Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read or followed this story! Please review and let me know what you think of the story. This is my first Fanfic so I am still learning but I would be more than happy to hear from any of you! I will try to update at least once within the next week. Thank you for reading and enjoy.
The next morning I wake up at 4:00. My nerves woke me and ensured that I had a fitful and brief sleep. I'm tired and extremely nervous as I think about what the day has in store for me.
I get out of bed slowly in an effort not to wake Prim and carefully pick clothes for the day. I need to wear something that's functional but also presentable, as I want to make a good impression. Unfortunately, I don't have much in the way of options and am forced to settle on an outfit similar to the one I wore hunting yesterday. After I'm dressed, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen and see what we have to eat.
Like usual, it's not much but it's more than we've had for a while. I toast a piece of the hearty nut bread that Peeta gave me yesterday in exchange for squirrels. We don't have any butter or jam so I eat the bread plain.
Regardless, I savor the substantial bread. It's delicious and I'm reminded as I'm eating why I'm doing this. I don't think I would be as nervous for any other job but there's something about the prospect of spending all day in a small bakery with Peeta that puts butterflies in my stomach.
I think it's because of the overwhelming debt I feel to him, not only for previous acts of kindness but now the monumental generosity of offering me a job. I still can't fathom why he asked me to work for him instead all of the qualified and hungry people that would be happy to take my place and would work for no more than stale bread. I would too, quite honestly, but Peeta offered me a wage and I am thrilled at the thought of having actual money.
It's about 4:30 now and I decide that I should leave to make sure that I get there in time. The walk is about 20 minutes but the last thing I want is to risk being late on my first day. As I quietly shut the front door and start down the dark, moonlit road to the bakery, I think about what it will be like to work beside Peeta. I feel inadequate at the thought of how skilled he is and how I have virtually no experience in the way of baking. If there's one thing I hate, it's the feeling that I am ill prepared or inadequate at something.
His large hands know how to expertly knead doughs and gently decorate the most delicate cupcakes. I don't have the first clue on how to properly knead dough or decorate a cupcake, let alone one of the breathtaking ones that are displayed in the bakery.
The thought makes me remember a time when I had visited the bakery with my dad a long time ago. I must have been about 6 or 7. It was a special occasion, being mom's birthday and dad wanting to spend a few precious coins on a pastry for her. I was very excited to be in the bakery and to look at all the beautiful treats. I could not remember being in the bakery prior, as my family always made our bread at home out of the cheapest grain available.
As soon as we entered, I was enamored by the smell of warm bread and sugar. I was quick to flutter over to the display case and stare at the few masterfully decorated cupcakes, the croissants, even a doughnut or two. I had never had the pleasure of tasting any of the delectable sweets but I had no trouble imagining how splendid it would be to have one.
My dad chuckled at the haste with which I had gone to the case and bent down to my level. He asked me, "Which one do you want to get for mom, Kitty Cat?'
I carefully considered each and every offering and after much deliberation, settled on a vanilla cupcake. The yellow frosting atop the cupcake was piped to resemble a dandelion and I was struck by the beauty and fragility of it. I was surprised that someone would put such a seemingly ugly and ordinary flower on top of such a rare creation. Regardless, it caught my attention and I was awestruck by the amount of detail and finesse that went into crafting it.
I pointed to it and my dad patted my head and then told the baker, Peeta's dad, which one we wanted to purchase. As Peeta's father was wrapping it up for us I remember seeing a flushed, boyish face peeking at me from the back room. It was Peeta, about 8 years old and watching me with a nervous curiosity. He was chubby and adorable but not very popular. He was sometimes ridiculed and teased at school for being too sensitive or always having a cookie packed in his lunch. I had never spoken to him but he always struck me as quiet and exceedingly kind.
I stared back at him as my dad paid his father. My dad took my hand and I reluctantly tore my gaze from the shy little boy as we went to leave. On the walk home my dad told me that Peeta himself had decorated the cupcake and I remember thinking about how amazing it was that he could do that the next time I saw him.
I never told him that of course, nor did I tell him how I never looked at dandelions the same way again. I felt too different from him to approach him, even though a small part of me wanted to. I noticed him more after that and consequently noticed how kind he always was, regardless of the cruelty or insensitivity of our peers. I didn't really have any friends when I was in school, nor do I really have any friends now, besides Prim. I felt fine being by myself and felt very distant from most of the other children my age. Sometimes I felt lonely for brief moments. In those moments when I wanted a friend, I thought that Peeta would maybe make a good friend but always came to the conclusion that he was too different from me, from where I came from.
I suppose my childhood fascination with him adds to the anxiety I feel. Though I have interacted with him very little throughout my life, it feels as though we have a long history. It's embarrassing really, recounting my memories of him and how I sometimes thought of approaching him. It makes it seem as though I had a little schoolgirl crush on him, which I promise you, I did not.
I've never had a crush or understood why the girls at school would seem to talk of nothing else. It's expected of me at this age to start going steady with a boy and get married and all but it's been the farthest thing from my mind. I see how the wives in town are treated by their husbands and I'm horrified. I don't need a man to take care of me and I sure as hell don't need a man to beat me or expect me to clean the house all day. Plus, I highly doubt there's a man out there that would be accepting of my situation with my sister, regardless if I even liked him or not.
Thinking about those things seems pointless and I rarely, if ever, entertain such thoughts. I'm much more concerned with providing food for Prim and myself.
I'm drawn out of my reverie when I approach the bakery and see a welcoming ray of light through the open windows. I circle around to the back and knock on the door I visited yesterday, anxiously waiting and picking at my sweater while I hear a faint shuffle inside.
The door opens to a once again flushed and frazzled looking Peeta. He breaks into a big smile when he sees me and opens the door wider to allow me entry.
"Katniss! You're early! Come in, please, its cold outside." He says and ushers me in with a motion of his hand.
The bakery is warm from the heat of the ovens and smells like rising dough. It's only upon entering the bakery that I realize how cold it was outside and how nice it feels to be in here. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen while looking around. Peeta clears his throat and then sets a teacup and a scone on the work surface in front of me.
"I made some tea if you want some. And the scone there is from yesterday but hopefully it'll make do if you're hungry." He looks nervous and timid as he did yesterday, which I am still surprised by. I've noticed that when he interacts with others in town and at school and such that he seems very confident and outgoing.
"Thank you, that sounds great." I tell him quietly as I take a sip of the mint tea he's made for me. I tentatively take the same seat I did yesterday at a stool and take a bite of my scone. While it is a bit stale, it's considerably better than anything I've eaten in a very long time and I have to bite back a moan of contentment as the lemon flavor melts on my tongue. I had my eyes closed for a brief moment while I was savoring the scone and when I open them Peeta is staring at me with a sort of bewildered and shocked look on his face. He quickly turns away and starts talking as he idly wipes down the already clean surfaces.
"Thanks for coming so early, I know it must've been really hard getting up. But I promise you get used to it and then it's not so bad."
"No problem at all, I don't mind." I reply curtly, my tone made abrupt by the anxiety that has only intensified since I entered the bakery.
He turns back to face me and sticks the dishtowel he was using in the back pocket of his worn brown corduroys. His cable knit cream sweater has a little spot of flour on it, as do his pants. His cozy, functional appearance coupled with his blonde unruly curls makes for something of a vision and I find myself staring at him for a bit longer than I probably should. I don't know why he seems to evoke this reaction from me sometimes but it's annoying and I wish he would give me something to do so I could keep myself from over thinking.
As though he sensed my discomfort, he moves from his position leaning up against the sink and to the area in front of me on which there are various types of dough resting.
"Great, well, this is the dough for the different breads that we're making this morning. We'll make more bread as the day goes on but this is good to start us off. I made the dough last night and kneaded it a bit and it's been resting since then. The resting is so it will rise and bake properly. So right now what we have to do is punch the dough, shape it, and then put it on a tray and bake it." He looks up at from the countertop and asks, "Sound ok?"
I'm overwhelmed by his presence, my surroundings, and his instructions and the only thing I can think to say is, "Punch it?"
He chuckles at that, a low, throaty sound unlike his normal speaking voice and proceeds to answer my stupid question. "Yes, we have to punch the dough once it's had time to rise so there won't be too much air trapped in the bread once it's baked."
"Oh, ok" I say, another asinine reply, as I look at him with what would be cheeks as red as his if my skin were lighter.
"So, if you're ready, we can start by baking these and then we can move on to the more complicated stuff." He takes one of the bowls and removes the cloth that was resting on top. He makes a fist and punches the dough forcefully but not violently with his large hand. Then he takes the dough and puts it on a baking tray and shapes it into an oblong loaf. I sit there transfixed by his assured actions and the way he confidently and skillfully moves. He is wholly concentrated on the task at hand and seems to have forgotten to be sheepish and nervous for a second.
As he repeats the process with the other types of dough on the counter, I stare, forgetting that I should be helping in some way. After a few moments all the trays are laid out with perfectly shaped loaves on them and a once again apprehensive Peeta looking them over.
"Now, we put them in the ovens. I started them when I got here so they would be heated and ready. The ovens run off gas so you don't need to worry about tending to a fire or anything. Anyway, we put them all in and then we'll check them in about 45 minutes."
He walks toward the ovens with two trays, one in each hand and I finally feel able to move. I scramble over to grab two trays in an effort to make myself useful and follow him over to the ovens. He places the two trays inside and then takes the ones I'm holding with a quiet "Thank you" and a small smile. I step back, unsure of myself, and start to dread how awkward work will be every day if things continue this way.
I've been here no more than 10 minutes and already we don't know what to say to each other. I don't even want to think about what it will be like every day if I keep having these strange bouts of staring at him. I don't know why he makes me so nervous and I'm not sure I can handle being here all day, silently brooding over what to say and if I should thank him for that time when he gave me a lot of extra bread after my parents died. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself from the raging thoughts inside my head.
He seems to notice my moment of anxiety because he's in front of me when I open my eyes, his hand outstretched but not touching me and with a face full of worry.
"Katniss, are you ok? Is something wrong?" He asks cautiously, genuine concern lacing his voice and features.
"I... I'm sorry, I'm fine, really." I say unconvincingly, hating the way my voice trembles. I'm surprised I was able to speak at all with the anxiety only seeming to increase. I'm suddenly very overwhelmed and don't know what to say to this man who has been nothing but nice to me and who is genuinely concerned. I worry about what he thinks of me. I worry that I'll lose this job. There's so much at stake and I can't believe that I've barely gotten here and I've already screwed it up. I wouldn't blame him if he fired me right now, went off to hire someone that could actually put bread in the oven without becoming overwhelmed with anxiety and causing a disturbance. I can vaguely sense that my breathing is fast and uneven and I close my eyes and attempt to steady myself by reaching for the countertop.
"Katniss, are you ok? Do you want me to go get Prim?"
He sounds slightly panicked and reaches out to steady me as I reach for the countertop. His touch calms me a tiny bit but then he moves away to get a stool and sits me gently on it. He picks up my hand and rubs gentle, soothing circles on my palm with his thumb in an effort to calm me down.
"Shhh, it's ok just breathe nice and slow. Everything's ok, you're fine, there's nothing to be worried about." He speaks slowly and softly and his words in conjunction with his touch seem to help a bit. I start breathing slower and felling less light headed. I take a moment before I open my eyes. When I do I find a concerned but sympathetic Peeta, eyebrows drawn with a sad smile on his face.
"I…I… I'm so sorry…" I say, my voice still uneven from my labored breathing. I try to keep breathing evenly to prevent myself from thinking about what just happened and panicking again.
"Hey, it's ok. I know you must be nervous and it doesn't help that I've been a bit stiff and rushed you straight into things. I used to get panic attacks a lot, trust me there's no reason to be sorry." He gives me another weak smile and continues to absentmindedly rub circles on my hand.
"Thank you" I manage to murmur as I stare transfixed at the place his thumb touches my palm. I can feel myself getting calmer by the second but as the anxiety fades, mortification sets in. I can't believe I just had a panic attack in front of Peeta on my first day of work. I've had occasional panic attacks since the death of my parents and it's always a humiliating experience. Peeta seems sympathetic and understanding though and I am once again grateful for his tenderness and empathy.
He gives my hand a light squeeze before he slowly lets go and gets up to bring me a glass of water. He returns with the water and sets it in front of me on the countertop. I feel normal now and ready to get the incident behind me. I take a sip of my water and stand up, eager to prove that I'm not fragile.
"I'm ok now. Thanks for understanding." I say, managing a small tight-lipped smile in an effort to reassure him.
"Of course. You know, Katniss, if something's bothering you or anything you can tell me. I don't want you to be nervous. I'd like to hope we could be friends."
Friends? I've never had anyone that I would consider a friend, let alone someone that wanted to be mine. I'm a little taken aback and baffled as to why he would want to be friends with me. I am quiet and often rude, and I have not exactly shown gratitude for the kindness he has showed me. Regardless, I'm grateful for his understanding and continued generosity.
"Thank you, I think that would be great," I say in reply, still nervous and feeling awkward as I idly stand in the kitchen.
We then get back to work, him showing me how to do things and talking about how things work and me eagerly listening and trying to complete the simple tasks he gives me. The hours seem to pass quickly as I concentrate on what it takes to bring the bakery to life, and before I know it the sun has risen and it's time to open.
Peeta goes to man the front counter as scores of women from town come to buy their morning bread. I stay in the back but I can hear Peeta banter back and forth with the women, charming them with his easy-going nature that I have yet to experience. I busy myself with carefully reading recipes or cleaning up while Peeta tends to the customers in front.
He teaches me things the rest of the day in between going to the front to sell bread to an impatient patron. I learn how to mix the ingredients, knead the dough, and where to find the ingredients. He tells and shows me how to do many other things but I get easily distracted and find myself unable to remember most of them. Regardless, Peeta is very patient and quick to repeat things when he looks over to find I have a dumb, vacant expression on my face while staring at him.
When 11:00 rolls around, Peeta tells me that he will be closing soon and I can go home. Relief passes through me at the announcement but I also look forward to coming back the next day. As the day wore on I felt more settled and confident in my ability to complete the necessary tasks. I could almost say that I enjoyed Peeta's warm, reassuring, and patient presence while he taught me how to make delicious creations.
"Do you want me to come in tomorrow?" I ask, once again awkwardly standing in the kitchen, unsure of myself.
"If you don't mind, that would be great. Same time if that's ok. If you need to do something or don't want to get up so early just let me know and we can work something out. Thanks for coming today Katniss, I really enjoyed your company." He says the last part with a timid smile and hands that busy themselves by rubbing the back of his neck, something he's done in moments of silence during the day.
"Ok, I'll see you then." I turn to leave and start to open the back door. Before I can talk myself out of it I turn around and hastily say what I've been wanting to all day.
"Oh, um, and Peeta?" He looks at me with a surprised expression and raised eyebrows, encouraging me to continue.
"Thank you for being so understanding. I was really nervous and you made me feel a lot better." It's hard to say and I feel my mortification return as soon as the words are out of my mouth, but a part of me is glad that I finally thanked him for one of his many acts of kindness.
He smiles a wide, goofy grin and seems to light up at my simple thanks.
"You're very welcome, Katniss. Anytime." He says, still looking at me with a big smile on his face. I quickly walk out the door and walk briskly away from the bakery, not looking back this time.
As I walk home, I think about all that happened today. His friendly reception of me, my panic attack, his incredible tenderness, and the comfort that his presence gave me. I'm exhausted and don't know what to make of the myriad of emotions swirling inside me.
When I get home I collapse in bed and have a long, dreamless sleep.