Chapter 5
"Wake up handsome."
Peeta rolled over. Her soft lips sped up his heart. Every muscle in his body went from tensed to relaxed as her hand glided over his body. He reached up and stroked her hair. He allowed his eyes to open. They darted around the empty room. Deflated, Peeta realized it was just another dream. A similar one that had haunted him every night for weeks.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Footsteps came from the studio. He threw off the covers and bolted from the room.
What took him seconds felt like hours. Katniss was back. He didn't know what to do first. Yell at her for leaving or hug and kiss her for returning.
"Oh, it's you," Peeta said.
"Who were you expecting?"
"Finnick, what are you doing here?"
Finnick stood by six similar paintings sitting on easels. All with a girl in a field of white flowers.
"Get away from them Finnick." Peeta's muscles quivered and his body hardened. He clenched his fist and smacked it against the wall. Finnick's eyes grew and all the color abandoned his face. He marched to the paintings and pulled the drapes over them.
"I was worried about you."
"I'm fine."
"After work, you come home and hole up." He lifted one drape. "And this is all you paint."
"Just get out."
"Come on, let's go to dinner."
Peeta's footsteps echoed through the studio. He opened the front door.
"You got to go out sometimes."
Motionless, Peeta held the door open.
"Okay bud, if you change your mind I'll-" The closing door cut Finnick off.
Peeta shuffled around the loft in a circuit, always ending up in the studio. He deposited himself in the recliner and stared at the paintings. Each one created in an effort to bring his perfect girl back.
He sagged in the recliner. The paintings blurred through his wet eyes. Peeta rubbed his hands together as a chill ran up his spine. He pulled an afghan Katniss had crocheted over himself. The faint scent of her shampoo filled his nose.
"Hey you."
He tried to stand but he got stuck in the soft chair. "Hello, Mother." Lying in the fetal position on the recliner he was forced to look up at her, a rarity.
"You look like crap."
"Thanks, Mother."
"I hope you don't expect me to nurse you back to health like a sick little baby boy."
"I don't Mother. You don't-"
"Good, so get up and eat something. You lose any more weight we'll have to scoop you up with a spatula." She ripped the afghan off him and tossed it across the floor. "And take a shower. You smell like a hobo."
Peeta sat and glared at her. She twisted his ear.
"Ouch."
"Now." She led him off to the bathroom.
"Mother, let go. I'm an adult."
She kicked him in the rear. "Then act like one."
After his shower, Peeta found his mother examining the paintings.
"Is this her?"
"Who?"
"The girl who turned you into a crybaby, wimp, cream puff with a jellyfish spine."
"Mother, no one turned me into a crybaby, wimp ... um"
"Cream puff with a jellyfish spine."
"Thank you, Mother."
She did a three-sixty and looked at every wall of the studio. "Is this the only thing that you've painted lately?"
"No."
"Where are the others?"
Peeta sighed and rolled his head. "Yes, that's all I've painted."
She picked up a brush and a tube paint and shoved it in his chest. "Paint something else."
"It's not that easy. I'm not motivated."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh boo hoo. Let me tell you something young man. Your father gets up every day and bakes whether he's motivated or not."
"That's his job Mother. Painting is my passion."
She stood on her toes and pressed her finger into Peeta's chest. "Don't you ever say that again. Your father is as passionate about baking as you are about painting. When we opened our first bakery he worked day and night creating new products. I remember how happy he looked when he rushed up front with a spoonful of batter or a muffin. His smile lit up the room. He'd hand it to me and say taste it."
His mother grinned and nodded. "If I didn't like it I'd say it right away, but always with an encouraging word added on. If I liked it I had a little fun."
Peeta gave his full attention. He never associated fun with his mother.
"I'd chew and pretend to be thinking and make him wait. He'd step back and pace. Then I would say I liked it. It was a little ritual we shared and loved. You know he still does it."
"I never noticed."
"He walks instead of running, though. And he only brings stuff I'll love. He knows my tastes by now. But the thrill is still there. I can see it on his face when he smiles." A tear formed in her eye, she turned. Her voice softened. "And not just because it was his job, but because it was his passion."
Peeta stepped back and rubbed his neck. His face flushed and he had trouble swallowing.
"Peeta, bakers bake." She took his arm and pulled him down. She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "And painters paint."
"We'll set up the cameras here. You'll interview the artists on the couch," the director Cressida said.
"Where is my chair?" Caesar asked.
Cressida's assistant Messalla brought over a velvet wingback chair. Caesar ran his hand over the plush fabric. "What do you think of the color?"
"It matches your outfit perfectly," Cressida said.
"Caesar." Effie Trinket bounded across the room. She and Caesar fake kissed each other like self-absorbed celebrities usually do. "Thanks for doing a segment showcasing the city's up and coming artists."
"You look beautiful as usual. It looks like you're wearing a Cinna original. And I love the color of your ..." Caesar gasped. "Excuse me, Effie. I have to go to makeup."
Caesar scurried away. "Flavius, Flavius. Where are you?"
Flavius, Venia, and Octavia darted over. "Yes, Mr. Caesar."
"Look at my wig. Do you see what's wrong? Well, do you?"
"It is your regular Tuesday wig, orange."
"And who else is in orange?"
"Oh my God, Miss Trinket is," Octavia blurted out.
"We can't be seen in the same color. We'll look like a pair of clowns."
"As opposed to two individual clowns," Claudius muttered.
"What did you say, Claudius?"
"Just agreeing with you Caesar. Would you like the blue wig?"
"No, I'm not feeling too blue today."
"Yellow?" Octavia asked.
"Too hot."
"Red?" Venia asked.
Caesar pinched his lips and narrowed his eyes. "If I think yellow is hot why would I want red?"
"Maybe green?" Masella asked.
"No, I'll clash with Octavia."
"I've got it. Violet," Flavius said.
"Oh Flavius, you're a genius. Get my violet outfit and wig." He sat and Claudius rubbed his shoulders. "That feels so good." He jumped out of the chair. "Oh, crap. Massella, change this chair."
"Peeta."
His body relaxed and his smile was broad. "Hi, thanks for coming."
His father's bear paw sized hands engulfed Peeta's and he dragged him to him. "Congratulations son."
"Thanks, Dad. Hey Graham, Rye. Thanks for coming."
"No prob bro," Rye said.
"What do you guys think?"
"That one's nice. It ain't no 'Dogs Playing Poker,' but I like it," Graham said.
As the brothers wandered off Peeta's mother appeared.
"Thanks for coming, Mother."
"Thanks for inviting us."
"I think you'll like my work."
"I always love your paintings. You're very talented."
"They are good. I've progressed."
She tapped his face. "Don't get a fat head now."
They hugged, warmth enveloped Peeta.
"You've been a busy little beaver Peeta-Bread," Effie said. "Was that your mother?"
"Yes."
"She's nothing like you described. You said she was a -"
"Never mind Effie."
"Now go mingle with the guests and sell some paintings."
"Peeta Mellark, get over here." Caesar Flickerman came over, arms wide, in his brightest purple outfit. "This exhibit is magnificent."
"Thank you, Caesar. Besides the two you and Claudius loaned us for the exhibit I've got six new ones."
"I particularly like this one." He followed Caesar to a painting on the far wall. Peeta eyed Claudius. His eyes were wide and he shook his head. Peeta aimed him towards a different painting. "Caesar, maybe this one might be better in your home." Claudius gave the thumbs up.
Peeta aimed him towards a different painting. "Caesar, maybe this one might be better in your home." Claudius gave the thumbs up.
"You might be right." Caesar examined the painting. Claudius took Caesar's arm and joined him.
Finnick walked over hand in hand with a young woman. She had long red hair. Peeta remembered her from the bar.
"Hey Peeta, this is Annie,"
"Nice to meet you," Peeta said. Her green eyes pierced him.
"Congratulations Peeta. If you two would excuse me, I'm going to use the ladies room."
They watched her leave. Finnick sighed.
"I see you remembered her name," Peeta said. "You were right, it did begin with A"
"It looks like a nice turnout." Finnick motioned to a young woman across the room. "Go speak to her, she's from the press. I saw her with a notebook talking to Effie. Go turn on that Peeta charm even though she's not your type."
"What do you mean by that?"
Finnick raised one eyebrow. "It's good that you are out. Go."
He meandered around the room before he approached her. She was petite with short blonde hair. She wore a bulky sweater that shrouded her body. Brown boots went to her knees.
He took a deep breath. "How do you like it?"
She kept her eyes on the landscape he painted. "It's okay, but I don't know art." She tapped her pencil against her pink lips.
"You don't have to know anything about art, just whether it makes you feel good."
She turned to Peeta. Her eyes were blue and her makeup was subtle. She was trying to appear serious.
"Are you with a paper?" He asked.
"The City Shopper," she said.
"The thing with all the coupons?"
"We have articles."
"Oh, I'll have to start reading it."
"We're online too."
Peeta outlined her face with his eyes. She had a small, pixie-like nose that went well with her hair. She turned her head when she realized he was staring at her.
Peeta took a deep breath. "Here, what does this painting say to you?"
She stood back and focused on Katniss. "The white flowers don't say a thing but the girl wants something. You can tell by her eyes."
"What does she want?"
She shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe the artist does."
He led her over to the next one. "How about this one."
"The buildings are sorta depressing. I wouldn't want to be there." Peeta nodded. She looked closer. "The paperboy wants something too."
"What?"
"That's easy, he wants the girl in the next painting." She giggled and they shared a smile.
"How about this one?"
Her face softened. "I like the forest, I can smell the pines. I can see them swaying in the wind. And it helps that green is my favorite. I also like the color of the setting sun."
"Well, then it's good orange is my favorite color."
"You picked a better shade than Effie's hair."
She covered her mouth when she laughed.
"Peeta, it's your turn to be interviewed by Caesar," Cressida said.
"Okay." He turned to the girl and held out his hand. "I'm the artist, Peeta Mellark."
"Very nice to meet you, Peeta Mellark, the artist."
"After the interview, I'd like to speak to you some more."
She shook her head.
"Maybe some coffee afterward."
"I don't drink coffee."
"Tea?"
"No, hot chocolate."
"Well, then you're in luck. I happen to know where they have the best hot chocolate in the city."
A half smile appeared on her face. She tried to hide her blush.
"Then you'll still be here when I finish, you won't leave."
"I'll be here Peeta Mellark, the artist. I won't leave."
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day. I hope you enjoyed the little rom-com. Please review. That is the one perk writer's get on FanFiction. I'm not sure what's next. Maybe anther Detective Mellark story or something else. Let me know what you'd like to see.