Katniss gingerly retrieves her trousers that are draped haphazardly over the bedside lamp. The rest of her clothes lay scattered across the floor, mapping a trail from the door to the bed she shares with her husband. Katniss smiles at the memory of how those clothes got there. Since she and Peeta have guests staying down the hall, they had to be discreet. But occasionally Peeta would do something that made her feel so good that Katniss had a hard time not making noise, and Peeta would quiet her with a kiss.

After, they lay tangled in the sheets, Peeta's hand resting protectively over Katniss's still-flat stomach. "I'm pretty sure we're the worst hosts ever," Katniss said. "Do you think they could hear us?"

Peeta shook his head. "No, I -" he perks up. "Hey, I think I felt the baby move."

Of course, it's too early to feel the baby move. They likely won't feel it for another couple months. Katniss pointed out that anything he felt from her stomach was probably that night's dinner digesting. Then it was Katniss's turn to keep Peeta quiet, silencing his laughter with her lips.

She's surprised Peeta didn't pick up the clothes himself this morning, fastidious as he is. He probably didn't want to wake her. Katniss has always been an early riser, but lately she's been sleeping longer, still not feeling rested when she awakes. She's only halfway dressed when the noxious odor creeping upstairs from the kitchen sends her racing to the bathroom.

Ugh. Delly and her stupid coffee.

When Katniss finally makes her way downstairs, bleary-eyed and yawning, Delly Cartwight is standing in her kitchen all smiles, pouring herself a mug of that fetid brew.

"Morning, Katniss!" Delly chirps. "Peeta's showing Mindy the bakery."

It's a yearly tradition, having Delly over for New Year' became close in the years after the war. She's been living in district 6 for a little while now, and this year she brought her new girlfriend with her.

Delly takes one look at Katniss and frowns. "Is it the coffee? I added some cinnamon this time to make it smell better. Is it still bothering you? I can get rid of it."

Katniss shakes her head. "The worst of it's over." The cinnamon does not, however, improve the smell. In fact, it just reminds her that there's three quarters of a loaf of bread sitting on the counter taunting her. She had wanted it desperately, the only thing that wouldn't set her stomach lurching. Now, the very thought of eating it makes her ill.

Peeta's been so good, so patient with her occasional cravings. Promising to make anything she wants.

She nearly had him eating his words.

She couldn't explain it, exactly. There was something about this particular craving that felt comforting, warm, like home . She remembered years ago, being laid up with an injured ankle, drowsy from sleep syrup, yearning for Peeta to climb next to her in bed. He smelled like cinnamon and dill from the bread he must have baked. That's what she wanted.

When she told him, Peeta gave her a light kiss. "I have all the ingredients for cinnamon bread. I just need cottage cheese to make dill bread. I can make cinnamon tonight and the dill bread tomorrow. How does that sound?"

No, that wouldn't do at all. First of all, the idea of cottage cheese made her stomach churn. She and cheese haven't been getting along lately. And it still wasn't what she wanted. "No, that's not it. It has to be together. Cinnamon and dill. Can't you just take the recipe for cinnamon bread and - I don't know - dump some dill in there?"

Peeta looked horrified at the suggestion. "Katniss…no."

Why not?"

"Because that's not a recipe. That's an abomination."

Be that as it may, it's exactly what Peeta baked for her that night. Katniss devoured three slices, fresh and hot from the oven. Later, she reluctantly ate a fourth piece that landed in her stomach like river rocks. Now, just thinking about it makes her queasy. The rest of the loaf has been sitting on their counter untouched ever since. But wasting food has always been abhorrent to Katniss. So, she picks up the bread and offers it in Delly's direction. "You have to eat this."

Delly sets her coffee mug down on the counter. "I have to?"

Katniss sighs. "Please. I made Peeta bake this for me, and now it's on my bad food list. I just hate having to throw it away."

Delly's eyebrows practically shoot up into her hairline. "Even Peeta won't eat it? What is it? Raisins and slugs?"

"Nothing like that," Katniss assures her. "There's cinnamon. Everyone likes that, right? Warm, cozy, perfect for a cold winter morning." She knows she's sounding a bit like Peeta.

Delly smiles. "Oh, that sounds wonderful!"

Katniss retrieves the bread knife and sets the loaf onto the cutting board, cutting a fat slice. "Uh-huh. And there's also about a cup and a half of dill weed."

"Oh, Katniss," Delly giggles. "Way to bury the lede." She extends her hand. "Okay, give it here. It can't be all that bad."

It is that bad.

"It's…very interesting," Delly says, taking a second tentative bite.

When Peeta and Delly's girlfriend Mindy step inside with rosy cheeks and snowflakes in their hair, Peeta pulls up short when he sees Delly. "Tell me she's not eating what I think she is," he says.

"Oh, Peeta," Delly says around a mouthful of bread, "this is the worst thing you've ever made."

"So stop eating it," he says, though he can't seem to control his laughter.

"No," Delly says emphatically. "Katniss told me to." She stuffs another piece in her mouth.

Mindy watches the scene unfold with a wide-eyed expression. Before the war, someone like Mindy, with her chestnut hair and hazel eyes, would have looked out of place in district 12. That's because she's actually from district 13. But now, when people can freely travel between the districts, she could easily be one of our neighbors."Is this some kind of district 12 hazing ritual?"

Delly tears off a chunk of bread and hands it to her girlfriend. "Here. You're one of us now."

Mindy takes a big bite. "This is so good," she says in a honeyed voice, big smile plastered on her face. "Thank you."

"Oh, honey," Delly tells her. "This is Peeta and Katniss. You can be honest with them."

Mindy considers this for a moment. "It tastes like dirt. But like…fancy dirt."

In the end, Peeta discovers that orange marmalade makes it palatable. They make quick work of the bread after that.

Their guests depart two days later. Alone together in their kitchen, Peeta washes dishes while Katniss hunkers down with a steaming mug of ginger tea.

"You craving anything now?" Peeta asks over the soapy dishwater. "Because I'll make you whatever you want. Promise. I'll even put a moratorium on making fun of you, whatever it is."

Katniss grins and steps behind Peeta, wrapping her arms around his broad chest. "I can think of a few things."

The last time they did this, Peeta would swallow all the noises Katniss made, letting each moan and gasp and whimper inside him while he was inside of her. Now, with no one to overhear them, Katniss cries his name and makes loud, unintelligible sounds while Peeta finds more interesting uses for his lips and tongue. Sucking on the side of her neck. Trailing open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone. Licking a path along the swells of her breasts and scraping her tightened nipples with his teeth.

Katniss gives a little yelp of pain - pregnancy has made her more sensitive - and Peeta whispers apologies against her skin.

Later that night, wrapped in each other's arms, Katniss uses one finger to lazily draw figure eights through the golden hair on Peeta's chest.

"You never answered my question," Peeta whispers. "Any new cravings?"

The answer is yes, and it's driving her mad. She hasn't even thought about this dish in well over a decade. And there's no way anyone, even Peeta, will be able to perfectly replicate it. "Okay, fine," she admits. "I want chicken in a creamy orange sauce over a bed of white grain with tiny peas and onions, and fancy rolls shaped like flowers."

Peeta blanches. "That's…very specific."

"You don't have to actually make that. I know it's ridiculous." But Katniss knows that Peeta is going to try. He's going to cobble something together with chicken and oranges and cream, and it may or may not turn out right. He's going to put in an absurd amount of effort to make her happy. That's just the kind of man he is.

Find me on tumblr at lastleaf