The Best Cup
Cafe Shop AU
This story was part of The Hunger Games 2022 Season of Hope Holiday Fic Exchange on AO3. You can find a collection there from many amazing writers!
This story is for the lovely and kind Lemonluvgirl 87. Her request was:
"Coffeeshop AU where Katniss is a barista and Peeta is a new customer who brings his service dog into the shop with him. The service dog gets a little excited and knocks down a display, and some kind of argument ensues between management and Peeta. Katniss steps in and defends Peeta a little too staunchly...and it forms the basis for a friendship/relationship between them."
She wanted something with a Mature rating, but ouf! this is Teen or GA, I think. A bowl of fluff and simple life for Everlark. I can write you an outtake in the future, dearie.
Merry Christmas and happy holidays, Lemonluvgirl87!
P.S. The Hunger Games Series belongs to Suzanne Collins. You rock my work, Suzzie!
"Good morning, wifey," Peeta greets me as I walk into the kitchen this cold winter morning. He is making breakfast already, and the delicious smell of honey bacon brings me out of bed.
Our bed.
I still can't believe that I am married to Peeta Mellark.
"How was your sleep, my love?" Peeta approaches me slowly, carefully navigating around the kitchen counter and avoiding the other furniture at the dining table. He doesn't need his white cane inside the house and can move around based on memory. "I didn't want to wake you."
One of the main things that Peeta and I decided before getting married was where we would live afterward. Both our apartments can accommodate two people with ease, but in the end, Peeta's apartment made the most sense. Being blind since he was eleven due to a degenerative disease, it's harder for Peeta to change his living space. Everything in his apartment was well thought out and catered to his disability. Riley, his German Shepherd and Labrador mix guide dog, also gets to relax once at home because Peeta can navigate his way around the furniture without her.
"It was very pleasant, and I feel well-rested," I answer sweetly and receive the kiss Peeta offers me once he's near me. We're newlyweds, two weeks to be exact, and every moment we get to be together, Peeta and I take them like there's no tomorrow. His lips are sweet and a little minty as we kiss. He kneels in front of me, right between my thighs, and holds my waist through my night robe.
"And you?" I ask while fixing his curly hair.
"One of the best sleep in my life, I think." Peeta chuckles and kisses me again, lingering on my bottom lip while I cup his cheek. "I can't wait to go to bed again."
"Oh, I bet you do."
Last night was ... something, and the delicious feelings I have when I woke up were all connected to how good Peeta made me feel in bed. He was very thorough and tender, making love to me and willing away my insecurities about the burn scars all over my back and legs. I feel so loved when I'm with him.
"Beans and bacon good for breakfast?" he asks while holding my hands and kissing them.
"Did you make English muffins too?" I say and kiss the top of his head.
"Yes, my love, I did."
"Thank you, kind Sir."
After giving me another breathtaking kiss, Peeta returns to the kitchen, and I watch him as he moves around with ease. Feeling his way around the stove and testing the bacon with a spatula, he cuts a piece and blows on it to cool it down before tasting it. It's crispy, and I hear him chewing it all the way from where I am seated. He stirs the beans carefully and then lowers the heat for it to simmer some more.
There is so much about Peeta that grounds me and slows down my mornings. I love watching him go about his days, not hampered by his lack of sight. He can see some light and shadows but only at a very close distance. Color? He could see that too, he said, but they're hazy, and he doesn't see shapes. Still, he doesn't let his disability bother him too much. He's calm and patient, choosing to put his best foot forward all the time. He wasn't always this positive, he told me. Years of learning to cope with his disability and having a supportive set of family and friends helped him a lot.
I'm not sure if Peeta knows the effect he has on me. He has changed me in so many ways after I met him at the Gamemaker's Coffee shop two years ago. I look forward to the life we will build together now that we are married.
When the kettle whistles, Peeta makes me a cup of tea with a side of butterfly kisses on my forehead. It's a lazy Sunday morning, and we both don't need to work, so we revel in moments where we can show affection to one another. While Peeta resumes his cooking, I reminisce about the first time I met my husband…
Two years ago ….
It was a breezy spring day back in April, and the Gamemaker's coffee shop where I was working was down by two staff. There was a virus going around town, and being the healthy ones, Jo and I had to pick up the work all the time. The extra hours were bearable, and we got paid well for the overtime. Secretly, I thank my previous boss, Plutarch Heavensbee, for my salary. He made sure every employee got paid fairly in his store before he handed it over to his nephew, Seneca Crane. I wish I could give the same praise to Seneca, but in actuality, he was a doofus. He cared more about his own merchandise and the shop's aesthetics than customer service.
"Will you marry me, sweet darling?" Arthur, a regular in the coffee shop says to me as I hand him back his value card.
"Yes, I will, Arthur," I reply and give the seventy-year-old customer his cappuccino. He proposes to me every time he visits the store, and I always say yes.
"I just have to get my dress from Cinna, and he's sick right now."
"Tough luck. Catch you later then, sweetie," he bids before walking to his usual table by the window. His granddaughter, Rue, gives me an appreciative smile. Arthur's a sweet guy, and he misses his wife dearly since her passing three years ago.
"Is that proposal number two or three today?" Jo chirps as she finishes addressing her customer. "Old people sure like you, brainless."
"Arthur's number three, and we still haven't seen Henry yet. I'm sure he'll propose too when he gets his macchiato," I joke and then turn around to fill the cookie display.
"I wonder if you'll ever get a real proposal with all these old folks hanging around the coffee shop."
"I'm never getting married, Jo," I say, and then busy myself with transferring all the cookies. "It's not for me."
"Uh huh, just you wait. I know for a fact that you're a hopeless romantic."
"Ms. Everdeen, any of our tumblers sold today?" Mr. Seneca suddenly comes in. His swirl-patterned beard and mustache are laughable, and his matching purple suit is an eye sore for all to endure.
"Just one, Sir," I reply with a straight tone.
"It's still ten o'clock, and I'm sure more will buy them. I designed them myself, you know?"
"Yes, sir, you did." This is the seventy-fourth time already that he has told me this. And, oh yes, I'm counting. Every single day since he thought of the limited edition Gamemaker's logo, he's been increasing the stack of tumblers displayed around the store. It's becoming a minefield sometimes just to avoid tipping them over.
"Well, make sure you advertise them."
At about twelve noon, the store gets slammed with a horde of tourists with fake accents. They're from the Capitol District and are so loud and picky with their orders. There was a whole shuttle full of them that poured into the store, and the sound of their clattering heels disturbed everyone's peace. Multiple times, I had to stop myself from gagging from their rosy perfume when they ordered.
"Hi there," I say, my energy depleted once I served the last of the tourists. It is unprofessional, but I can't help it. Dealing with the Capitolites melted my brain away and rubbed me the wrong way with all their extra toppings and changes from our regular offerings.
The young man across the counter doesn't seem to mind my tone, and I notice that he has a service dog with him with an orange vest. Immediately I realize that he is blind, so I fix myself and bring out a Braille menu for him to read.
"Welcome to Gamemaker's Cafe, I'm Katniss," I say properly. "We have hot and cold coffee, tea, and chocolate drinks. We also have cookies, muffins, and some sandwiches if you want." I offer him so and hand him our special menu. He runs his fingers across the smooth board.
"It's my first time here," he says and continues reading. I continue to watch him and smile as he pets his big black and tan service dog as he reads. "I'd like to have your best seller, please. Tall. And could you put it here in this cup?"
"Yes, of course."
"Does it go well with cookies?"
"Oh, lover boy, our Mockingjay Shaken Espresso goes well with all cookies," Jo chimes in and gives me a mischievous smirk. "He's gorgeous," she whispers to me. "Write your number on his cup."
I glare at her and, not at all too politely, bump her out of the way.
"She created the Mockingjay special, lover boy," Jo inserts before making her customer's order at the back.
"I'm sorry about that. My co-worker gets a little excited sometimes." I punch in his order and offer him our selection of cookies. "We have blondies, mint-chocolate chip, and double chocolate cookies. Which would you like to have?"
"Did you make those too?"
I snort and instantly regret it. I can't even make pancakes. "No, thank goodness I didn't," I say and then scold myself.
"That's all right. I think I'll try the blondies. I haven't had those in a while."
"Excellent choice," I praise and grab a sticky note to write his name on. "Who should I name your drink to?"
"Oh, it's Peeta. I'm Peeta."
"P... I ... T," I spell out as I write with a broad marker.
"No, it's PEETA, Katniss. It's with a double E," he corrects, and I'm impressed that he remembers my name. He said it so nicely too.
"Sorry, I'll change that. Your order will only take a few minutes, PEEta."
"Thank you, Katniss. I'll wait on the side."
I quickly make his order as Jo takes over the counter. I can't help the smile on my face as I mix his drink. It is ridiculous feeling the way that I do. It is like a ray of sunshine was placed inside my chest after talking to him. For a moment, it crosses my mind to write my number on his cup. I decide against it and put his order on a tray like usual.
"Mockingjay and blondies for Peeta," I call out. When I see him walking with his guide dog, I make the extra effort to go around the counter to hand him his order.
"Here you go, Peeta."
"Oh, Octavia! What a cute dog!" A tourist with bright orange corkscrew hair abruptly says. "I want to pet it!"
"Flavius, it might have rabies!" his friend with weird pale green skin grumbles. "Don't touch it!"
"Hello there," Peeta says with a calm but firm tone. "Please don't touch my guide dog. She's working right now."
"Venia, darling! Look! It even has an orange vest!" The man Flavius yells across the shop, ignoring what Peeta just said. Without preamble, he grabs the dog's cheeks and pulls them side-to-side.
Oh, dear me.
Naturally, Peeta's guide dog gets startled, and she backs away to the tower of tumblers behind her. The mix of plastic and metal insulated cups fell like an avalanche from the Nut, every tumbler bouncing on the wooden floor and rolling around the store freely. It was a big scene.
"Riley? Come here, girl." Lowering his tray to the ground, Peeta kneels beside his dog and comforts her. She licks his face before staying on his left. "It's all right, Riley. It's not your fault. We'll fix it."
"Oh, now! Bad dog!" The green-skinned woman screams. She's pointing at Riley harshly. "Bad dog!"
"What on earth!" our general manager, Seneca Crane yammers. "I stacked these myself!"
"It's that mutt!" Octavia accuses. "Aren't dogs not allowed in restaurants?"
"Yes, and I'm allergic to dogs!" Flavius suddenly weeps, then pretends to sneeze twice. "Get him out of here!"
"Is this your dog, Mister?" Seneca questions while pointing sharply at Riley. "Sir, did you hear me?" he adds when he notices Peeta's eyes not looking at him. "Sir, are you deaf or something?!"
"I'm sorry, yes. Riley is my dog," Peeta answers calmly, though his grip on Riley's harness tightens, and his jaw clicks in tension. Peeta stands up, and Seneca gauges his height. He's not overly tall, but his shoulders are much broader than Seneca's small form. "She's my service dog. I'm blind, Sir."
"He's lying," Octavia shot in and waves a hand in front of Peeta's face. It is insulting what she is doing, but somehow Peeta lets it go. When it is obvious that Peeta can't see. Octavia backs away and pushes Flavius' shoulders to address Seneca.
"His dog bumped the display," Flavius weakly explains. He appears remorseful, but still, he doesn't take the blame nor explain everything that happened.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the cafe," Seneca commands, making his voice sound bigger. He is so fake. "The exit is right there." He points to the doors on the far left of the store as if Peeta can actually see.
"Hey, that's not right," I interject and scowl at my boss. I move forward, kicking a tumbler out of the way. I can't take the rudeness of Seneca anymore and the accusations of the two oddly dressed Capitolites.
"Shut up, Ms. Everdeen, and do your job!" My ears ring like alarm bells from being addressed like so, and I fist my hands.
"Hey now, Sir. That's not the right way to address a …," Peeta begins to defend me, but then I put my hand on his chest, effectively telling him to stop talking. He looks down at his torso as if he can see my small hand with its slender fingers over his heart.
"Don't tell me to shut up. This man has a right to bring his service dog into this establishment. Under the American Disability Act, he's allowed access to all public areas and facilities just like any other human being is."
The crowd around us starts chattering then, and Seneca gets looks of disgust from a few customers. Serves him right.
"Well, does he have proof that he's disabled?" he questions in an attempt to save himself. He only gets raised eyebrows from all of us, maybe even from Riley. His question is so stupid.
"Sir," Peeta tries to speak again, but I take his right hand in mine. In hindsight, I should have asked him first if I could touch him and if he needed defending, but at that time, I felt so heated that it slipped my mind.
"Don't you entertain him," I say and squeeze Peeta's hand. I am overdoing things, but I have had enough of Seneca's condescending way. "I got you, okay, Peeta?"
He gives me a nod, a slight smirk forming around his lips. He looks cute, but I squash my admiration right away. I have bigger things to attend to.
"Well, at least show me a certificate that your dog is a real service dog," Seneca demands, waving his hand up and getting the crowd behind him to support him. A few customers agree with him, and it irks me. "There are a lot of fake service dogs out there. Emotional support animals and whatnot ..." This irritates me all the more. Some people just don't know well enough.
"He doesn't have to do that." My voice gets strained for a moment, so I clear my throat. I feel Peeta squeeze my hand in return. "Service dogs can be trained under an organization or by owners themselves. He doesn't have to prove anything to you," I answer surely, and stare my boss down. I'm not afraid of him.
"Well, what does he have anyways?" Seneca banters on. "Aside from being blind, what else does he have? Do you have PTSD or something, Sir? Anxiety attacks, bipolar, diabetes, depression, heart problem, or, or …" Unknown to him, Seneca is already digging his grave by asking all those questions.
"Excuse you, Sir!" One customer shouts and raises her hands in frustration.
"Yeah, that's not right to ask!" Another lady crows.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, son," Arthur comments, and I give him a grateful nod.
Several more murmur their agreement and nod their heads.
"He doesn't have to prove to you anything, Seneca. You must be understanding and respectful of all people at all times. That's basic human decency," I rasp. I'm fuming mad, and I feel so hot inside.
"And you know what, I quit!"
Uh oh. What did I just do?
People gasp, and some shake their heads as if telling me that I made the wrong decision. A few clap their hands in support, but one man steps forward and whispers to me that I should probably take it back.
It is definitely too much to put your job on the line for a stranger. But the words are already out of my lips, so I untie my apron and lay it on the counter behind me. "This cafe is not worth staying on anymore anyways," I say as a final goodbye. "If Mr. Heavensbee was here, this wouldn't have happened. We need to treat each other fairly."
Out of the corner of my eye, Arthur and Rue give me a mock salute.
With a huff, I turn around to face Peeta, who had been quietly listening to everything. He has a worried look on his face. "I think we're done here, Peeta." I extend my hand to him, but of course, Peeta doesn't know that.
"Okay, Katniss," Peeta responds softly and then smiles. Thankfully he extends his hand up, so I take it in mine instead.
"Want to get out of here?"
"Yeah, sure, Katniss."
…
"This stew is amazing!" I get another spoonful in my mouth and follow it with some baguette dipped in the thick gravy. "You should have just come here instead of the Gamemaker's. This food is so much better, Peeta," I say with a full mouth.
"Greasy Sae makes the best stew in the city," Peeta replies while stirring his stew. "Her stall is my go-to for hot and hearty meals. I've been coming here since I was sixteen."
"Just you slow down there, sweetheart. You're going to choke on my lamb stew!" Sae comments and boisterously laughs as I stuff another spoonful in. "I still have two pots simmering at the back!"
Wiping my mouth with a tissue, I tell her, "Just keep them coming, Sae."
After stepping out of the coffee shop and having a quick chat with Jo at the back door, Peeta and I walked three blocks east to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant beside the local bakery on 12th Street. I didn't know that there was this remarkably great family-run restaurant hiding around the corner. From a block away, we caught a whiff of the savory food cooking in Sae's kitchen. Luckily, there were two vacant chairs at the counter, and Sae served us right away. I nearly forgot my name when I got my first spoonful.
"I'm sorry about your job," Peeta says as I tear up a piece of bread from our shared baguette. He got it from the Mellark Boulangerie across the road, with Riley helping him cross. It's an outstanding bakery really, but I've only visited it once since I arrived in the city five years ago. Jo said it's a city treasure and has been in the same location for three generations. The owners must be really proud and probably pretty rich if you base it on the size and facade of the store.
The bread Peeta got was still hot like he got it out of the oven himself. It is so perfect for the stew. I have no qualms about enjoying the yummy meal before me.
"Thanks for defending my honor, too, Katniss," Peeta adds after I just waved off his apology.
"Don't sweat it, Peeta," I say in between chews. I move the bread around my mouth skillfully and swallow it to talk to Peeta better. "And you didn't cost me my job. I quit, remember?"
"Yeah, after defending my honor." He puts his spoon down and gives Riley a chunk of bread with lamb meat sandwiched in it. "I wish I had seen Seneca's face while you were doing it. Jo kind of described him to me."
"Don't bother. He's not worth looking at. You'll just lose your appetite." I drink a glass of water and clear my mouth before extending my hand again for Peeta to shake. "It was my honor, defending your honor, kind Sir. Here, come shake my hand."
"I hope this stew is payment enough for your trouble, my fair Lady." For a moment, when Peeta said those words, I thought he would kiss my hand.
"It sure is and more." Peeta let's go, and we both return to our bowl of stew. "Also, I'm not a lady. You'd take that back if you could see me sucking away at this lamb bone right here."
"Want another one, sweet cheeks?" Sae offers me, waving her wooden soup spoon with stew in my face. Of course, I don't refuse and hand her my empty bowl to refill.
"Yes, please!"
…
After I unbutton my pants so my full belly can bulge out, I glance at Peeta and catch him looking up at the sky as we stroll down the side of the road. He looks content and happy, and I think he's rubbing off on me. It's nice, and I haven't been this relaxed in a long while.
"I shouldn't have accepted that third bowl, Peeta. I'm stuffed," I say and stretch out my arms one by one and bend my waist side-to-side. "I hope it doesn't come right back up."
"Hahaha, that would be some sight to see, Katniss."
"Hey, laugh all you want. I don't think I'll be able to have dinner later tonight."
"Well, you shouldn't waste a good tub full of stew. How many portions did Sae give you again for takeout?"
I weigh the heavy brown bag in front of me and peek inside. "I think this is good for a family of five, plus a big dog."
When we were about to leave, Sae surprised us with a hefty doggie bag of lamb stew. We didn't order it, and Peeta and I insisted on splitting the bill for it, but Sae wouldn't have any of our money. She just shooed us off, even pushing us forward by our shoulders to start walking away from her stall. She was not so gentle but was disarming with how she was grinning while we went on our way.
"She likes you, you know?" Peeta says as Riley assists him in going around a bulky trunk of supplies by the side of the road. Looks like someone is moving in or moving out, and they have left furniture lying in the open.
"I like her too, Peetie boy." I pat the bag of stew in front of me and nod my head in approval.
"Looks like Greasy Sae gained another loyal customer, Nessy."
We both laugh at our weak attempt at nicknames. I don't know why I started it, but I'm glad for Peeta's sense of humor. Normally, people don't laugh at my jokes, but Peeta seems to be getting a kick out of the little things I say. We use "Peetie boy" and "Nessy" a couple more times during conversation but drop them once we get on to more serious business.
"So"
"So," he repeats as we pass by the sweet shop.
"Where to now? It's my day off. I'm yours as a companion, my dear Sir."
"Oh yeah?" Peeta beams and I notice that he has a dimple just under his left eye.
"How very lucky of me to have found a defender and a friend on this fine day of the Lord."
"Seriously, Peeta. I have nothing to do, and I don't want to go back to my apartment and face the fact that I have to go job hunting tomorrow. There's so little opportunity for fun in my life."
"I'm so sorry again, Katniss."
"Don't be, Peeta. I'll do it all over again in a heartbeat."
"I do have an activity in mind, but I don't know if it's your kind of fun, Katniss."
"Yeah? Hit me."
"Better yet, I'll just show you."
…
"Gardening?" I comment and read the sign "Lavinia's Garden Supply Store." Peeta and I stand side-by-side in the well-stocked shop between 23rd and 16th Street. It was a long walk getting here, and I managed to button back my pants midway through our stroll. Peeta and I talked about how he got Riley as a guide dog and how he trains her constantly at home. He does this rough play with her, tugging at her feet, ears, and tail so she gets accustomed to being touched in different ways. She loves it, he said. And her favorite is playing tug-of-war with Peeta while they pull at a piece of rope held between their teeth. I imagine it in my head, Peeta on all fours, hair all tousled up from playing with her best girl, Riley. His cheeks are all strawberry pink like they are now from walking a great distance, and a few beads of sweat drip down the side of his face. It's a happy image and one I'd like to see for myself one day.
"What do you think of the sign?" Peeta says and looks at me with a proud smile. "I designed it last year."
"Oh, it's pretty," I offer quickly because it really is. The calligraphy, the choice of vibrant colors. It's all apt for spring and quaint gardens. "You didn't tell me you painted."
"It's my passion and main livelihood, Katniss. My best friend Finnick and his wife, Annie, get commissions for me. I'll take you to my studio sometime if you like?"
"I would love that."
"We can make pots and bowls there too. Annie lets me use her pottery equipment. She makes huge sculptures and unique ceramic wares for high-end restaurants around Panem."
"That's amazing, Peeta."
"I'll show you some of my work too. I hope you will like them."
I rub his shoulder and squeeze it lightly as an answer. Peeta is amazing. I've heard of blind artists before, but I never thought I would actually meet one. It will be fascinating seeing him paint. How he determines the color, how he gauges proportions, and what inspires him. So many questions swirl in my mind about his craft, but they all settle down when I take a look at Peeta gazing up at the sign again. Inside, I wonder how much he can see from this distance. I guess I'll let him share that with me instead of asking him. It seems too forward to ask such a personal question to someone you've just known for less than three hours.
White calla lilies, blue crocuses, yellow daffodils, pink hyacinths, and various colors of tulips are on display on the sidewalk around us. Shrubs and dwarf citrus trees in bigger clay pots and herbs in smaller pots stacked in tiered stands are on our left. There are piles of compost sacks to our right, textured and colorful ceramics pots beside it, and a few racks of seeds in packets for anyone to peruse in front of us. Peeta picked a promising store, and any gardening enthusiast would love it.
"So, gardening," Peeta says and rubs the back of his neck. "I've always wanted to start my own garden, but I never got around to doing it." He inhales the air, filling his lungs to the brim. I follow his cue and close my eyes. Immediately the scent of mint and basil hits my nose. When I open my eyes, Peeta is still doing it, breathing in and out as if it was a meditation to take in air.
"I guess I could help," I say freely. "I do know a bit about plants from my family's plant book."
The Everdeen family plant book is a three-generation compilation of healing herbs and edible plants from the woods back home. My mother's grandfather started it, then my grandmother continued it, then my mother inherited it when she married. My father added to it throughout the years too, enriching it with his knowledge of wild herbs and plants. I grew up reading it and studying the pictures with my sister, Primrose.
"Well, I'm a lucky man then. Care to dirty your hands with me, my Lady?"
"I thought you'd never ask, dear Sir."
Pollux, the store owner and husband of Lavinia, starts us off with the basics. He's a man of few words but very helpful and polite. He gets us a few sacks of vermicompost, a medium-sized watering can that Peeta said he would decorate at home, and a pair of hand spades and a fork. Then we take our time going around the store, choosing plants and garden pots.
"So, what kind of garden do you want?" I ask and identify the plants that I know in my head. I impress myself by knowing all the plants we've passed by so far. "A flower garden, a herb garden, a vegetable garden, cactus, vines, … How big is your space anyways, Peeta?"
"Just a balcony, actually. I live twelve floors up in the condominium across Capitol Mall. Maybe four by fifteen feet?"
"That's a decent size. My balcony is only a third of that, I think."
"I can get more plants then?"
"Definitely. How about mixing petunias and snapdragons? Or if you want herbs, basil and sage work well together." I eye the herb section on the far left corner of the store and add what I see to the list. "There is oregano also, chives, thyme, tarragon, mint, rosemary, cilantro, …"
Peeta assumes this subdued demeanor, an unsure smile on his face. I wonder what he's thinking about because his expression worries me. "Hey, what is it, Peeta? Did I say something wrong?"
It takes him a few seconds to answer, and he pets Riley's head first. "I just don't remember what the different plants and flowers look like, Katniss. I didn't realize I had forgotten so much until you mentioned their names. Some of them, I don't even think I've seen as a plant before."
His words make me sad, and I can't help the quivering of my lips. "How long have you been blind, Peeta?" I ask cautiously. "When was the last time you saw flowers clearly?"
With a huff, Peeta answers my question. "Thirteen years ago, Katniss. The last flower that I remember seeing was a dandelion. We had a lot of them in our backyard."
"Oh, Peeta." I rub his forearm and squeeze it. I want to hug and comfort him, but we just met a few hours ago, and the gesture seems too intimate for two strangers.
I put myself in his position and imagine forgetting what my beloved woods looks like. My tall evergreen trees, the white and brown mushrooms that grow on the cold ground, and the colorful birds that sing their lullabies while I watch quietly atop a tree. For a snack, I always look for the familiar shrubs that give me juicy and tangy blackberries, sweet raspberries, and plump strawberries. All good memories that I cherish dearly in my heart and mind. I can't even fathom forgetting what they look like. It seems impossible, yet here is Peeta before me, not remembering the curves of a flower's petal, the various shapes of leaves, and the colors of a plant as it changes throughout the season.
"It's okay, Katniss …," Peeta consoles me once I've been quiet for too long. He puts his hand over mine, and I feel a little guilty being the one being cared for. "That's why I'm doing this. I'll see them now in a different way."
"Okay," is all I say, and then he rubs my hand before he lets it go. "I'll help you out, Peeta."
"I would love that, Katniss."
…
"So this is where you live?" The medium-rise condominium towers over us, and I try to locate where the twelfth floor is. "I hope there's an elevator in this building."
"There is," he chuckles and turns to me. "Otherwise, I shall heave you in my arms and carry you up, my fair Lady."
"Haha, very funny, dear Sir."
We each yank a crate of garden supplies from the cab's trunk, with Peeta getting the heavy stuff. Choosing to make our lives easier, we hailed a cab from Lavinia's to Peeta's apartment instead of walking again. The only downside was the cab driver. Caesar Flickerman, so he introduced himself, was a very, very chatty cab driver. The moment we told him Peeta has a guide dog, he never stopped asking questions. He had asked about Peeta's blindness and what had happened to him. Like he knew Peeta from before, he pressed about his childhood and high school life, how he takes a shower and cooks his meals. He's puzzled about how Peeta goes around the city, so he interviewed him about that too. He even asked how Peeta finds a girl to be sweet with!
"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Caesar said.
Peeta sighed. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I met her. But I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me the same way."
"She has another fellow?" Caesar asked.
"I don't know, but a lot have proposed to her, said her friend from work."
"So, here's what you do. You win her heart over. Buy her flowers, bring her a nice breakfast meal, and sweep her off her feet like a gentleman. She can't turn you down then, eh?" Caesar said encouragingly.
"I'll keep that in mind, Sir."
Caesar probed Peeta more about how he dresses, sorts out paper bills, and if he has hyper-hearing abilities. It annoyed me how Caesar expected Peeta to divulge his life just like that. I don't know how Peeta endured it, but he was graceful and social throughout the seemingly unending cab drive. It was almost like Peeta was educating the flamboyant man with powder blue hair about blindness but doing it on such a personal level through his life story. I guess I have to thank Caesar one way or the other because he asked the questions I was afraid to ask.
I found out that Peeta had a rare degenerative disease when his eyesight grew weaker and weaker throughout the years. It started when he was five, and he kept bumping things in the house a lot. He had to wear thick eyeglasses to help with his depth perception. A couple of years later, while he was already in school, he complained about having trouble with his watercolor set and with reading. They had his eyesight checked, and that was when his parents got the news that their youngest son was going blind.
Peeta's eyesight wasn't supposed to be gone until he was well into his later teens. Unfortunately, at age eleven, Peeta was already using a white cane full-time.
Thankfully Peeta had a nurturing and devoted set of parents and brothers. His dad was very considerate of him and comforted him whenever he had troubles in school. His mom thought of many ways to help him cope with his disability. Mrs. Mellark was practical and embraced the different technologies available for the blind. About his brothers, Peeta said that they wouldn't take shit from anyone who would even think of making fun of him. They were his protector and went with him everywhere around the city. Peeta also met friends through his brothers because he eventually chose to be homeschooled in high school.
Going through mobility and orientation classes was confidence-building for Peeta. He said he learned a lot and even thought of his own techniques to manage his life. At seventeen, he applied for a guide dog from the Trinket-Abernathy foundation and attended various training and placement sessions. He said that Riley chose him during camp. She kept going back to him even though she was with another client trying her out. It was like she was saying, "Hey, here's my person, Peeta. Come say, hi!" They were a match made in guide dog camp heaven.
I guess I do have Caesar to thank for all the information I learned about Peeta earlier. Or better yet, I have Peeta to admire for his grace in answering all the questions thrown at him and his resilience in living his own life.
"Entrance, Riley," Peeta commands, and Riley takes him to the right front door of the building. Peeta touches the brass plaque on the wall, which I notice has Braille letters under the sign. We enter the lobby, and Peeta says, "Now, elevator, Riley."
Riley never ceases to amaze me. She stops when Peeta quickly tells her to, so he can fix the crate between his arms, then moves forward when Peeta says, "Walk." Once in front of the elevator, she positions Peeta right where the control buttons are, then takes him to stand in front of the door. Inside the elevator, she does the same and guides him to the panels. Peeta feels each button and then presses twelve.
"The management was kind enough to put Braille stickers on all the elevators and signs in the building," he tells me. I run my hands on the panel and feel the small bumps on them. "I'm the only blind tenant here as far as I know, but they still made the accommodations. My family was really happy about it. They said I picked a good building to live in."
"Do you have a big family, Peeta?"
"A couple of brothers, like I said. Both are married too. Wheaton, our eldest, has a young daughter and a son, and my second brother, Rye, has a baby on the way. My Mom and Dad are really enjoying being grandparents. How about you?"
"I'm the eldest, and my sister, Prim, is still in college. She's graduating with honors next semester."
"Congratulations, you must be really proud."
"I am. She's really smart and sensible. The best between the two of us, if you ask me."
"Well, you're not so bad yourself, Katniss."
"I'm more intuitive than smart, Peeta. I'm going back to university once Prim graduates to finish my degree."
I don't know what's waiting for me in college. I'll probably be one of the older or the oldest in class. It would be difficult to study again. The long hours of sitting through lectures, attending laboratories when your partner doesn't pick up his half of the work, and being buried in books for papers and exams. I'll be working part-time for sure because my financial situation won't be any different. I have to support myself and send some money back home. Our farm still hasn't recovered fully from one of our barns burning down when I was eighteen. I still have the scars to remind me of when I rescued Prim inside. Sometimes I still get nightmares from it. My father blamed himself for my burns, but it wasn't his fault. Some stupid kid decided to throw firecrackers to scare the horses and threw them on the hay bales. Thank goodness nobody died that day, and all our animals were alive, though some were injured.
"Katniss?" Peeta calls as I feel the scars on my back through my shirt. I didn't hear his question. "What would your course be?"
"Oh, sorry. I'm taking veterinary medicine."
"Ahhh, that explains a lot."
"About what?"
"Why Riley and I like you." Peeta shakes his head while smiling to himself. He leans down to Riley's ears and whispers something I couldn't catch. He's really sweet on his guide dog, and Riley enjoys the attention given to her.
The elevator moves slowly, stopping at every floor without anyone hopping in. There must be a kid pressing all the buttons, or the elevator is malfunctioning. I hope we don't get stuck in this four by five feet metal cage.
"This happens a lot and is totally normal," Peeta explains and reassures me. "And oh, Katniss?"
"Yeah?" I say as I lean my shoulder on the metal wall.
"I promise I won't hurt you."
This takes me off guard, and I silently watch the sliding door open and close before us.
"What do you mean you won't hurt me?"
Peeta runs his hand through his hair and scratches the back of his head. He's messing up his beautiful curls in the process, but I don't tell him that. "I mean, I just realized I'm a stranger to you. And here I am taking you to my apartment alone. I might be pretending to be blind, you know? Like zero self-control, and then I will pounce on you the moment I shut my front door."
I picture it in my head, Peeta dropping all that he's carrying and pushing me against the wall of his apartment, his hands closing in on my throat. Would he really kill me? Choke me to death or take advantage of me like I'm a rag doll?
Naah. He's joking.
If anything is dangerous about Peeta, it is his kindness.
I decide it is better to imagine him being happy to have me and then hugging me and giving me kisses instead.
Wait, what?
Hugs? Kisses?
I clear my head of the pesky images of Peeta's cherry lips on mine while I'm pressed to the wall with our hips practically fused as one.
"I might be the one you should be afraid of, noble Sir," I supply and offer a different scenario to distract myself. "I'm deadly with a bow and arrow. Also, I'm a decent knife thrower."
"Uh oh …"
"Yeah, uh oh …" We break into a giggle fit and are relieved when we finally reach the twelfth floor. For a minute, we had to compose ourselves to breathe.
"Riley, door," Peeta says once we are both okay.
Peeta gives me a pair of comfortable hotel slippers to change into while he takes off Riley's harness and vest. Immediately, Riley shifts into this carefree dog and licks Peeta profusely. "Okay, Riley, I love you too, girl," Peeta says while he gets smooched. "Go get your toy and play with Katniss."
Before Peeta carries all the supplies to his balcony, he makes sure Riley knows I'm "Katniss." We play fetch a few times until Riley decides not to return the toy and lies down on her bed instead. I let her play alone and then follow Peeta outside to check out his view.
I find him spreading out the supplies on the floor while kneeling on one knee. "You can sit around the couch for a moment. We've been walking all afternoon. I'll make you some lemonade in a minute," he tells me when I walk past him to look down the street. Twelve floors up is pretty high.
Going back inside, I notice how Peeta's apartment is bright and organized. There's hardly any clutter and I suppose it's for his mobility and safety. There's a side table with what looks like Braille writing devices, and his laptop with a Braille keyboard sits on a lonely desk beside a printer. I look at the books under the coffee table and find there aren't many. They're a mix of recipe books, art books, and history books, all in Braille.
Going to his shelf filled with CDs I discover Peeta likes all kinds of music. He has
Latin pop, Tejano music, indie folk or rock, and to my surprise, Taylor Swift albums. Lots of them, even a couple of signed ones. I softly sing American Beauty when I find Medicine by Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors. It's one of my favorites. I continue singing while I check out the rest of Peeta's collection. I'm fascinated by how he still has CDs in this day and age. People normally get online subscriptions and buy music online. But I guess Peeta is different. All his CDs have Braille labels on them, even the vinyl records on a separate case. Glancing at Peeta, I return everything to its proper place before sitting on the couch.
"Here, Katniss. There's more in the kitchen if you want another glass." Peeta looks happy, a slight blush on his cheeks, as he hands me a cold glass of lemonade. I guess it's from being under the sun.
The lemonade is perfect, and I thank Peeta before I gulp it like there's no tomorrow.
"Refreshing!"
"Do you sing a lot, Katniss? I think you have a voice that silences birds."
"I do, actually," I kid and sing a few notes out of tune. It's fun, and Peeta scratches his forehead while making a face. "My father is the one blessed with a magical singing voice."
"Ah, I see." There's a mischievous smile on his face, his nose crinkles slightly, and his lips spread wide. "You're not a very good liar, Katniss."
"Haha."
We go back to the balcony right after, and Peeta fills the pots with soil while I busied myself with his Braille label maker. I punch in letter after letter until I've spelled out all the plants and seeds we purchased. I handed him each sticker so he could check them before I stuck them on the pots. When he gives me the go signal, I open the seed packets and put a few seeds on his hand to feel.
"That's basil," I say and make another label for the seed packet. "It's a pretty small seed and is black. The packet says to sow it only half a centimeter deep. Two on each hole should be fine."
Peeta finds the pot with a basil label and sows the seed. "I should water it, right?"
"Yes, just lightly with the watering can. It's on your left."
We repeat the same rhythm for every plant. Carefully, I hand Peeta the seeds and describe what they look like. He feels them between his fingers, storing them in memory before sowing them on the right pot. More times than once, our hands touch as Peeta thoughtfully receives the seeds from my hand. He's taking care of every seed I give him, valuing the life and potential stored inside each piece. I love how quietly and reverently we are gardening on his balcony.
When we're done with the seeds, we start transferring the seedlings into the bigger pots one by one. Pollux gave us the idea of getting some seedlings instead of just seeds so Peeta already has some plants in the house. We mostly bought flowers, and Peeta and I smelled each and everyone before choosing what to bring home. In the end, we got gardenias, stargazer lilies, lavender, daffodils, and evening primrose.
"Mission accomplished, dear Sir," I say after I put away all the tools in the crates. "Your balcony gets good sunlight, and you only have to water the plants once a day."
"What about birds? Do you think they will be a problem?"
"I'm not sure. We'll have to see, I guess."
"All right. Thank you for helping me, Katniss. Want some snacks?"
"Definitely! I'm starving!"
…
"So what now?" I ask after finishing my last cheese bun. It was so scrumptious, the cheese so savory and stringy. I devoured four giant portions in under ten minutes. Peeta wonders where I keep all the food in my stomach. If only he could see my half-open zipper as I spread across his couch, rubbing my belly. I decide that his furniture is a homey couch, soft with just the right firmness to support my weight. It's broad, and the light gray fabric is smooth - perfect for napping.
"You aren't tired of me yet?" he says as he picks up the empty plates and takes them to the kitchen. I hear the faucet running and the clinking of dishes as they are placed on a drying rack. "Are you sure you want to spend more time with me?" Peeta shouts from where he is. "I'm so boring and domestic!"
"You're alright!" I yell back. "I told you, I have the day off."
Peeta returns with a striped green and white cloth bag in hand and dangles it over me as I lie on his couch. "Want to help me return books to the library? I have a bunch of books overdue."
"Sure!"
…
"Peeta Mellark," the librarian with ashen skin, black hair, and ill-fitting glasses greets us gallantly when he spots us from the lobby. He looks like a genius and a mad scientist at the same time.
"Mellark?" I ask Peeta as I connect the dots in my head. "You're a Mellark?"
"Uh oh, my nobility has been discovered."
I punch his shoulder lightly in jest. "Why didn't you tell me you owned the bakery where you got the baguette? And the cheese buns? Did you bake those too?"
"My secret is definitely out. My dear Lady Katniss, you are correct. 'Tis my family who owns the boulangerie, and 'tis I who baked the cheese buns."
"Dear Sir, you have been lying to me all afternoon." I put the back of my hand to my forehead and feign being hurt. I'm being melodramatic, but it's okay because Peeta can't see me. He laughs, though, and I swear Riley gives me a ridiculous look too.
"I do beg your forgiveness, my Lady Katniss." Peeta bows before me. "Riley, bow down, too," he whispers to his black and tan Sheprador.
People start looking at us, so I tap Peeta's shoulders to make him stand straight. "I accept your humble apologies. You are forgiven, dear Sir Mellark."
"My deepest gratitude, my kind Lady."
When all is sorted, Beetee greets us again, but this time in a normal manner.
"Hello, Beetee," Peeta says and extends his hand to the man behind the counter. Beetee takes it and then moves around to meet us. That's when I notice that Beetee is in a wheelchair.
"How have you been, Peeta? I see you brought me back my classics."
"I'm all right, Beetee. Sorry about returning these late. I enjoyed reading them."
"I'm just glad that we have those books in Braille now. The Trinket-Abernathy foundation is really gaining grounds pushing for more and more Braille books in public libraries and schools."
"Yeah, we can't just all rely on audiobooks these days. It's not the same as reading and learning on your own."
"So, who's your friend?"
"Oh, sorry, this is Katniss …"
"Everdeen. Sorry, I never mentioned my surname to him until now."
"Ahh, new friends, I see."
"Very new," I say. "We're friends, right, Peeta?"
"I believe so. Lady Everdeen is also my defender, my botanist, and now, my fellow library goer."
"Do you read Braille too, Katniss?" Beetee looks at me inquisitively and moves with a slight flourish of his head. "And you are named after a duck potato."
"Uh, yes. And, no," I huff. "Yes, for potato, and no, for reading Braille. Do you read Braille?"
"I do. As well as seven other languages. And that does not include Latin."
"Ahh, I only read English. I can do Algebra and accounting," I say feebly. Beetee intimidates me for some reason.
"Ah, the language of numbers. What a tragedy it is that many dislike it. Did you know that Hypatia, a female mathematician, philosopher, and astronomer, inspired many women and contributed substantially to the study of Mathematics in the times of the Greek …"
"Calm down, Beetee. You don't want to scare off Katniss here."
Beetee fixes his eyeglasses and offers me a very formal smile. "Sorry, dear. There is always a flaw in the system."
"Any new books for me?"
"You're going to love what I unearthed for you, Peeta Mellark."
…
"A Braille book on dragons. Wow, that's interesting. It even has illustrations," I say as Peeta and I settle side-by-side on the carpeted floor in front of a tall glass window by the archive section. "It looks old but so beautiful."
I can't say I've been to the city library because I'm always working. Getting a tour from Beetee and seeing the different compilations of books and study spaces was quite enjoyable. It was like my eyes were opened to another world. It made me want to come here on my days off.
There were some sculptures and paintings on display, and Beetee described them to Peeta and me. He let us touch the marble sculptures too. Beetee said there ought to be more tactile art museums around the city.
Peeta opens the cover of the hard-bound book and puts the paper near his nose. Closing his eyes, he flips the pages as he smells the sheets. I have never seen anyone doing it. Smelling books, that is. It's odd, but he seems to enjoy his time, so I keep quiet and watch him. That's when I notice how long his eyelashes are and how they are the color of corn hair.
"How does it smell like?" I ask, curious. He hands it to me, and I repeat what he did. "Smells like old paper and libraries. Like a faint mix of kerosene and turpentine and … peach?"
"Oh, Katniss," he comments. "You make me so happy." Riley, who is conveniently resting her head on Peeta's left thigh, gets a rub behind her ears. "Scents are very unique and attached to our memories."
"What do they smell like to you?" I ask and hand him back the book. What could old paper possibly bring up from his memories?
"Like slightly fermenting fruit and sawdust, actually."
I grimace. "What memory is that, Peetie boy?"
"A good one from my childhood, Nessy. A memory of my family having picnics in the family orchard."
"You're totally a rich boy."
"Just enough to have a good life, my Lady. I've been very blessed apart from my lack of sight."
I bite my lower lip and play with the end of my braid, thinking about what to say. "I don't know how to respond to that, Peeta."
"You don't have to have to. Care for some dragon tales from the 1950s?"
"Okay"
Resting my head back on the wooden board behind me and crossing my legs before me, I wait for Peeta to begin reading the novel about medieval knights and dragons. The blue sky outside has a few wispy clouds lazily passing by, and I drink in the gentle sunlight trickling through the soft orange-colored glass panes. It's a sleepy afternoon, perfect in my book for a nap by the meadows. It's a memory that I hold dear to my heart, not being able to visit home for five years now. Between my father keeping the farm going, my mother working at the local hospital, and me doing all sorts of jobs in the city, we earn just enough to send Prim to college and stay afloat. We have food on the table and warmth in our houses, and those are enough for our modest family.
I close my eyes when Peeta starts to read. His voice is soothing and fatherly that I'm reminded of being tucked into bed by my Papa when I was nine years old. He would read to us every night, mostly the same stories for Prim dictated the choice of books. It didn't matter what book my father read as long as he read to us every night. Those were much simpler times. Times when all I had to think about were what games to play the following day and if I had finished my math homework so I could go hunting with my father in the woods. I can't remember the last time I felt that comfortable and worry-free after my father had an accident. He couldn't hunt anymore and could only work on our farm.
"Katniss?" I feel a hand on my cheek, lightly tapping me to wake up. It's big and delicate, so I turn to it and lean on it some more. "It's almost dinner time now."
I didn't realize that I had fallen asleep while Peeta was reading. I shift my head to my left and feel the warmth of Peeta's neck between my eyes. Unconsciously, I nuzzle in closer and inhale his scent. Cinnamon and dill. Hmmm…
"Five more minutes, please ..."
What am I doing?
"Oh, sorry!" I say, and pull my head back and fix my hair. "I thought you were someone else." What a poor excuse, but it will have to do. I can't think of anything else to excuse my behavior.
"It's all right, Katniss. Did you have a good sleep?" I'm thankful that his tone is normal and friendly.
"Yeah, quite pleasant, actually. Did you finish the book?"
He shrugs his shoulders before saying, "I sort of fell asleep too."
"I think Riley is still in doggie clouds," I comment as my eyes focus on Riley, quietly snoozing on Peeta's thigh. "You put us all to sleep with your reading, Peeta. You're a keeper."
"I hope so, Katniss."
…
"I'll walk you home. It's already late," Peeta offers once we turn to the sidewalk in the direction of my apartment. I debate his offer for a moment. I only live two blocks away from the library, and the walk is so short. Five minutes tops if we walk very, very slowly. I don't want to part ways with him yet despite spending the whole afternoon and evening together. I feel like it's not nearly enough time, and there is still so much more we can do together. Of course, there is always tomorrow, but that would be different. Tomorrow, I'll be thinking about job applications and telling my parents about what happened at the coffee shop when they call me at lunch. I don't want to face those yet and just want to stay with Peeta.
A light bulb lights up in my head. "Are you dying, Peeta?" I ask to prolong the conversation. It's out of nowhere but …
"Huh, what?" Peeta stops dead in his tracks and pulls at Riley a little. "What? Of course not!"
"Just kidding. I thought you were fulfilling a bucket list with me today," I reply weakly. Now, I'm out of excuses to stay with him a little longer again.
"Are you?" he asks doubtful, and I laugh until there are tears in my eyes.
"No, Peeta, I am not," I reassure him.
"Oh, thank god." We keep walking forward. "I can't lose you, my dearest Lady."
"I don't think you can, charming Sir. I feel pretty attached already."
One more block, and we will be in my place. I exhale loudly, and my heart quickens when I think about parting ways with Peeta tonight. I think of many more questions to ask him or things to invite him to do tonight, but I come up short and finally see my front door. As if knowing where I live, Riley stops walking.
"What is it, Riley? Something in the way?" Peeta asks his best girl.
"No, Peeta, we're here." I can't help the sadness in my voice when I say this. "I live here."
Earlier, Peeta explained to me how his vision is nearly zero at night except for the bright light in lamp posts and the headlights from cars. My apartment building has two dim yellow lights by the door, one on each side, and I see Peeta eyeing them. I wonder what he sees and what he's doing looking at the building like he does. Is he memorizing it? Or thinking of how to say goodbye to me?
"Let's climb the steps, Peeta," I tell him, and he gives Riley the command. We ascend the seven steps and stop right in front of the wooden front door. I play with the keys in my pocket, picking out the right key before bringing the bunch out.
"Will you stay with me?" I whisper while looking at my shoes. It's so faint, I'm sure the holy ghost had trouble hearing me.
But, "Always," Peeta replies and lifts both his hands up slowly towards my cheek. I move closer to his hands until he feels my skin. He gingerly settles his palms on my face and then wets his lips. He offers me a kind smile, brushing his thumbs over my cheekbones. He feels so warm and perfect as I close my eyes and take him in. I don't ever want him to let go.
But he did.
…
Peeta didn't go into my apartment that night despite saying "always." He lingered a few seconds more and then went down the steps quietly. He waited for me to put my keys into the lock after. I then said good night to him, and he said good night back. I reflected on his word while I lay on my bed looking out at the planet Venus amongst the stars. Peeta said always, but he didn't stay. He held my cheeks, almost like wanting to kiss me, but he didn't and instead let me go. I should have been disappointed with how my day ended, mad even to be left hanging, but I wasn't. I felt hopeful and at peace. Like a promise was given to me when he touched my face, and that all I had to do was wait. And wait, I did. I slept with the picture of Peeta in mind, saying. "It's my first time here," and "I'd like to have your best seller, please." I realized how calm, open, and beautiful he was when I first met him at the coffee shop. Somewhere in the clouds, an angel must have tethered me to him when he walked through the door.
When I peeked outside my window the following day, Peeta, with Riley in tow, was right there by the side of the road in front of my building. He was holding a bouquet of dandelions and a container with what looked to be freshly baked bread. They were cheese buns, seven perfect rolls tucked neatly side-by-side. It was the beginning of his always, a promise made to a girl he had only met less than twenty-four hours ago. Happily, we shared breakfast in my small kitchen and continued our conversations from yesterday. He brought the dragon book with him, and he read them to me while we sat on my couch.
Ever since that morning, Peeta always visited me, and we ate breakfast together. We never missed a single breakfast together in the past two years. Even on our wedding day. I thought I'd never see him before our wedding because our mothers and Prim forbade us. Little did they know, Peeta had already snuck up to my apartment at three o'clock in the morning and given me cheese buns and a quick kiss. He said he couldn't really see me, so it didn't count. Our mothers just rolled their eyes at us when they found out. Peeta's brothers messed up his hair and called him "a Casanova." Prim argued that there was no keeping us apart anyways, and that was all right.
I didn't want to be away from Peeta, not then, not ever. I love him. And I couldn't wait to marry him two weeks ago.
Now, in the cozy warmth of our home, we continue our adventures, and Peeta keeps his always. I don't think I'll ever tire of being with him. Having breakfast together, tending to his lush garden, listening to music or even dancing to them after dinner, and our favorite, reading books together while cuddling close on the couch with Riley by our feet.
Peeta always describes himself as boring and domestic. A husband who is so low-key and not fun. But I beg to differ. He's perfect in my eyes. He radiates kindness and strength. Remains positive for both of us. And he blooms love in my belly and fills me with hope and joy.
I love him.
My boring, not fun, domestic, ... and perfect husband.
I love, my dear Sir Peeta Mellark.
The story of Riley choosing Peeta was inspired by Molly Burke's and her guide dog, Gypsy's story. You can look her up on YouTube. She was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa at just four years old but is living fully.