The bushfires still blazed in New South Wales, but that didn't stop life.
Finnick Odair was a social butterfly, and the impending birth of his first child was as good a reason as any for a party. It wasn't a baby shower, at least not like any Katniss had known back home. It was more like a block party, the kind her father used to like to host for Canada Day, a long, long time ago. The only concession to the baby part was the table laden with blue gift bags, and Finnick's 'who's your daddy?' shirt.
They'd told her to bring a plate, and Katniss had no idea what that meant until Peeta laughingly explained the party was a potluck. He, of course, brought a tray of professionally frosted sugar cookies, decorated with baby motifs in pastel blue and gold. Far too beautiful to eat. Katniss bought a fruit platter at the IGA and a big bunch of cut flowers. She couldn't compete with Peeta in the food department, but she knew Annie's weakness for fresh flowers.
When Peeta had offered her a ride over, she'd hesitated. Would arriving together say more than she was willing to put out there? In the end, though, it'd made the most sense. They were neighbours, after all.
And no one needed to know that they'd also woken up together. Or that it wasn't the first time. Or second.
Or even the tenth.
They'd fallen into a routine. Their schedules were crazy, yet every time they had a few hours off at the same time, they spent them together. Not always having sex, though there was plenty of that. But often sharing a meal or exercising together, or just talking. And laughing. Katniss hadn't laughed so much since long before Prim got sick.
She knew she was probably getting in too deep, but she couldn't bring herself to worry about it. Not just yet anyway.
Katniss and Annie were sitting on the deck in Annie's beautifully landscaped yard, shaded by a sunny yellow canopy and drinking lemonade, which in Australia was apparently a fizzy drink that contained nothing even vaguely resembling a lemon. The wind had shifted, and the air was a little clearer, the perpetual smokey haze still present, but a little less thick. Katniss could breathe anyway.
The guys were standing around the barbeque, drinking beer and critiquing Finnick's grilling technique. Brown bottles dripped condensation in the blistering heat. Most of the men had taken off their shirts, a parade of glistening skin, rippling muscles and ink on display. Annie fanned herself. "Phew," she said. "They sure do make them hot here." Judging by the way she was leering at her husband and his friends, Katniss suspected she didn't mean the weather.
Katniss's eyes drifted, as they so often did these days, to Peeta. He too was shirtless, his broad shoulders sun-pinkened. He was teasing Finnick about something, she couldn't hear what, but she could see the way his abdominals rippled as he chuckled. As she watched, he lifted the beer bottle to his lips, and she reflexively licked her own. He was so sexy.
He glanced over, caught her staring. She smiled, and his blue eyes glowed under the shade of his cap. She expected him to wink, flirty was his default after all. Instead, his gaze was hot and needy, and held a longing she was unprepared for.
"Finny and I still haven't decided on a godfather for the baby," Annie said, interrupting Katniss's gawking, and she snapped her attention back to her friend. A glass was balanced on Annie's stomach, the persistent thump of a little foot or elbow making it bounce rhythmically.
"Hmm?" Katniss replied, not willing to admit she hadn't been paying attention.
"My sister is going to be the godmother, of course, but we can't agree on a godfather. Maybe Dalton McHenry?"
Katniss wrinkled her nose. "I hadn't realised you were close." She'd heard Annie mention Dalton exactly once before, but had never met the man.
"He and Finn met in college," Annie hedged. "And he's better than Cato."
Katniss frowned. Cato was one of the other firefighters in Finnick and Peeta's brigade, and he was kind of a jerk. He wasn't even there, celebrating the baby. He'd be a strange choice for sure.
She thought back over the past six weeks. The choice seemed obvious to her. "What about Peeta?" He was Finnick's closest friend. He was the one who helped put together the crib for baby Odair, the one who constantly brought Annie the sausage rolls she craved. He'd been part of their lives for years, was at all of the social gatherings, checked in with them all of the time, even ran errands for them. He certainly seemed like a great friend to them.
Annie looked surprised. "Peet? He wouldn't want that."
"You already asked him?" It was obvious that Peeta would do anything for Finnick, she was bewildered that he'd turn down being a godparent for their baby.
"No," Annie admitted. "But he's a bachelor, a party guy. Not someone looking for that kind of responsibility."
Katniss wasn't sure about that, after seeing Peeta with his nieces and nephews. It was clear he loved kids, and he was amazing with them. "He has his brothers' kids all of the time. He's great with them, you know that." Katniss was surprisingly upset. They'd consider Cato over the kind, generous man who had started setting up the buffet table while the others continued their discussion?
"That's because he's one of them," Annie laughed.
No, Katniss thought. It's because they see him, they see what a good man he is, and they love him for it.
"I think he'd be an amazing godparent," Katniss murmured. Annie made a non-committal kind of noise and the discussion halted as Finnick announced that the meal was ready. But Katniss couldn't stop thinking. How the people in Panem didn't seem to see the same Peeta she did. Didn't seem to see the kind, generous man under all of that flirty fun.
The man occupying her thoughts slid next to her, wordlessly handing her a bottle of beer. They moved towards the buffet table—the one Peeta had set out—together.
"Penny for your thoughts," Peeta murmured against her ear as they perused the spread. Katniss was loading up on the prawns Finnick had grilled. The seafood in this country was definitely worth writing home about. "Two pennies if those thoughts involve you and me and that bowl of whipped cream."
She glanced up at him. He was smirking again, in that flirty way. She was beginning to understand that the boisterous, fun-loving guy was Peeta putting on a show for the assemblage.
She just didn't know why.
The Peeta who had taken her hiking, the one who played in his yard with his little nieces and nephews, the one who'd taught her how to make fairy bread, that Peeta was lively and fun. This Peeta, the face he showed his friends, he was too, but in an exaggerated way, high energy and peppy to the extreme. She liked this Peeta fine. But she preferred the Peeta she got to see glimpses of when the others weren't around.
"Later," she said, pressing a fleeting kiss to his scruffy cheek.