The next two weeks or so pass by in a flurry of activity, as Peeta finishes the final preparations on the bakery and I work on some of the finishing stages of the medicine factory. The closer we get to the bakery opening, the more anxiety and apprehension seem to ebb their way into the excitement and frenzied joy that have generally defined his work so far. I completely understand why; this is the way he keeps his family's legacy alive, and he doesn't want to do anything wrong.
On the night before the bakery is set to open, Peeta's taking a long time to come to bed. He changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth and everything, but then got struck by some panic that his cream cheese frosting recipe was all wrong and had to go down and test it. I was already in bed and he told me that I didn't need to get up, that he would just be five minutes, but it's been more like 40. It's half past midnight now, and I know he wants to wake up around five in the morning so he can make sure everything is set up correctly. He needs to get some sleep.
I slide out of bed and head down the stairs softly. I see him standing at the kitchen counter, whisking something in a bowl at a truly ridiculous velocity. His gaze is entirely focused on whatever he's doing, there's no way he noticed me enter the room.
"Peeta," I say softly, walking over to him. He looks up at me.
"Oh, hey," he says. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."
"What are you working on?" I ask him. I see that he has several bowls out on the counter with different sorts of frostings.
"Well, the cream cheese frosting was ok," he starts. "It needed a little adjusting, but it really wasn't bad, so then I got worried that maybe I was misremembering, and it was a different frosting that I'd messed up before. I sort of thought that I could just make them all really quickly and see how they were, just in case." I think he knows how absurd this is, as he looks a little embarrassed. It doesn't stop him from whisking, though.
"Peeta," I say, putting my hand on his arm to still his movements. "It's going to be ok. Every frosting you make is delicious, and it's not worth staying up half the night just to confirm what we already know. Come to bed." I've tried to keep my voice both firm and gentle, and I have no idea whether or not I've had the desired effect. He hasn't returned to the whisking, which is a good sign, but he hasn't really moved either.
"I...I'm scared, Katniss," he says, his voice very small. He's not looking up at me but rather staring down into his bowl. I'm not sure if it's out of some remnant of his previous focus, or if he's nervous to admit his fear to me. If that's the case, he has absolutely no need to be.
"I know," I say softly, rubbing my hand along his arm.
"I just don't want to let them down, and dishonor their memory like that. Everything needs to be perfect. I want it to make people happy." He's putting so much pressure on himself, both to feel as if he's fully honoring his family, and to bring something good to the people of 12. It's too much to take on alone, to expect perfection in every one of his actions. I don't fully know how to fully get through to him that just his trying is enough.
"It will," I say. "You are going to bring so much joy and life into 12 with this, Peeta. It might be hard or confusing at times, but it's going to be worth it. You are going to do amazing work, and I know your dad would have been so proud of you." My skills at words of comfort are not nearly as refined as his, but I do my best. He's been there for me so many times in moments of insecurity and self-doubt. I want him to know that I am here for him too, that he isn't alone.
"Thanks," he says, looking at me and giving me a slight smile.
"You need to get some sleep," I tell him. "We don't need you falling asleep during work and crashing into whatever beautiful cake you're decorating." He grins more fully at my joke, and I take his hand and lead him upstairs. We curl up in bed together and I never remove my hand from his own. I want to show him in every way I can that we are a team. He isn't doing this alone.
It's still dark out when I wake up the next morning. I'm woken by the sound of Peeta turning on the shower. Looking at the clock, I see it's about 4:30. I groan, but I pull myself up and out of bed. I know Peeta will say I don't have to, that I can get some sleep and join him later, but I'm getting up and going over there with him. I'm going to spend every second of today with him. He won't ask, but I know that's what he needs, the support. So that's what I'm going to do.
I move slowly across the room to pull on jeans and a blue sweater. It's getting cooler and cooler as we move into October. I head into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Peeta shuts the water off while I'm still brushing my teeth, and steps out of the shower with a towel around his waist soon after.
"What are you doing up?" he asks, heading over to me. "You could have slept in."
"I wanted to be up with you," I say through a mouth full of toothpaste. I spit into the sink, and when I lift my head I see in the mirror that he's right next to me.
"Thank you," he says softly, before planting his lips on mine. I wrap my arms around his bare shoulders and deepen the kiss. When we break apart, we rest our foreheads together and just breathe for a moment with our eyes closed.
"I'm with you," I say softly. "All the way. Always." He smiles and places one more quick kiss on my lips.
"I love you," he mutters.
"I love you too," I say. "Now go get dressed. I didn't wake up this early for us to be late." He laughs and heads out. I pull my hair out of the messy braid in which it had rested in sleep, and brush it through a few times before re braiding it. I splash some extra water on my face in an effort to wake myself up before heading downstairs. I'm extremely thankful to see that Peeta has already made us both cups of coffee. I take one from him and sip it blissfully. Peeta's not talking much, just eating his toast in silence, which is unusual for him. I know he's extremely nervous.
"What's your biggest worry about today?" I ask him, cutting through the silence.
"Huh?"
"Out of all of the things you have to worry about today, what is scaring you or stressing you out the most?" I've never been a master at comforting people with my words, so I'm trying to help him rationalize. I think, or at least I hope, that if he can really talk though and express what he's worried about, maybe it won't seem so huge and overwhelming.
"Um, I mean, I just don't want to do anything that would have been a disappointment to my dad, or my brothers," he says, looking a little confused, as he's told me this before.
"Yeah but what do you think would do that?" I ask him, trying to push him forward a little bit. "I mean, worst case scenario, say the day doesn't go well. You don't get a lot of customers, and you burn some bread. I'm sure you won't actually do that, but let's just pretend for a second. Do you really think your father would have been disappointed in you over a simple mistake like that? He wouldn't Peeta. At least, if everything you've told me about him is true, he would just be absolutely thrilled that you're trying, that you're working to move past some horrible things and carry on your shared passion. Even if you burned every single thing you bake today, he would still be proud of you for putting in the effort. Maybe Rye would tease you, maybe Bannock would fret about how you'll keep your costs down if you have to remake all your bread, but they wouldn't be disappointed in you. You will be making them proud today, no matter what."
Peeta is quiet for another minute, and he just sits still and looks at me. I'm not sure exactly what he's thinking. His eyes are completely focused on my own. I can't really tell if he doesn't believe me and still has his doubts, if he thinks my assessment of his family is wrong, or if maybe he thinks I've overstepped in trying to talk about what they would feel when I hardly knew them. It seems none of those guesses are right, however, as he leans forward and meets me with a deep and passionate kiss. I feel his warmth, his steadiness, his love. I can feel his faith in himself reigniting.
"Alright," he says when we pull apart. "Let's get to work." The two of us start to make our way to the bakery. The sky is just becoming light with the early morning sun. It's pretty cold this early in the morning, and I huddle into Peeta's side as we walk to stay warm. When we reach the bakery, I take Peeta's hand.
"You ready?" I ask, as we wait momentarily outside the door.
"Yeah," he says, nodding, before slipping his hey into the door and turning the lock. We walk in and he starts turning on the lights. The bakery looks good. Genuinely good. I only came into the front of the old bakery a handful of times; most of my interactions here were trading with Peeta's father at the back door off the kitchen. Still, from what I can remember, Peeta has done a perfect job updating it according to our new circumstances and opportunities while still keeping the warm, homey style that defined it previously. The floor is a light wood and the walls are a warm off-white color. The counter behind which he'll stand to take orders and talk with customers has a beautiful glass display case that I'm sure will soon be filled with even more beautiful things, and there are small displays in the windows as well. He's also added a couple of small tables for customers, with seats that are covered with little tufted cushions. In every step of the design, he's tried to create a place where people will feel comfortable and welcomed. The whole place feels like Peeta, in the best way.
We head through a door back into the kitchen section, which is filled with large counters and ovens and refrigerators. Peeta's already stocked it with the ingredients he'll need for the first day; while he plans to start taking personal orders, today he's just making bunches of his favorite recipes to introduce everyone to what he can do. I can visibly see Peeta start to get more comfortable as he settles into the kitchen. He knows what to do, and he loves what he's doing. He doesn't need to worry about what he bakes, he could do it in his sleep.
As he starts gathering ingredients and mixing things, I can see the cute look of excited focus finding its place on his face. I just hop up onto a counter in the corner and sit watching him while he works. There's not really much I can do to help, I'm useless at baking, and I'm pretty exhausted anyway. I'm not totally sure how he runs so well on so little sleep. I lean my head back against the wall and just watch him with a small smile on his face. He's in his element. He says things to me every so often, and gives me a smile when he realizes how sleepy I am.
"Katniss you can go home, if you want," he says. "Or rest here. Whatever you'd like."
"No," I say, in a vaguely childish, sleepy stubborn voice. "I'm staying here, with you." He grins, and walks over to give me a kiss. I kiss him back lazily, and when we pull apart he flicks my nose with his finger, getting a little flour on my face.
"Rude," I say, wiping my face with my sleeve. He laughs at me and goes back to his work. I return my head to its spot on the wall, and as much as I try not to I feel myself slipping. As he bakes, a warmth and a wonderful smell fills the room. My eyelids get heavier and heavier.
"Kat," I hear Peeta say, as he pats my arm.
"Huh?" I say, waking with a start. It takes me a second but then I realize what's happening and feel guilty for having fallen asleep. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" I'm distracted though, by just the sheer quantity of incredible looking baked goods he's somehow filled the room with. Loaves and loaves of bread of different varieties: cracked sourdough, darker loaves filled with fruit and nuts, small sweet tasting loaves, bread with intricate plaiting patterns. He's made cookies, truly an indecent number, all iced and frosted with beautiful little flowers. There are some cakes with perfectly smooth frosting in wonderful colors. The room is almost bursting with baked goods.
"How long have I been out?" I ask. "You did so much."
"Not too long," he says. "Two hours maybe, a little more." I feel guilty and I think it must reflect on my face, because he plants a kiss on my forehead before speaking again. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Just you being here is enough. But I wanted to wake you because I'm gonna open up soon, and there's one more thing I want to do before then, and I wanted you there for it."
"What is it?" I ask.
"Come with me?" he says, holding out a hand. I take it and use it to help me hop down off the counter. We head out into the front of the store, and he picks up a small toolbox from a cabinet behind the counter. We continue on until we are right outside the front door.
"What are we doing?" I ask.
"I wanted to put this up," he says, and he reaches into his pocket to pull out the small piece of the bakery's original sign that we found on our first visit here. I smile up at him and he smiles back at me. I am deeply, genuinely proud of him.
"Absolutely," I say. "Let's do it." Peeta puts the sign right next to the door and hammers it in with a nail. Now right next to the entrance to the bakery he has a piece of his family, a sign that says "Mellark" and speaks not only to him but to the generations that are no longer here. It's perfect.
I kiss him on the cheek and we head back inside. The two of us bring a bunch of baked goods from the kitchen into the front of the shop and set them up in the display cases. At about 8:30, Peeta opens up shop. It takes ten or fifteen minutes before people start coming in, and I can see that he's nervous. Once his first customer arrives, however, the stream of people in and out of the bakery doesn't seem to stop. As I help Peeta take order's behind the counter, I see the happiness in people's faces. They are happy to be here. He's doing what he wanted, having the effect that he hoped for. He's kept the prices on items very low, and I can tell that he's struck the perfect balance to keep everything accessible even to people who haven't rebuilt a living yet, while not so low that anyone is offended at the idea of charity.
A bit after lunch, a mother comes in with her young daughter on her hip. As she converses with Peeta over different types of bread and picks out what loaf she wants to buy, the little girl is staring wide-eyed into the display case. Peeta notices the expression on her face, and smiles at her kindly.
"Do you have a favorite color?" he asks gently. The little girl blushes, clearly feeling shy, and snuggles her head into her mother's shoulder.
"Pink," she says quietly.
"Pink, good choice," says Peeta, bending down to open the display case. "Well then, I think that this cookie is just calling your name," he says, pulling out a beautifully iced sugar cookie with a little pink flower piped onto it. He hands it to the little girl as he gives the loaf of bread to her mother, and the girl's face lights up with happiness. She takes a small bite of the cookie, and her smile expands even wider. Her mother's face mirrors the little girl's, and she turns to Peeta with an expression of deep gratefulness.
"Thank you so much," she says to him. "You've just totally made her day." Peeta's face splits into a grin at this.
"It's no problem at all," he says. "I hope you two enjoy." The pair head out, but the smile doesn't fade from Peeta's face. I'm not sure if it ever leaves him the whole rest of the day, and I don't think any interaction makes him happier. Not praise from Thom and Leevy when they come to visit, not getting his first wedding cake commission from a couple who moved here from 8, not selling out each and every thing he made for today. Nothing made him happier than making that little girl happy.
When we get home that night, Peeta and I love each other thoroughly and happily. When we're done, we curl up together, feeling entirely in love in every possible way. We are building something together here that goes beyond just one project, or just a relationship, or even just healing and moving past trauma. We are building a life together. We are building to happiness.