Bushfires were brutal all across Australia that dry season, tens of thousands of hectares in flame, large swaths of the National parks system destroyed. Peeta and the rest of the volunteers at the brigade were stretched thin.
His sexy new neighbour must be feeling the same exhaustion, Peeta reckoned. He knew she left for the hospital just after six each morning, and he hadn't seen her come home by nightfall.
The fires were close enough to the town that thick, acrid smoke blanketed everything, giving the sky an apocalyptic red tinge even at midday. Schools were keeping the kids inside, people were walking through town wearing masks. It was impossible to go for a run, impossible even to walk to work with the choking smoke. Accident and emerg was full of breathing problems, all day, every day, Peeta knew from speaking with Finnick. He also knew that the medical staff were all putting in extra time, to handle all of the respiratory issues they were seeing.
He had the night off. It gave him too much time to think about Katniss. To wonder if she was thinking about him. It had only been a day and a half, but he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind, even with everything else he had on his plate. She was under his skin, plain and simple.
Despite his vow to himself to leave her be, to give her space, he left a meal on her doorstep. Peanut satay and noodles, good cold or heated up. He told himself he was just being neighbourly.
He was sitting in the sunroom when she called. "You don't have to keep feeding me, Peeta," she said, but there was no anger in her voice, only fatigue.
"I like to," he said quietly, knowing the words might scare her off. But he did. He liked to take care of her in whatever small ways she would allow. Cooking enough for two when he happened to be home anyway was the very least he could do.
She sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"
Peeta laughed. "I can think of a few things," he smirked.
She laughed too. "I'll keep that in mind, Hotshot."
"What are you up to?" he asked, enjoying the unexpected opportunity to connect with her, if only by phone.
"About to fall into bed," she said. His dick had very enthusiastic thoughts about that, but he tamped down the urge to tease her.
Across the yard, a light flipped on at her house, in the upstairs window, the one he knew would be her bedroom. She moved to the window, silhouetted but still he could make out the curve of her waist, one long, willowy arm pressed against the glass.
She was a beacon, a light in the darkness.
He stood and moved closer to his own window. Her soft, breathless laugh came down the mobile line. "Well hello there," she said.
"Hullo yourself," he chuckled.
"You're not working out?" He had earlier, but now he was sitting at his long-neglected easel.
"Finished already," he said, a little confused. Could she see the treadmill behind him? The only light was the spot clamped to his easel.
"Right, you always start around six."
Peeta startled. Had she been watching him? He'd had no idea she could see so clearly into his space. "You've been watching me?"
Her response was a laugh, husky and warm.
Peeta pressed his hand to the glass. He wanted to run through the yard, jump the fence and take her in his arms. But he'd promised he'd take only what she was willing to give.
The light in her room clicked off, leaving him to his imagination. "Sweet dreams, love," he murmured.
After the briefest of pauses, she replied, "Good night, Peeta."