barely closed the door to his hotel room before his jeans and boxers were on the floor and his hand had wrapped around his cock as he jerked off to his own fantasies of her.

As Peeta suspected, once they settle in Plutarch's office, politely declining Cecilia's offer for coffee or tea, it doesn't take long for the three of them to sort through the alienation of affection suit and get things in order for Plutarch to prepare a motion to be filed to have the case dismissed. He explains that Glimmer will likely have the right to argue against the dismissal, but he can't fathom her lawyer will advise her to do that.

"It's pretty cut and dry, Katniss," Plutarch drawls, a warm smile on his creased face as he tents his fingers. "I have yet to see one of these torts successfully argued. Hell, some states don't even allow them to be filed anymore. Most cases it's nothing more than a vengeful ex who is simply wasting the court's time."

"I told you," Peeta smiles, reaching over and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He lets his palm linger on hers, and she rotates her wrist, her fingers mapping the plane of the back of his hand.

Plutarch coughs and shuffles some papers on his desk. "You two have something you want to share with me?"

They exchange a glance and Peeta pulls back his hand, giving the lawyer a guilty smile. "No, Plutarch. Not yet anyhow." Katniss bites her lip and looks away.

Plutarch leans back in his desk chair, tapping his fingertips against each other in contemplation. "I guess it's a good thing then that I got your mediation with Glimmer fast tracked and you have a session scheduled for next Thursday at 10 am."

"Are you kidding?"

Plutarch shakes his head, a broad grin on his face. "Nope. You'll need to be sure you can make it because there's no rescheduling with this mediator. He's one of the best, and it took a lot of string-pulling to get a hearing with him so quickly."

Peeta wrings his hands in his lap, his palms becoming sweaty as a wave of hopefulness washes over him. "I…thank you, Plutarch. That's great news. I can arrange to be available then, yes. " He cuts his eyes to Katniss. She intently studies her thumbnail, but he can tell she is still hiding a smile.

"It's not really customary for the attorneys to sit in on mediation hearings," Plutarch continues. "So unless Glimmer insists on her lawyer being there, and then I'll join you, you two will just speak with him alone." He continues explaining where the mediator's office is and how the hearing will likely proceed, and Peeta repeatedly shifts his eyes to Katniss as Plutarch talks. He's surprised to find her listening attentively to the attorney's elucidations.

Plutarch has just started to give them both a few warnings about their impending interview with Caesar Flickerman when Peeta's cell phone trills obnoxiously, and a peek at the screen reveals his eldest brother's face and name. Plutarch motions for Peeta to take the call and as he does, a frantic Grant starts rambling.

"Peet? Thank God. Mom's not answering her cell, and the fucking nanny has the flu. Listen, can you come watch the boys for a couple of hours? Charys says she's spotting and fuck, man, she sounds like she's in a lot of pain and I'm on my way home to get her to the hospital ASAP."

Peeta's stomach instinctively twists at the raw panic in his brother's voice. "Yeah, of course, Grant. But I'm at Plutarch's right now. Wouldn't it be faster for you if you just put the boys in the car and I meet you at the E.R? Won't that save time?" The complex that houses Plutarch's office is only a few blocks from the hospital.

"I don't know, Peet. Shit. They need so much crap…the baby's diaper bag...and he needs to be fed…and you don't have car seats or anything…"

"Okay, okay," he agrees. He hadn't considered that yeah, kids do not travel light and his car is certainly not equipped for two children and a baby. "We'll leave right away." He turns to Plutarch and Katniss, who watches him with concern in her grey eyes. "It's my sister-in-law. She's, uh, bleeding, I guess, and Grant's worried about the baby and they need to go to the emergency room." He sighs. "Plutarch, can we—"

Plutarch offers a sympathetic smile. "We're pretty right done here, kiddo. Go. Take care of your nephews. I'll get this filed for Katniss, and I'll be in touch with you again before your mediation. And I meant what I said about that interview. Be careful what you reveal."

They both thank Plutarch and as they exit his office and make their way down to Peeta's car, it dawns on him that he needs to take her home or she's stranded. "I can get a cab, Peeta," she says, placing a hand on his forearm reassuringly as if she can read his thoughts. "It's not a big deal. Please don't think twice about me. Your brother needs you. Go."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I didn't know…" He pauses, a spontaneous idea taking shape in his mind. "Come with me." She blinks twice and then her eyes go round. "I mean if you don't have anything else to do, you could come with me to my brother's house." He's mentally preparing all the ways he could make it sound attractive to spend the afternoon with him and his two rambunctious nephews and a colicky baby so at first, he doesn't hear her reply. "What?" She gives him an amused smile and tilts her head at him expectantly.

"I said you're wasting time standing here. Let's go." She tosses her braid over her shoulder and jiggles the door handle, prompting him to unlock the vehicle. His fingers close over hers, her face twisting with surprise when he insists on opening the door for her.

"Are you going to actually sing for me this time?" she teases as he starts the engine and the blare of the radio fills the car. She raises an eyebrow at him at the volume level as he flicks the little button on the steering wheel to lower it.

"I, ah, like to listen to some things loud," he admits, and her laughter peals above the music.

She grins. "I can cosign to that. Provided it's quality music," she adds with a wink. As he drives, her lips begin to move and though at first he thinks she's only mouthing the words, he hears the clear notes of her voice singing along. His mouth tugs into a smile, and with her serenading him to the strains of the Stones' Wild Horses he navigates the short distance to Grant's gated community of McMansions and manicured lawns and tennis courts.

Peeta pulls into his brother's driveway and parks behind Carys's Acura MDX. His sister-in-law stands beside Grant's idling Benz, her hand cradling the small swell of her abdomen, her face contorted in pain. She wheezes out a hello to Peeta and calls to her husband, "Grant, he's here!"

"Carys, this is…" He pauses, uncertain of the best way to introduce Katniss. But Carys's dark eyes lift with understanding and she grits her teeth as she nods.

"The girl from the lottery, I know." She gives Katniss a tight smile. "Hi."

"Katniss," she replies, "it's nice to meet you."

"Grant, get the fuck out here!" Carys yells, and Peeta sees Katniss flinch and edge towards him. His sister in-law's abrasiveness can be jarring, even to him after years of knowing her.

"I hope everything's okay, Care," Peeta says hurriedly and ushers Katniss past a grimacing Carys through the front door, guiding her with a hand on the small of her back. "Grant? We're here."

Sharp wails punctuate the air, and Grant appears in the threshold of the kitchen, clad in his three-piece suit, rocking the baby furiously. "Hey, Peet. Thanks for coming so quickly." His face registers slight shock at seeing Katniss.

"Grant, I don't know if you remember Katniss Everdeen." Peeta gestures to her and she gives Grant a hesitant smile.

"Hey, yeah, it's good to see you again." He thrusts the baby into Peeta's arms and gesticulates wildly to the staircase. "The other two are in their rooms. Time Out."

He doesn't elaborate and grabs his key fob from the hall table, looking around frantically.

"She's waiting for you outside," Peeta replies, shifting his nephew into a more comfortable position for the baby. "The boys ate breakfast, right?"

"Ah, I'm not sure," Grant answers, reaching for the door. "The baby's bottle is in the warmer. Trystyn and Bryndyn can eat whatever for lunch in a bit. Thanks again, Peet." And then the door slams behind him, and they hear the car purr and tires squeal as Grant tears off up the residential street.

"Your brother's house is really nice," Katniss adnires, glancing around the center hall. Sunlight streams in through the massive half-crescent window above the front door, and the polished tile floor gleams brightly. "How does your sister-in-law keep it so neat with three kids?"

Peeta rocks the baby a few times as he looks over at Katniss. "Oh she doesn't. They have a cleaning lady. And the boys aren't allowed to play anywhere but their playroom in the finished basement." Her eyes lower to the fussing infant, awe visible in the grey irises as the baby's cries progressively cease with Peeta's gentle swaying.

"How did you do that?" she asks, her eyes lifting to meet Peeta's. He shrugs modestly and smiles down at his nephew.

"Magic, I guess. Let's go see if your bottle is ready, Mr. D." He motions for Katniss to follow him. Her eyes expand again as her gaze sweeps over the immaculate, spacious kitchen, but she says nothing.

"Did you want to feed him?" he asks softly as he takes the bottle from the warmer and tests the temperature on the inside of his wrist. She shakes her head emphatically and he chuckles. "Why not?"

"I've never fed a baby before," she confesses, chewing on her lower lip as she glances up at the loud thumps coming from the ceiling. The copper pans hanging above the kitchen island counter swing and clatter with each punctuated bang. Peeta rolls his eyes at the noise.

"My nephews are rowdy, if anything. I'm sure there's got to be a really good reason they're both even in Time Out since my brother and his wife are not big on discipline."

"I can go check on them if you want," she offers. Peeta shakes his head and walks into the large living room that is adjacent to the kitchen, urging her to follow him again.

"They'll be fine for a few more minutes. Sit down," he orders, bouncing the baby lightly when Devyn starts fussing again. She hesitates but crosses the room and obediently perches on the edge of the couch, looking up at him uneasily. "Hold out your arms."

"Peeta, no," she protests. He ignores the objection and leans down to carefully transfer the baby to her, kneeling down in front of where she sits. Devyn issues a keening wail that causes Katniss to jump. "I'm already making him cry!"

"Katniss, no, it's okay. He's just hungry. Here." He hands her the bottle and grabs the big pillow from the other end of the couch. "Lift him up." When she gingerly raises Devyn off her lap, he wedges it under the baby's body, showing Katniss how to balance his head against the curve of the pillow to take the strain off her arm.

"It'll get tired the longer he eats," he explains. "And he's a solid little guy—he gets heavy." He hands her the bottle, which she positions at Devyn's open mouth and her face breaks into a relieved smile when the baby's lips surround the bottle's nipple and he sucks contentedly.

"And this is all I need to do?" she whispers, her gaze never leaving the greedy baby.

"Yep, that's all. He'll do the rest. When he finishes, he'll need to be burped."

"How do I do that?"

He grins. "I'll show you when it's time. But I'm going to go check on the demons upstairs. I'm kinda shocked they haven't snuck down here yet. Be right back."

"Okay," she murmurs, still not glancing up at him.

He wants to linger in the doorway and observe her as she feeds Devyn, but the thumps have ceased and with Trystyn and Bryndyn, eerie silence is a more ominous sign than raucous shouts. Reluctantly turning to mount the stairs, he takes them two at a time and pauses in the doorway of Trystyn's room and his jaw drops at the sight of both his nephews, hands poised over the creamy white wall, colorful handprints speckling their makeshift canvas.

"Uncle Peeta, look! We're using the paint you bought us!" Trystyn calls gleefully.

"Mine green! Mine green!" Bryndyn adds, his chubby toddler fingers wriggling at Peeta, the pads and his palms an unmistakable green hue.

He heaves a sigh and gives the boys a rueful smile. Fortunately the finger paints are water-based; Peeta knows his nephews' proclivity—even at their young ages—for destruction all too well. It will take a little bit of effort but it should come off the walls too (and it does, two hours later). "Good job, but you're supposed to use that paint on paper, buddy," he chides as he wraps his arms around Bryndyn's waist and hauls him to the bathroom, Trystyn trailing behind. He sets the littler boy down in front of the sink and turns on the faucet, pumping hand soap into both children's hands. "Wash," he commands, leaning against the doorframe to supervise. The water in the basin of the sink swirls into a muddy mingling of colors as they scrub at their hands, and he lifts Bryndyn up to rinse the suds then helps both boys dry off after the paint is finally gone.

"So why were you guys in Time Out," he asks as he pats Bryndyn's hands with the washcloth. Trystyn raises his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, throwing up his clean palms.

"Daddy mad," Bryndyn replies.

Peeta raises an eyebrow at his elder nephew and a mischievous grin spreads onto Trystyn's face. "Daddy's golf clubs don't chop down trees like George Washington's ax." Peeta has to emit a soft laugh at the explanation, the image of his nephews enthusiastically hacking at a tree with Grant's precious clubs.

"Come on, guys. Did you eat breakfast?"

"We had some Cheerios when we woke up," Trystyn replies. "But I'm hungry." Peeta glances at his watch. It's just after eleven, perhaps a little early for lunch but he might as well feed them.

"So then let's go downstairs and get you some lunch," he suggests. "What does Alecia usually make you?" He likes the boys' nanny, a matronly older woman with a heavy Portuguese accent—she at least instills a bit of order into their day.

Trystyn makes a face. "She makes us eat vegetables and those gross things with the meat inside them and she doesn't let us have potato chips."

Peeta chuckles again. "Okay, well, maybe I can give in on the potato chips today, but the rest of your lunch should be healthier. Let's see what your mom has in the fridge." The boys rush ahead of him and thunder down the stairs.

"Who are you?" Peeta hears Trystyn ask, and as he rounds the corner he finds Katniss holding the baby against her shoulder, tenderly patting the infant's back, the empty bottle on the end table. She meets his eyes and gives him a modest smile, and her pride is clear on her face. He can't contain his own smile and the swelling in his heart at the sight.

"Boys, this is—" He starts to introduce Katniss to them, but Trystyn's eyes narrow suspiciously and he places his hands on his hips.

"Where's Aunt Glimmer?" he blurts. "Who's she?" Peeta sighs and stoops down, placing a hand on the little boy's shoulder.

"This is my friend, Katniss."

"I like kitty cats," Bryndyn declares, scrambling onto the couch beside Katniss. She continues patting Devyn's back and gives Bryndyn a warm smile.

"Aunt Glimmer is prettier," Trystan says bluntly. Peeta winces and gives Katniss a quick apologetic look, but she seems more amused than offended. The baby burps loudly, and she adjusts the little body in her arms as his fist gropes for the end of her braid.

"Trys, when was the last time Aunt Glimmer came with me when I babysat you or took you to the park or the zoo or anywhere?"

The little boy furrows his blond brows and thinks hard. "I don't know."

"That's because she never comes places with me," Peeta continues, keeping his voice calm and neutral. "You sometimes see her at Nana and Grandpa's club on Sundays, but she doesn't do very many things with Uncle Peeta anymore."

"Do you not love her?"

Peeta sighs and moves to the loveseat opposite where Katniss sits with his other two nephews. He pulls Trystyn to stand before him, looking at the boy seriously. "Trys, Aunt Glimmer and I aren't going to be married anymore."

"So you don't love her," he replies flatly. "Like my friend Austin's parents. They don't love each other anymore and now he has to live in two houses." Peeta exchanges another quick glance with Katniss. She smiles encouragingly, rocking the baby, whose eyes have closed as his little chest moves rapidly with his sleeping breaths.

"Yeah, buddy, I guess that's kind of the same thing. We'll live in different houses too.

But Aunt Glimmer and I don't have any children. We don't even have a dog to fight over so that will make things easier."

Trystyn considers the explanation and shrugs. "I guess Aunt Glimmer wasn't any fun. Maybe your new girlfriend will play with me."

"Oh, Trys, she's not my girlfriend," Peeta replies slowly. "I'm still married to your aunt. But Katniss is a good friend of mine. I've known her since I was your age."

"We went to kindergarten together," Katniss interjects. Trystyn's eyes light up.

"I'll be in kindergarten next year!"

"Really? You look like you could already be a kindergartener!" She embellishes her reaction and the boy's blue eyes glitter again.

"I'm only four! I'll be five in three weeks." He holds up his whole hand and waggles five fingers at her.

"My birthday is two weeks, but I need a lot more than two hands if I'm going to tell you my age."

"Uncle Peeta is gonna make me a big cake—" He throws his arms out to the side to demonstrate. "—and it's gonna be chocolate with chocolate icing and he's gonna make it look like a train!"

"Really?"

"Uh, huh. He can make you a cake too…he bakes the best cakes…what would you want yours to look like?

"Oh, I don't know," Katniss begins, precariously shifting the sleeping baby in her arms as Bryndyn lays his head against her shoulder. "I'm not hard to please. I like chocolate too. But I've always really liked carrot cake with cream cheese frosting."

"Ew! Carrots in a cake?" Trystyn gags and sticks his tongue out.

"It's a fun way to eat your vegetables," she replies playfully. She winks at Trystyn and Peeta feels a strange sensation migrate through him as he watches her interacting with his nephews. There's a serenity that settles over him and if he wasn't already falling in love with her before this, he's almost certain that he's there now. This is far more than a latent crush—and why he knows he needs to tread so cautiously as they near starting a relationship.

She catches him staring at her and lifts her brows at him, her lips curling up and he shakes his head at her good-naturedly. She gestures down at Devyn and he motions to the Pack 'N Play set up in front of the dormant fireplace.

"Trystyn, Bryndyn, come on. Let's go make lunch and let Katniss put your brother down."

The boys race into the kitchen, and Katniss stands, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to disturb the baby. Peeta grins and walks over to her. "He's a pretty sound sleeper."

"On his back, right?" she asks, stopping beside the travel playpen. He nods and she gently places the baby in the center of the mattress, sliding her arms out from beneath his supine form.

"Turn on the mobile," he suggests, and she cranks the lever a few times so the little ducks begin to circle above his head.

"Ducks," she murmurs, a wistful smile on her face. He pushes her braid behind her shoulder and places one hand casually on her left hip. "Prim loved ducks when she was a baby. She had one just like this." She sighs. "He looks so peaceful right now." He hears the reverence in her voice, and he yearns to pull her flush against him and hold her tight, and for a fleeting moment he imagines standing over a crib, watching his own baby sleep, Katniss in his arms. He clears his throat and steps back.

"Did you want to help me with lunch?"

"Uh, sure," she answers. "I'm pretty useless in the kitchen though."

"I'll go easy on you," he teases.

As it turns out, Katniss is far more useful keeping Trystyn and Bryndyn occupied while Peeta prepares grilled cheese with prosciutto and tomato and spoons yogurt into bowls for each boy. He adds a few carrots to their plates and when Trystyn verbalizes a vehement protest that Peeta promised potato chips, he nods in affirmation and tells his nephew that he'll get his chips—once his plate and bowl are clean and he drinks all his milk. After a few grumbles and some coaxing from Katniss—who makes a big production of inhaling her sandwich—both boys finally finish their lunches and earn their potato chips and an Oreo that Peeta found stashed near the back of the pantry, unopened.

Peeta grabs the baby's monitor and the four of them head outside so Trystyn and Bryndyn can play on the elaborate swingset that Grant had erected in the rear of the yard. Katniss helps Bryndyn into the toddler swing and secures the belt over his lap and begins to gently push him as Trystyn clamors for Peeta to push him higher. Soon the boys tire of swinging and run to the sandbox. Peeta leads Katniss to the Adirondack chairs that surround the fire pit, and they sit down to watch his nephews sift the sand and fill dump trucks with it and occasionally throw it at each other, receiving threats of more Time Outs from him.

"You're so good with them," she murmurs.

"You've done just fine yourself today," he returns, reaching over the arm of his chair to take her hand in his. "Even with the baby," he adds. "You're a natural."

She blushes and ducks her head. "Not really. You told me what to do."

He takes a deep breath and debates posing the question he has been wondering about all afternoon—since he saw her cradling the baby so tenderly. "Do you…have you ever thought about children?"

"Like having them?" He nods. "Ah, no. Not really."

"No?"

"No," she affirms, staring down at their intertwined hands. "But I've never really had anyone that I thought I could have them with so…" Her words dissipate and her cheeks flush a deeper red and she pulls her hand away, wringing it with her other one in her lap. "You really want kids."

"I do."

"I can see why," she says softly. "You'd be a great dad, Peeta."

"It's for the best it never happened with Glimmer," he says, gazing out over the yard and feeling a twinge of resentment at all that Grant has and how little his brother and his wife seem to appreciate their lovely home and three sons. "I hope someday the right woman wants all this with me." He speaks the words deliberately, his eyes transfixed on hers as he gestures to indicate the house and the yard and the kids. She drops her eyes and presses her lips together.

"A woman would have to be crazy not to," she whispers, echoing her words from his office yesterday, and he swallows, wanting the world to slip away so he can sweep her into his arms and mold her mouth to his and take her right here in the grass.

A crackling noise, followed by a soft whimper and then a longer, louder wail, erupts from the monitor, and when Peeta rises to head for the house, Katniss lurches from her seat and places a firm hand on his arm, shoving him back down into his chair.

"Stay. I'll get him," she offers with a timid smile.

"I'll get the boys and we'll be in in a few minutes, okay?"

She nods and he watches her retreating form approach the house and disappear inside. A sudden tug on the sleeve of Peeta's shirt startles him. "I like her, Uncle Peeta," Trystyn whispers with a conspiratorial smile.

"Me too, buddy." He grins and gives his nephew a thumbs-up. "Me too."

After Bryndyn takes the world's shortest nap and Trystyn watches Cars twice, Katniss is coloring at the table with the two older boys while Peeta washes some lettuce to prepare a small salad for the boys to keep them placated until Grant and Carys arrive home when his brother and sister-in-law finally walk through the door at quarter after five. Carys doesn't even approach the kitchen; Peeta hears her heavy footfalls on the stairs and a door slams resoundingly a few moments later. Grant greets his sons and lifts Devyn from his swing, planting noisy kisses on his chubby cheeks.

"Everything okay, Grant? The baby's fine?" Peeta asks, shredding the leaves of Romaine into a large bowl. A broad smile dominates his brother's face as he ruffles Bryndyn's blond curls. He explains that both Carys and the baby are indeed fine, but his wife is going to have to take it easy for the next few months to be completely safe—modified bed rest, he calls it.

"We'll see if Alecia can increase her hours, and if not, we might have to look into an au pair or something, but we'll manage," Grant finishes. He smiles ruefully. "It's another boy." Peeta's eyes flit to the ceiling, and he knows his sister-in-law is most certainly sulking in the master bedroom. It's none of his business, of course, but he fills with irritation that she could be so selfish to be disappointed when her baby is healthy. He empathizes with Devyn and this new baby—he knows all too well the disappointment of being a boy when a girl was coveted. His mother never hid it and he doubts Carys will either.

"Daddy, look at my train!" Trystyn announces gleefully, holding up his coloring book page. "Katniss did the smokestack, but I colored everything else!"

"Great job, kiddo." Grant removes his suit jacket and sighs. "I'm gonna go upstairs and change, but I'm just gonna order a pizza. Did you two want to stay for dinner?" He removes a bottle from the refrigerator and turns on the warmer when Deyvn starts to fuss in his arms.

"Thanks, Grant, but I should probably get Katniss home. It's been a long day." The boys both utter a protest at the loss of their coloring partner, but Katniss smiles and tells them she'll come play with them anytime. Peeta gives his brother a sheepish grin when Grant shoots him an inquisitive look.

"We'll talk," he promises his brother as he leads Katniss into the foyer where she retrieves her small purse from the entryway table. Grant thanks them both and they exchange farewells; Peeta successfully manages to avoid committing to seeing him at Sunday brunch but grudgingly agrees to a round of golf on Saturday morning.

When he drops Katniss off at her apartment, she leans over the console and gives him a genuine smile as she thanks him and says, "I had a really nice day with you." He cups her cheek and returns the smile.

"Thanks for keeping me company."

"Any time," she whispers, her lips twitching faintly. He wants to kiss her so badly, but it's broad daylight and he knows anyone could see them. She hovers for a few more moments, and he thinks he spies a trace of dismay in her eyes before she retreats and exits the car, and this time it's her lingering on the stoop as he waves and drives off, regret and impatience fusing in his veins.