Katniss should have been far more tired than she was, a long day yesterday, an incredibly busy night, and an even longer day today. But she walked out of the hospital at 7:20 with a spring in her step and a smile on her lips.
Truth be told, she'd been grinning most of the day. Cressida, one of the other emergency doctors on her shift, even asked her if she was feeling all right. "You're flushed, and your face is all weird. Are you on drugs?"
Gale, also on the same shift, scowled at her in passing. She had no doubt he'd figured out the reason for her good mood and was judging her for it.
Even that hadn't been enough to stifle her smile.
Though she'd reminded herself all day that she shouldn't see Peeta again tonight, that it would give him the wrong idea about what was happening between them, she found herself pulling into his driveway, rather than her own.
What could it hurt, really? It was just dinner, and like he said, they had to eat.
He opened the door before she had a chance to knock, gorgeous in a plain t-shirt that clung to his biceps and athletic shorts that sat low on his narrow hips. His hair was slightly damp, curling at the ends. He was unfairly hot, no wonder he was so damned confident.
No wonder she couldn't say no to him.
That confidence was on full display when, instead of ushering her into his house, he cupped her jaw in those incredible hands and kissed her like he had every right to. Any complaint she might have had about his assumption was quickly swept away, lost in the explosive chemistry between them.
Katniss was flushed and breathless when he finally pulled away. "Hey," she said softly.
"Wasn't sure you'd really come," Peeta said. She wanted to tell him that she hadn't been sure either until she pulled down his street. But his expression was so pleased and open, and just a little vulnerable. Instead, she smiled.
"You promised me food, Hotshot," she grinned, and he laughed, then pulled her inside.
"I've got chicken on the barbie," he said, leading her through his living room. His house was a copy of her own from the outside, albeit better maintained. But inside? Completely different.
She hadn't given much thought to what Peeta's space would be like. But he was single, and a very busy man, so she wouldn't have been surprised to see a stereotypical bachelor pad with video game controllers and pizza boxes everywhere. There was the giant TV that all men seemed to have mounted to the wall, true. But that's where the bachelor decor ended.
His home was tidy but not a mausoleum. The walls in the main living area were painted pewter, the floors grey tile. It should have looked cold, sterile, but it didn't. Low lamps set on glass tables cast a warm glow over everything, moody yet subtle. The floor was softened by a plush area rug in an abstract pattern of greys. A comfortable looking leather sectional was brightened by a soft orange throw. His favourite colour, she remembered.
And even better, there was artwork everywhere. More landscapes like the ones in his bakery hung on the walls. Industrial chic metal sculptures peeked out from a wooden bookshelf. Twisted glass shaded the lamps. She wasn't sure if it was all his work, or if he was a collector as well as an artist, but every piece was perfect for the space, every work suggested a story.
This, she realised, was a home. Not like her rental cottage, or even like her condo back in the Seam, which was functional but terribly impersonal. She hadn't bothered with anything more than utility. Hadn't seen the point.
She was seeing it now.
Peeta noticed her gawking and raised an eyebrow. She shook her head a little self-consciously, then followed him into the kitchen.
Here too, everything was different from her rental, even though the structure should have been identical. "It feels so much bigger in here than at my place," she said, looking around wide-eyed. Had one of the walls been moved? There was easily three times the counter space.
"I did a few renos," he said. "Kitchen is the heart of the home." She was still pondering that when he handed her a glass of wine. He himself was drinking water, she noted. When she asked about that, he smiled, a little sheepishly. "I'm on call," he said.
"Seems like you're always on call." Katniss knew what that was like, she'd been around doctors and nurses and paramedics her entire adult life, but in the short time she'd known Peeta, last night was the only time she was sure he'd been off. And he didn't even get paid for all of this time!
"One of the blokes is out with a back strain," he said. "I'm covering."
Katniss would have bet the farm—not that she owned a farm of course—that Peeta had volunteered to cover his crewmate's absence. He always seemed to be helping people out. Her, not least of all.
She was going to ask him if she was just another project to him, tease him about being another lost soul for him to save. But he sidled up next to her, clinking his glass against her own. "Cheers," he murmured, voice like silk. There was no mistaking the interest in those blue eyes that caressed her face, slid down over the couple of buttons she'd left undone.
For him.
There was no point denying it, at least not to herself. She liked the way he looked at her, liked feeling all of that focus on her alone. He'd brought her libido roaring back to life and it felt good.
"If I didn't have food on the barbie," he groaned, one finger tracing the soft skin along her collarbone. Instead, he took her hand and towed her towards his yard.
They passed through his sunroom, the one he used as a home gym, and she shot a guilty look through the glass at her own darkened house. She didn't think he'd be able to see her skulking in her bedroom window, peeping at him. But she couldn't be certain.
They stepped into the yard. It was full dark now, and the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, stronger even than the scent of grilling meat on Peeta's propane barbecue. "How close are the fires?" Katniss asked. It had only been a few days since their hike in the woods, since he'd pointed out the fires burning in the distance. But every day since then, the air had gotten thicker, and the number of patients coming into emerg with respiratory ailments had grown. She'd put five children on nebulizers today alone.
His jaw tightened. "Good portion of the south coast is already burning." Katniss's eyes widened, and Peeta squeezed her hand. "Still more than fifty kays away, love."
She wasn't much comforted by that. "Heading this way though, right?" She didn't have much time for watching the news, but the television in the hospital's breakroom always seemed to be showing bushfire reports.
Peeta nodded. "Yeah," he said. She waited for him to smirk, to get all cocky and reassure her that firefighter Peeta was on the scene. But he didn't. Nor did he offer platitudes about her safety. He just squeezed her hand again.
He was quiet, introspective for a few moments, looking out over the shadowed yard, the moon mostly obscured by the haze that clung to town. Then he seemed to shake off whatever he was thinking, and grinned at her, lifting her hand to graze her knuckles with his lips. "Let's get you fed," he smirked, "so I can have dessert."
And she laughed at the cheesiness of the line, at his way of lightening the mood. But though he grinned back at her, his eyes said he was serious.
Katniss shivered in anticipation.
They ate grilled chicken salads perched on his couch, and he listened intently as she told him about her work at the hospital, about the differences between the Australian system and the Canadian one, and the challenge of adapting both to the new system, and the very different ways that medicine was practiced a world away. Peeta had a way of focussing on her as if even the most banal small talk was utterly fascinating. Like she was fascinating.
He'd be the only one to think that.
She chuckled, and he raised one blonde eyebrow. "What?" he asked.
She tried to shrug it off, but his open expression coaxed her to confess, "you're a good listener."
"Because you're interesting to listen to."
She was not. Introspective and far too blunt, Katniss Everdeen had never been good at small talk. Or any talk. She snorted. "I wish my uncle could hear you now."
"He doesn't think you're interesting?" The question was softly asked, languid and non-judgemental. The warmth of his gaze, a full belly and the two glasses of excellent white wine, her guard was down a little.
"He used to call me a prickly cactus," she said, losing herself in the memory. "When I was in med school, I thought I'd go into family medicine. Haymitch, that was my uncle, he dissuaded me. I remember him saying, 'You're incredibly skilled, sweetheart, but you have all the charm of a dead slug. Why don't you think about orthopaedics?'"
"He sounds like an arse," Peeta said, brows furrowed.
Katniss laughed lightly. "He was. We're a lot alike, actually. But he took good care of us. Anyway, I didn't go into orthopedics, obviously," she said, shaking her head. "But emergency medicine seemed a good fit." A place where her brusqueness could be explained away as simple efficiency. "No pressure to build relationships in the midst of life and death."
Until Prim got sick, Katniss thought, her smile falling. Then, sitting with her sister through oncology consults, through chemo and radiation, and finally, through palliative care, she saw another side of medicine. A side where relationships mattered. Those doctors couldn't save her sister, in the end. But they made her feel important and respected. They cared.
Prim's death had been the catalyst for Katniss to shake up her life. But the seeds of discontent were sown months earlier. She was already questioning whether she was doctor material even before the hospice. It was a large part of why she'd come to Australia. To figure out if medicine was even still what she wanted.
The pain of it clutched at her heart. Prim had been her biggest cheerleader. And she was gone.
Peeta was silent. She glanced over, and his expression was concerned, and confused. "You're not prickly at all," he said. "You're incredibly compassionate, kind, funny. And you make a difference every single day."
Katniss shrugged, discomfort mounting. She hadn't meant to share so much with him. "I'm not sure some of my new colleagues agree either," she answered honestly, thinking about Gale, his disgust with her self-centredness. About Cressida's bewilderment that Katniss was even capable of smiling.
She barely had any friends back home either. Even before Prim died, there'd been only a handful of people in her life, and most of them kept at arm's length.
"You have no idea," Peeta said, "the effect you have."
His expression was so open and earnest. Katniss's stomach squirmed, unaccustomed to anyone but Prim complimenting her. But there was more than that. Under the discomfort was an even more unbearable emotion.
Hope.