Chapter 13: Love Is Always Better
I keep my head down as I make my way through Town, certain I can feel the eyes of every Merchant I pass boring into me. And I know most of them are, silently judging me, hating me. Merchants are not the forgiving type, I learned fairly quickly, and even two years later, they still refuse to absolve me of my greatest sin to date: sleeping with a married Merchant man. I can't say I blame them; I haven't really forgiven myself, though most of my pain and guilt lie with the hurt I caused Gale.
The Seam people were a little more gracious, at least—maybe because they have more pressing issues to deal with than who is fucking whom. Issues like death and starvation. I'm grateful I've been able to continue my business in the Hob with few repercussions; I still provide the best meat and most affordable birth control, after all. And I need the money. While I live with Peeta, his salary isn't much more than what Gale had made in the mines. The district doesn't seem to esteem school teachers any higher than coal miners, apparently.
Peeta only fared mildly better than I had after the affair and through the resulting scandal of his divorce and his shacking up with me. As the "Seam slut," I bear the brunt of the town's hostility. Part of me really doesn't care, but I hate myself for putting Peeta through the misery, especially because it has caused a rift between him and his family. I at least still have the support of Mother and Prim, but Peeta fights regularly with his mother, when she will even acknowledge him. His brothers keep their distance, and I know that hurts him the most. His father is nice enough, but he is noticeably silent when it comes to his wife and her treatment of Peeta. Too many times I've found Peeta hunched over our dining table in dejection after another failed argument with his mother. It breaks my heart. I try to give him an out each time, offering to pack up and return to my mother's house, but he refuses to let me go; each time, he is absolutely incensed that I would even suggest it.
"Nothing makes sense without you," he'll murmur heatedly as we make love, pushing into me repeatedly.
We had a slow courtship after his divorce, both solemnly aware of how the district would react to our relationship; I only moved in with the man six months ago. If I was a smart woman, I would have turned him away that day in the Meadow when he came to me. But I wasn't smart. I was selfish, and I can't deny him. Being without him is unimaginable.
I'm glad our house is away from the heart of Town, at least. As a teacher, Peeta had been assigned a small house not far from the district school, and while we have neighbors, it's more isolated than his old house near the Square and the Bakery. I don't have to deal with as many judgmental glares as I trek through that part of Town, and as I approach our house now, I finally lift my head, my shoulders already lighter, more relaxed. Jogging up the steps to the porch, I quickly unlock the front door and slip inside. My empty game bag slumps to the floor where I toe off my boots, and I wander to the back of the house to the bathroom. I twist the knob on the faucet to fill the tub with water. After a day in the woods, sledging through the melting snow and mud, a bath is in order. Indoor plumbing is one of the benefits of living in Town—maybe the only benefit, really.
As the tub fills, I strip out of my clothes and step into the tub once the water level is high enough. I sink down into the steaming water with a sigh and wait till the temperature turns lukewarm before finally scrubbing myself raw with a washcloth. Once I'm clean, I climb out of the tub and dry off, redressing in a fresh outfit. I throw my dirty clothes in the clothes bin to be washed later that night, after I've made and eaten dinner with Peeta. He'll be home from school soon, so I immediately get to work preparing our planned stew.
I'm chopping vegetables when I hear the front door open. An automatic smile spreads across my face, as it always does in Peeta's presence, and when I hear his heavy footsteps approaching, I glance over my shoulder to greet him.
"Hey," I say, but my face immediately falls at his hard expression. His eyes are cloudy, the skin pinches between his eyebrows, as he stalks toward me purposely. "What's wrong—"
The question sticks in my throat when his body pins mine against the counter, and he wraps his hands around my wrists, flexing them slightly to force me to drop the knife I am holding. He then flattens my hands to the counter and presses the full length of his body against my back. Shocked, I face forward; my eyes are trained on the small kitchen window, where I can see out across our backyard at the leafless, scrawny trees and soggy grass. His breath is hot on the back of my neck as he breathes heavily, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand up, but I'm not scared. I can feel the beginnings of his erection through his pants against the lower curve of my back.
"Peeta..." I try again, but my voice lacks any conviction. My body is pliable and yielding. He really doesn't even need to hold my hands down, but I give him this, sensing there's something he needs to work through, and coaching the wrestling squad after school hours won't do it.
"Spread your legs," he demands, already nudging my thighs apart with his knee. I comply, sliding my bare feet out across the hardwood floor. Peeta releases my wrists then, snaking them down to my waist where he unfastens my pants and pushes them down my hips. I brace myself against the counter as I step out of them with the aid of his eager hands, and then I resume my stance once he's kicked the offending garment out of the way. He grips my waist with his hands, my own flat against the counter still, and he presses his mouth to my ear. "You're gonna stand here while I taste you," he breathes.
My breath hitches in my chest, and I begin to tremble in anticipation of his tongue between my thighs. "Okay," I agree shakily, my hips already arching back against his erection, but he pushes me against the counter and drops to his knees behind me. My eyes close when his hands slide down my backside, his fingers disappearing under the edges of my underwear as he cups my ass cheeks firmly. When they dip between my thighs to tease my lower lips, I shudder; his fingers pass back and forth over my folds to ready me. I can feel the wetness starting to leak out of me in response, my clit fluttering with pleasure, and I exhale loudly, his name a soft sigh on my lips.
That is all the encouragement Peeta needs. I feel him stretch the crotch of my panties to the side, and then his tongue is gliding through my folds to lick up my arousal. "Shit," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut as he dips his tongue inside me. The coarse whiskers of his thick beard tickle my lips with the movements of his mouth, and he cups my pelvis with his right hand, his thumb parting the apex of my folds to stroke my clit. "Mmmmhmmmmm….." I release a moan, which he echoes, the vibration resounding through my core, and I moan louder. His thumb begins rubbing tight circles on my clit, syncing with the flicks of his tongue through my lips. He stops to open his mouth over me wider, his tongue darting inside me to taste me better. I fist my hands around the edge of the counter to steady myself, hunching forward. My legs are trembling now from the exertion of holding myself up, from the delicious electric current his tongue sends through my body.
"Peeta," I whimper, panting hard. He moves his mouth toward the front of my mound to swipe his tongue over my clit, and I cry out, prompting him to furiously lap at the swollen bud in varied patterns until he is pleased with the response. My hips begin rocking against his face, my legs mostly useless as I use my arms to hold myself above him. "Peeta, I'm gonna come," I beg, as if it is a plea, and his tongue resumes tracing my folds while his thumb resumes its attack on my clit. The pleasure mounts mercilessly and swiftly at the command of his tongue and fingers, and I only manage a choked sob of relief when my orgasm hits. My clit throbs with each wave of ecstasy, and Peeta drinks up my arousal as it seeps out of me.
By that point, he is providing most of the support for my boneless body, and when he moves out from between my legs, I let my body slump down. He wraps his hands around my waist and lowers me to the ground, propping me up in his lap as he sits down with me. I hold onto his thighs as I catch my breath, willing my limbs to stop shaking, and he just buries his face against my neck. His erection is still hard against my ass, but he makes no move to undress himself or fuck me, and once my vision has stopped swimming and I've regained control of my motor functions, I twist in his arms to look at him.
"What was that for?" I ask breathlessly.
He smiles slightly, but his eyes are still cloudy. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" he replies wryly, loosening his hold of me to lean back on one of his hands.
I scowl at him, but it's playful. "Yes, and I'd always tell them there are no horses in Twelve." Peeta chuckles lightly, then he huffs, blowing air through his lips to imitate a nickering sound, and I roll my eyes. My jaw sets in determination, however, and I regard him sternly. "Peeta, seriously. What's wrong?"
His expression shifts, his mouth drooping slightly, and he just shakes his head, averting his gaze to stare at the floor. He falls silent, and I reach up to caress the beard that shrouds his jaw, finally eliciting a sigh from him. He just shakes his head again. "Nothing new. Just the usual shit."
His mother. Of course. He must have talked to her, swung by the bakery on his way home for some reason.
My face falls, guilt blooming in my stomach as I stare at his forlorn face. Helpless, I offer the only thing I can think of at this point: Dropping my hand between his legs, I rub his erection through his pants suggestively. "Do you want me to do something for you?" I ask coyly. The corner of his mouth quirks before it tips into a crooked smirk, but he just gives me another resolute headshake.
"No, it's fine. You're in the middle of making dinner." With that, he pushes off the floor to stand up, gentlemanly helping me to me feet as well. I don't budge, however, searching his face, but he avoids my eyes. "I'm gonna go clean up, and then I'll help you with dinner," he murmurs, kissing my forehead before slinking out of the kitchen.
Despondent, I let my gaze linger in his direction, then I sigh. Scanning the floor, I pick my pants off the ground and, scrunching my nose at the sticky feeling, position my underwear back in place and slip my pants back on before washing my hands and resuming chopping the vegetables. True to his word, Peeta returns a bit later, his hair damp and his skin smelling of soap, and we finish making the stew together in silence.
"Fuck, Katniss," Peeta hisses as I ride him later, his fingers digging into my thighs. I brace my hands on his chest and lean forward, swiveling my hips purposefully to stimulate my clit on his pelvic bone. The reward is almost instantaneous, the delicious sensation swelling in my clit until my orgasm claims me, crashing through me fiercely. I gasp, losing my rhythm as I ride out my climax; my walls pulse around his cock, and he groans appreciatively, bucking his hips up against mine.
Once I catch my breath, I sit back and rear up on my shins to sink down on his cock, setting a steady pace as I bounce on top of him. I watch his face, locking eyes with him every time his blue eyes peek through the blonde fringe of his eyelashes. His teeth encage his bottom lip before he releases it on a quiet moan, and he thrusts up into me to accentuate my bouncing. My breasts sway before him, and he gropes at them greedily, sitting up suddenly to capture my nipple with his mouth. I desperately wrap my arms around his shoulders to pull him closer, mewling as his tongue and teeth worry my nipple. "Peeta," I whisper against the crown of his head, and he groans in response.
"You feel so good," he gasps against my breast, gripping my ass in his hands to aid my thrusts down on his cock. "Fuck, I love you so much." My chest tightens, an overwhelming emotion swelling inside me.
"I'm sorry," I blurt, my movements faltering, but Peeta keeps thrusting me down onto him, undaunted.
"What?" he gasps, distracted, and I know it is neither the place nor the time to talk about it, but the words bubble out of me anyway.
"I'm sorry for—about your mom, that—that I'm not—not more," I ramble, the apology wholly inadequate and nonsensical, and Peeta goes still underneath me. I can't look at him, pressing my face against the side of his head, and I take a deep breath. "I just—sorry I'm...causing so much trouble—for you."
The silence is heavy, perforated only by our shallow breathing, and I mentally berate myself for ruining the moment. I hate that I can't seem to control my emotions around him. He always gets under my skin. I bite down on my lip, hard, unwilling now to apologize for apologizing.
Suddenly, I'm on my back, Peeta flipping me down onto the bed, and I inhale sharply when I get a brief glimpse of the dark look on his face as he moves above me. But he rolls me onto my side, sliding up against my back, and I cry out happily when he sheathes himself inside me again. I curled myself forward to allow him a better angle, and he slips his leg under mine, forcing my knee up as he plunges in and out of me. His hand is tight around her hip, pinning me to the bed, and I screw my eyes shut as I grunt, feeling him drive into me wildly, possessively.
"Stop. Saying. That," he grits out between clenched teeth. I arch my back even more, meeting his cock with backward thrusts of my hips. "This—none of this...makes any sense without you."
With a choked gasp, Peeta pumps into me a few more times rapidly, our skin slapping together, and then he halts his thrusts. I brace my hand on the bed and push back against him, taking his cock as deep as I can while he empties into the condom, muffling his groan in the back of my neck. I can feel his heart racing through my back, his breath hot and moist on my skin, his cock throbbing inside me, and I relish the sensations.
After a moment, he tips my face over my shoulder so he can look at me. His eyes are glossy like blue glass, and I lift my head to place a delicate kiss on his lips, but he holds me there, molding his hand to my jaw and kissing me till he's satisfied. Then he releases me. "You have to stop," he says firmly. "If it's a choice between you and them...I already made that choice a long time ago. I'll work it out with my parents, okay?"
Holding his gaze, I nod slowly. "Okay," I agree simply, hard as it is.
Exhaling hard, Peeta pulls away from me. Already I miss him inside me, the steady warmth he provides, and I roll onto my back as he carefully peels the condom off. Sliding to the edge, he stands up and crosses toward our bedroom door. Even in the dark, I admire his solid frame, the broad shoulders and torso that taper down into a firm backside. I can't help the small smile that graces my lips at the sight.
"I'm gonna rinse this off and bring you a washcloth," he says, almost to himself as he opens the door.
"Bring the condom back with you," I call after him softly. He stops to look at me, his eyebrows raised in understanding then he lets his own sly smile mirror mine before quickly disappearing into the hallway.
I stand at the threshold of Peeta's and my house, staring out the small window to the side of the front door. I have my coat and boots on, my bag of homemade condoms in hand and ready to be bartered at the Hob in exchange for money or food or some other provision. But I don't budge just yet, warily observing the few Merchants milling around as they begin their days. In the near distance I can make out the buildings of the Town Square. This is my trek every day, whether to the Hob or the woods or the Seam to visit my mother. I can't avoid the Merchants. Which is ironic, I suppose, considering how resentful they are of my presence in their part of Town, the "Seam slut" dirtying up the neighborhood; I know they want me gone, think I don't belong, but even when they ignore me, I can sense their judgment and hostility, directed at me like arrows. But arrows probably hurt less.
I don't belong here; that much I know. If Merchant and Seam intermarry, they are regulated to the Seam usually, like my parents were. But, unmarried, I have no place of my own, no free house assigned by the district and certainly no money to afford even the shittiest of houses in the Seam.
I can't leave Peeta behind. So here I stay, a dark blot on this supposedly pristine town. What a joke.
Exhaling tiredly, I tighten my hold on the strap of my bag and open the door to begin my walk to Town. As I pass by Merchants, I purposely avoid eye contact and keep my sight trained straight ahead, even as I cut through Town. Half an hour later, my relief is immediate the moment I see the hazy outline of the Hob. I pick up my pace so I can escape the oppressive judgment of the Merchants I feel every time I make this trek. The sight of Greasy Sae is always a welcome reprieve; the older woman has never been anything but kind to me. When news of my affair with Peeta had hit, Sae hadn't breathed a word of it to me. She'd never even asked about my divorce, or my eventual relationship with Peeta; I've been grateful for this. While others might have been offended by Sae's seeming disinterest in their personal lives, I like that the woman keeps our interactions simple and unintrusive.
"Mornin', Sae," I greet her, earning a nod from the older woman and a familiar smile. I lay my bag down on my regular booth and go to work setting out my condoms. Then I settle onto my stool and wait for the customers. Normally, I get a fair amount of patrons every day I'm at the Hob. Mostly, it's Seam folk purchasing condoms from me, or trading for them, but, gradually, the number of Merchants who come to me has increased. It's funny to me, the same people who shun me, coming to me in need. They don't dare judge me as I hand them their contraceptives and take their money.
By late morning, I'm quietly sipping from a bowl of soup I'd purchased from Sae, my usual lunchtime meal. Business is slow at the moment, as most patrons are breaking for lunch, as well, and I engage in idle chitchat with Sae in between gulps of the salty broth. Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I twist in my stool to assist the customer who's stopped at my booth.
Air sticks painfully in my throat as I inhale too quickly, my eyes going wide in the split second it takes me to recognize the man in front of me.
"Gale," I exhale raspily, clearing my throat in embarrassment. My ex-husband gives me a polite smile and a curt nod in return, like we're strangers and not childhood friends and former lovers. Or, most likely, he regards me with the indifference and coldness afforded cuckolding ex-wives.
"Katniss," he says simply, the first words we've exchanged in two years, since the day I signed the divorce papers. I've been careful to avoid accidentally running into him since I started dating Peeta. I don't hunt on Sunday mornings, as I know that is the only day he has off from the mines to go into the woods, and I'm out of the Hob before the evenings in case he stops by to trade or get a drink. Some days, I almost forget he still lives in the same town as me; being on the other side of the district, away from the Seam, I've felt like a thousand miles away sometimes.
I take him in now, the two feet of distance between us the closest I've seen him in a long time. He's as handsome as ever; very little has changed, aside from the small ponytail he's pulled his hair back into. In the sun, I think I can see a faint streak of silver winding from his temple to the elastic band at his neck. His eyes are the same gray as mine, the same familiar eyes that used to observe me with love and admiration before something more hateful consumed them.
But even now that is gone.
My lips part as I grasp for words, finally summoning them after a strained moment. "I...you're not in the mines," I state lamely, and he shakes his head, the corner of his mouth quirking into a wry smile.
"Not today," he replies, and his smile spreads. "I got the day off."
"Oh?" I ask, unsure where he is going with this.
His shoulder lifts slightly as he nods again. "Yeah. I'm getting married."
I blink at him uncomprehendingly, his words lost in the rush of blood through my ears. I can't have heard him right. "You're—getting married?" I repeat, my voice squeaky, and I wince at the fragile sound.
"Yeah, in a couple hours." There's silence as I stare at him, unsure how to respond, unsure still if I even understand. Shifting uncomfortably, Gale adjusts the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder, and after a beat he adds, "To Lorena Black."
"Oh," I finally manage. It takes a moment, but a vague image of a Seam woman surfaces in my memory, a woman with the requisite olive skin and gray eyes and long black hair that swings down past her backside when she walks through the Hob. I'm not sure, but I think Lorena is much younger than us, mid-20s at the oldest. "I didn't know you two were dating."
"For about a year now. Well, 10 months to be exact."
I nod absently. "That's...good?" I give myself a mental shake, hoping my grimace looks like the smile I intend it to be. "I mean—that's great. Congratulations. Um."
He smiles again, and this time there is something more serene about it. "Thank you. I'm pretty happy."
I feel my shoulders sag slightly, the tension I've been holding there since he walked up to my booth dissipating, and I'm finally able to manage a small, genuine smile. "I'm happy for you. For both of you. I...wish you the best," I say, and though I mean it, the words still feel clumsy in my mouth, as if I have to force them out with my tongue.
"Thank you," he says again, and there is a natural lull, like if we were anybody else in that moment, he would inquire about my own love life. But it's too uncomfortable and awkward, and maybe he still harbors some resentment about Peeta. I've never told Gale, but he has to have heard from others by now that I'm living in Peeta's house.
Nervously pulling on my braid, I release my hair and gesture to my display. "Did you, um, need something...?" I offer, assuming he wants a condom, but he flashes a rare grin at me.
"Ah, no, I was picking up some liquor from Ripper. Just thought I'd stop by," he says. His eyes flit across my arrangement of condoms, and he shakes his head with a low chuckle. "Actually. Lorena's pregnant."
My body seems to process the words faster than my brain, the visceral reaction of blood rushing through my eardrums, of my heart dipping to my stomach, stealing any coherent response from me. I just stare at him mutely; I can't even care how ridiculous I must look to him, my eyes wide and mouth agape, like he's just told her he was President Snow or something equally improbable. His brow creasing in concern—or suspicion—rouses me from my stupor, and I stumble over my tongue to force out some kind of reply. "You're—pregnant?" I squeak.
Gale laughs at that. "Well, no, not me. But I am gonna be a father."
"Oh," I breathe, her vision swimming; I blink a few times in an attempt to clear it. "Oh," I repeat. Gale, a father. Gale, getting married. It all sounds ludicrous. "That's...I mean, that's...good. For you. Wow."
"We found out a couple weeks ago. We think she's about nine weeks along," he explains, but it sounds like he's talking to me from the other end of a tunnel. "It's still early though, so..."
"Yeah," is all I can offer. I briefly wonder if they went to Mother. Does Mother know that Gale is expecting?
"Yeah," Gale echoes as the conversation flounders. If he expects me to engage him any further about his new wife and their baby, he's going to be waiting forever. I wish he would leave already. Clearing his throat, Gale offers another laugh. "So I guess we won't be needing a condom anytime soon."
"Guess not," I say flatly, swiping at the sweat beading along my forehead. I can't even make eye contact with him, focusing on the dingy collar of his undershirt poking out from underneath his jacket.
"Well... take care," he says, his voice tighter than a moment ago as he nods to me, then to Sae. He doesn't wait for me to respond before he turns away, walking out of the Hob. Once he's out of sight, I release the breath I've been holding, visibly deflating. My hands started trembling—a mounting of nervous buildup in my body—and I glance right at Sae.
The older woman is watching me critically, her mouth twisted into a frown. "You okay, girl?" she asks, and reflexively I nod my head.
"Yeah," I say, trailing off before I shake her head. "No. I think...I need to go home for the day. I just...I need to go home." I'm mostly talking to myself as I hurriedly begin to pack up my supplies, carelessly shoving the condoms into my bag with my bartered items and the few pieces of money. I bid a distracted farewell to Sae and then dart out of the Hob, practically running all the way back to our house. I don't stop running until I'm safe inside Peeta's and my place, for once oblivious to the stares of others.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in bed burrowed under the covers until Peeta comes home. I'm dreading this conversation, but I know I can't keep it from him. Still, when I hear him enter the bedroom, I don't budge.
"Katniss? What are you doing in bed?" he asks. The concerned lilt to his voice is comforting but not enough to coax the words out of me just yet. The bed dips under his weight as he sits down on the edge behind me, and then I feel his hand rest on the crown of my head. And just like that, the tension drains from my body, almost as if he is absorbing it through touch. With a sigh, I roll onto my back so I can see him. His face is pinched in worry as he stares down at me, his fingers brushing the hair out of my face. Just looking at him, suddenly I implicitly understand what I am upset about, what has been gnawing at me since my talk with Gale. "You okay?" he asks again, voice low.
I nod slowly. "Yes. I mean...I will be. I just...had a bit of a shock today. At the Hob," I say haltingly. Peeta's brow dips further in confusion.
"What happened?" There is a note of alarm in his voice. I want to kick myself for causing him to worry. I'm an adult; I should be better equipped to handle unpleasant situations.
Pinching my lips together, I survey our bedroom as I formulate a response. "I saw Gale today," I finally reveal, and there is a flash of surprise across Peeta's face. I rush ahead, "He's getting married today. And his wife is pregnant."
Something dark dims Peeta's eyes, and his jaw tightens as I feel more than see him stiffen on the bed beside me. He withdraws his hand and regards me wearily. "Oh," he says. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. "And... this upsets you?"
I exhale loudly through my teeth and force myself into a sitting position, the covers falling into my lap. "Not in the way you're thinking," I say firmly, my eyes glued to his face. His expression doesn't change; he just waits for me to elaborate. Licking my lips, I push my hair out of my face. "It's just... I haven't spoken to him since that day at my mom's house," I explain, recalling the day he brought me the divorce papers to sign. The palpable hurt I had caused him, that seemed to follow him into that house, it still stung to think about. "We used to be friends. Best friends. There was a time when I knew him better than myself. And now... we're strangers. It was like learning that somebody I didn't even know was getting married. I don't even know him anymore. I just—how did I get it so wrong?" I implore, though I know Peeta can't answer that for me. I shake my head to myself. "I don't know how I screwed everything up so badly. I never should have married him. I don't even miss him, really. Which is the weirdest part. I just... I'm upset that I don't miss him, that I ruined things to the point that I can't even miss our friendship because... I don't even know what that's like anymore."
I'm not sure I'm making any sense; exasperated, I sigh and drop my gaze to the comforter, picking at an errant thread. I want to be happy for Gale; I am, a little. I'm glad he's found someone else, a woman who can love him and give him the children he wants. But it's with the same detached regard I give anyone else in the district when I learn of their happy news. Less than, really, because there's still the looming threat of the Reaping in 12 years.
"Sorry," I mutter after a moment. "I guess I just needed to process everything. I haven't heard anything from him for two years, and then it was all dumped on me at once. It was overwhelming."
I watch Peeta, his broad frame hunched over the bed. He isn't looking at me now, his eyes trained on the bedspread, but his profile is pinched in consternation. Finally, he takes a deep breath and releases it, lifting his head to meet my questioning gaze. "I get it. I can understand why that would be hard for you. I have to hear about Analise all the time, so I'm constantly inundated with news on her life."
I frown at that. "Oh?"
Peeta's eyebrow quirks slightly, the corner of his mouth twisting into a wry smirk. "My mother, of course."
I roll my eyes, pulling my knees up to my chest and hooking my arms around my legs. "To remind you of what a horrible decision you made, I guess?"
"Sounds about right," he says drolly, then he shrugs. "Well... I guess it's great for Gale, right? That he's moved on and found somebody." I nod quietly, and after a moment of silence Peeta adds, "I guess it's safe to assume we're not invited to that Toasting ceremony, huh?"
When I narrow my eyes at him, he breaks out into a grin. But he continues, assuming a thoughtful pose. "Think I should make them a loaf of bread for their Toasting?" he suggests, and I snatch a pillow up to smack him with it, causing him to laugh.
"You're awful," I chide him, unable to fight my own smile.
