Chapter Eight: Learning To Knead

"Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses."

-Ann Landers

I follow Peeta as he brings the cake out to Prim. I can only imagine how she'll react when she realizes it's for her. It's not often that we even see sweets, let alone have them decorated in our honor.

As we approach her booth, Peeta turns to me with a smile so genuine and sweet that I can't help but smile back. My breath catches as he takes me by surprise and leans in near my ear.

"Now let's give your sister a smile to match the beauty of yours," he says quietly, then he turns around and continues over to Prim.

I stand there for a few seconds trying to process what just happened, why my heart is beating so fast, and why every bit of my skin has broken into goose bumps. He probably didn't mean anything by it. No use overanalyzing. He only likes to see my smile for business reasons, that's all. Or maybe he likes to see my smile as a friend, at most, but even that's pushing things to an extreme.

I roll my eyes at myself and sigh heavily as I catch up to him.

He places the cake down in front of Prim. She glances from her book, to the cake, and I suppress a laugh as her eyes widen. Her mouth opens, but she doesn't say anything. She glances at Peeta quickly, then back at the cake, then to me.

She questions me with her eyes, so I answer, "Peeta made it just for you, Prim."

"Sure did!" Peeta agrees, sitting down in the booth across from her. I remain standing where I am, feeling more than a bit out of place.

"Why?" she whispers. She seems embarrassed, maybe even a little annoyed. It isn't really the reaction I'd expected. I narrow my eyes as a warning not to be rude, but she doesn't notice.

"You don't like it?" Peeta seems a little confused, but still has a smile on his face.

"No." She glances at him, then looks away just as quickly. I'm about to tell her how rude she's being, but then she continues with, "I love it! It's just… it's way too pretty to eat. Can I just look at it for a while?"

Peeta chuckles softly. "Take all the time you need. You can come back and help me decorate sometime, if that sounds fun to you?"

Her eyes widen again as she asks in a startled voice, "You'd let me? Really?"

"Of course! I have to teach your sister how to do it first, though." He glances at me suddenly, his eyebrows raised. "Speaking of which, are you ready?"

"For what?"

"Your first shift?"

"Sure, I guess so," I answer, though I don't feel ready at all.

I wait anxiously in the back room for Peeta as he gets dressed into his work uniform. I don't know what to expect when he's in work-mode. I just hope he isn't too harsh or anything if I make a mistake, though I can't really see him being so.

Finally, he walks into the room and looks at me with a brilliant grin, obviously very excited to teach me everything he knows about baking. The bright turquoise of the shirt really brings out the blue in his eyes, and I find myself wondering if this was one of the reasons why Mr. Mellark chose it.

As if reading my mind he tells me, "You know I never really cared for these uniforms until today?"

I look at him with confusion and curiosity. "Why today?"

"Because you're wearing one," he replies as he walks over to the sink and washes his hands. He gestures for me to do the same, so I do. I don't know what to think of what he just said, other than he's just trying to make me feel welcome.

There's really no need for all these superfluous compliments, though. I'm not used to it, I don't know how to respond, and it makes me feel weird.

He makes his way over to the counter and dries his hands off with a towel, then hands it to me. I take it quickly from him, avoiding his eyes.

"I think I'll start with teaching you how to knead dough since that's what we sell the most."

I nod as he scoops flour out of a canister and spreads it out over the countertop. He evens it out, then grabs a big mixing bowl from a shelf.

"I'll go ahead and mix everything first. I won't tell you how to make bread on your first day, we'll save that for later. We're just going to start out with the simple things first, like kneading, and work our way up…."

I don't say anything. I just keep watching him as he mixes the ingredients in the bowl with a big wooden spoon, telling me, "I'd use a mixer, but I think it tastes better this way. It takes patience, but it's worth the reward in the end."

I nod as I continue watching him intently. I can tell he's done this many times because it seems as if he could do it with his eyes closed. Finally he flips the bowl over, letting the ball of dough drop onto the surface of the counter.

"Have you ever done this before?"

I shake my head, giving him a look of anxious uncertainty. He smiles back reassuringly. "Don't worry, Katniss. You'll be fine. You'll be amazing by the time I'm through with you. I promise you that."

Well, he seems sure enough; I wish I felt even an ounce of the confidence he has in me. He's probably just trying to make me feel better about learning all of this, but I have to admit… it is working a little bit. I'm still very nervous, but I know I have a great teacher to learn from.

As he begins to knead the dough, it just seems to flow with the movement of his hands, obeying him without question. He makes it look so easy. After a minute or two, he stops and gestures for me to come over. Hesitantly, I do.

"You want to give it a try?" He tilts his head in question so I nod in return. "That's the spirit! Can I see your hands real quick?"

It's such a simple request, but my heart leaps to my throat and my hands begin to tremble. They're calloused, bruised, and scarred; it's embarrassing. I definitely don't want Peeta Mellark seeing how ugly they are.

I shake my head, securing my hands tightly behind me.

He looks taken aback by this and asks again, quietly, "Can I please see your hands? I just need to put flour on them for kneading." He searches my face intently and I find myself wondering what he must be thinking. I'm sure I'm coming off as the strangest person he's ever encountered.

Giving in, I sigh and look away as I open my hands in front of him. I swallow hard, my body trembling as he takes them in his. I feel his fingertips like feathers on my palms, tracing the lines on them slowly. What in the world is he doing? I finally look down at what's happening. I hold my breath as he runs his thumbs down the length of my hand, then moves them up to the center of my palms again. The rest of his fingers move lightly, gently on the underside of my hands.

"What are you—?" I begin to ask, finally finding my voice again. He looks up at me and blinks a few times.

"Just… trying to get you to relax a little," he mumbles and flits his eyes away. "You're shaking so much. Am I making you nervous?" His hands leave mine to retrieve some flour.

"I guess. A little," I answer honestly.

He smiles sheepishly at me, as if it's suddenly taking everything in him to meet my eyes.

"There's no need for that, you know," Peeta says after a moment, releasing a breath. "And for what it's worth, you make me nervous too. A lot, actually."

"I'm sorry..."

He takes my hands in his again, sprinkling flour on them and rubbing it in.

"Don't be. It's not a bad nervous," he replies softly. "Anyways, I think we're ready now. Let's see you knead!" He places my hands on top of the ball of dough. "Just remember what I showed you and try to mimic it as best you can."

I inhale a quick breath and nod. As I begin, however, my fingers immediately sink into the dough and it sticks to me. My cheeks burn, but I try to keep going, hoping I'll eventually improve. I don't. My hands keep shaking and I feel like an idiot. I suck at this.

"Here, let me show you something." Peeta gently pulls my hands away from the dough and flips my palms up. I nearly yank them away in frustration, but he keeps a steady grip on them. "You're not going to be perfect the first time. Don't feel bad, okay? Practice makes everything better with time. Now… just trust me?" He raises his eyebrows.

I don't know what I'm supposed to trust him about, but I shrug for him to continue.

"When you knead, it's all about using your palms…" I suck in a breath as he places his palms against mine and pushes down on them. I narrow my eyes at him. What exactly is this supposed to accomplish?

He flips my hands over onto his. "Now push down on my palms, the same way I just did to yours, okay?" I arch an eyebrow at him and he laughs, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "I know it seems silly. Just trust me."

I sigh and do as he asks, pushing the palms of my hands onto his.

"Now do it again," he instructs me. I roll my eyes, but I do as he asks. "And again, just keep doing it until I tell you to stop." My heart is racing. I know he's just teaching me how to knead dough, but all of this just seems… odd. I'm not used to people touching my hands, especially not for extended periods of time like this. I keep pushing onto his palms, over and over again, until finally he covers my hands in his and says, "I think you're ready now."

He runs a thumb over the top of my hand gently, then let's go.

My hands feel strange and tingly. I place them onto the dough and push my palms against it as I did his hands.

It's working! It's not sticking to me and my fingers aren't sinking anymore. I grin and look at him in excitement. He shrugs and smiles back proudly. "Like I told you before, you're going to be amazing. Oh, and Katniss?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your hands are as lovely as your smile," he says before turning away to place some ingredients on a shelf. "You shouldn't feel ashamed of them. I just thought you should know."

I turn back to the dough, not knowing how to respond.

I never knew hands could be considered 'lovely'; I know mine definitely aren't. It's a sweet lie, though, so I'll take it.

When the shift is over, I change into my old clothes so Snow won't ask about the new ones. I fold them and place them into my backpack, opting to keep the rest at work.

Overall, this day has gone better than I expected, and I really don't want to leave.

All good things must come to an end sometime, though.

Peeta locks up for the night and gives us a ride home. Prim falls asleep in the backseat, and Peeta and I don't speak the entire time. Not until he arrives at our driveway and begins to pull in.

"This is good. You can let us out here," I say quickly.

"It's late and it's dark and I'm not doing that. Look, it's not that far—" I'm really starting to feel the panic set in.

"Please?"

"I don't want something happening—"

"It won't. I walk outside here in the dark all the time. Please stop here?"

He sighs heavily, obviously a bit frustrated with me, but he stops the car.

"I don't care where you live, okay? I'm not going to judge you. Do you really think I would?"

I sigh and look away. "Yes. I do."

"Well, I wouldn't. And I'm sorry you think I would," he replies quietly. I can tell by his tone that I've offended him. Still, there's no way I'm letting him see where I live. Despite what he believes, he will judge me. I have no doubt about that.

Before he can start the car again, I open the door, grab my backpack and bag of bakery leftovers, and step out. He looks at me with a defeated frown.

"Fine, have it your way. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah." I hesitate for a moment, trying to find something to say to make him feel better. "I had a great first day. Thank you."

This seems to do the trick. He smiles again and replies, "Hopefully the second will be even better."

Giving a small smile in reply, I open the back door of the car. I shake Prim's shoulder and she jumps out as soon she realizes we're already home.

"Goodnight," Peeta says as we begin to walk away.

"Goodnight Peeta," Prim and I reply in unison.

He places the car in reverse and I feel a bit saddened as he drives away. Now it's back to reality.

Prim is groggy and silent as we walk along the gravel road, but I'm still buzzing with energy from everything that's happened today.

"Someone has a cruuush!" I say in a sing-song voice, breaking the silence and trying to lighten the mood as we approach our hell. "Prim and Peeta sitting in a tree—"

"Shut up, Katniss!" she mumbles bashfully. "I just think he's really handsome and nice is all. He really is. And you know it's true! Your face was all red around him!"

"It was not!" I retort. "And if it was, it's only because I was hot from working hard."

She turns to me in challenge, her hands on her hips.

"You like him don't you? I think you're the one with the crush."

"Peeta's nice, but I don't like him that way," I answer with a tone of finality and walk around her.

"Mmmhmm," she says with a laugh. "I'm pretty sure he likes you too."

I swivel to face her again, my eyes narrowed. "Why would you even say that?"

"Why would you care?" She grins mischievously. "You don't like him, right?"

"I don't have to like him to be curious about what you just said. Now tell me what you meant," I demand. I don't like to be teased and I don't like being lied to either. Why would Prim say such a thing? There's no way someone like Peeta could ever be interested in me romantically. I know that, but I still find it intriguing why she'd come to that conclusion.

Prim gives a sigh and shrugs. "The way he looks at you says it all, really."

"Whatever!" I force a laugh. "He looks at me like everyone else does. Stop making things up, Prim. It's not very nice."

"I'm not making it up!" she insists, crossing her arms in protest. "He also asked me things about you!"

"Yeah? Like what?" I ask in disbelief. What would he ask Prim that he couldn't ask me himself? He could've asked her anything at all. What did she tell him? Instantly, all sorts of bad things run through my mind.

"Ask him yourself," she replies, "I'm not telling, since you don't believe me anyway."

"You better not have said anything about how we live!"

"I didn't!"

"Good, and you better not ever. Now what did he ask?"

"Odd, random things really," she answers, being purposefully vague.

I sigh loudly and prompt for further details, "Like what?"

"Like… your favorite color and what foods you like," she shrugs, then looks intently at me as if to make a point, "and also if you have a boyfriend…."

"Oh, he did not!" I shake my head and begin walking off again. There's no way Peeta would've asked Prim something like that. Why would he care if I have a boyfriend or not? I think that'd be rather obvious. I've never had a boyfriend before and I'm sure he knows that. Everyone else at school does. That'd just be a stupid thing to ask, really.

"Uh huh! He did so! When you were putting on your work clothes." I turn to her again, searching her face for tell-tale signs of lying. I'm usually very good at figuring out whether or not she's fibbing, but she seems completely serious as she looks back at me Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are pursed in indignation. "I'm not lying, Katniss. He really did ask me those things about you."

I have so many questions running through my head, but none of them make any sense. And it's not like I can ask Peeta about this. That would be a very uncomfortable and awkward conversation… especially if it turns out that Prim is fibbing.