A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. I promised more of Peeta, and here he is! R&R! Hope you enjoy this! This was one of my favourite chapters to write! ;D
Chapter 8: Peeta
What does Peeta know that I don't? I guess I'm about to find out. I really should be going back home, but I decide to go with Peeta. Once upon a time, when Peeta's mother was still alive, I would never have agreed to go to the bakery with him. His mother was a witch; she made her families' lives miserable. She was violent and rude. Peeta is nothing like her, I can tell. His mother passed away due to an illness that my mother and Prim could not cure. Ever since she died, Peeta got a lot brighter; he smiles more often and he does better in school. He's also more focused. His blue eyes shine more than they used to, even I notice.
The bakery isn't too far away from the Justice Building, so it takes us about ten minutes to get there. Peeta tells me that no one is home, and we walk inside. I am overwhelmed with the sight, and, specifically, the glorious smell of the bakery. I've never been inside before. There are dozens of cakes in the display window, but there are even more in the actual bakery, not to mention pies and pastries and other desserts that I can't quite name. I spend five minutes just walking around, admiring each and every dessert, and the bakery isn't that large in terms of area. I'm mostly looking at the frosting work, which is unmistakably Peeta's. I wonder how he is able to pull off such intricate and ornate designs? Peeta notices me taking my time looking around, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him smile. Why is he smiling?
He walks over to me and says, "Katniss, what are you thinking?" I look up at him and his blue eyes are full of curiosity. They are so perfect.
I look back at the cakes and reply, "I'm wondering how in the hell you were able to frost these cakes." Peeta laughs. I've never heard him laugh before. I like it.
"Believe me, Katniss, I've had a lot of practice. My father is the baker, you know." He then says, hesitantly, "It's the same thing with you; your father used to be the best hunter in District 12, and you are very close behind." I close my eyes at the memories my father left behind of him. I remember I used to go hunting with him every day. My mother wasn't too fond of it, but my father insisted on teaching me. Prim was too young to learn, so it was just me and him, with no one but the forest animals to hear us. I cherished that time with him. I learned everything I know today about the forest and hunting from him. I can feel Peeta put his arm on my shoulder, and he says, "I'm so sorry, Katniss. I didn't mean to bring your father up."
"No, Peeta, it's okay. I take that as a compliment. It's just that I miss him so much," I reply.
"You wanna know what my father told me?" I nod my head. "He said that when your father sang, the whole forest stopped to listen."
That wasn't the first time I've heard that. Many people told me that. My father used to teach me songs, and I noticed that when he was singing, everything went quiet. After he was done, the woods would mimic his voice. Even I was mesmerized by his power to control the forest. I give Peeta a smile. I ask him, "Can you frost me a cake?" I have no idea where that came from. I'm surprised I even asked.
Peeta just smiles back and replies, "I'd love to." He picks up what appears to be a freshly baked blank cake off of the counter and brings it to the table where I'm standing. He comes around to my side and pulls out a chair for me to sit on, and I blush.
On the other side of the table, I watch as Peeta grabs various colours of frosting, and begins to make miracles. He draws a bunch of swirls that are gorgeous. He writes letters that I can't make out as they are upside down from what I can see, and he dots the "i" with a heart. I watch as Peeta's muscles flex and he knits his eyebrows in concentration. I get off my chair and come around to his side, careful not to bump into him. I can now clearly see that he has written my name, and made a confusing but beautiful designs around the letters and on the sides of the cake. He then writes "Love, P. M." in tiny but legible letters beside my name. We both stand there, me admiring the cake, him judging his work, and I say, "Wow, Peeta! I love it! But I still don't know how you did it." He looks up at me, looks right into my eyes, and, before I know it, I'm leaning into him, kissing him. I've never kissed anyone before, but it felt so natural.
We finally pull apart, and he says, "You really liked it that much?"
"I knew I would," I reply. I blush, then say, "I'd better get going. My mother and Prim are probably wondering where I am. Thanks again, Peeta."
I start to leave, but Peeta stops me. "Wait, I'll walk you home." He wraps up the cake and takes it with him. "You can keep it," he explains. We head out the door and make our way to my dwelling.
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