Author's Note: Hi! Here's chapter 3; it's a tiny bit shorter than the last two but I hope the content makes up for it. I plan to write and post again in a few days. Thank you so much for reading and following/favoriting. Just a quick trigger warning, this chapter does have a few mentions of food and weight. Please review or just drop me a message to let me know how you like the story. Enjoy!
Over the past two weeks I've fallen into an easy rhythm at the bakery. I work 5 days a week, usually from 5 to 11, and I've come to enjoy my time working. As far as jobs go, it's the best one I can imagine. I learn how to make delicious treats and breads, I get to sample them, and Peeta always sends me home with something at the end of the day. Peeta and I have more or less overcome the initial awkwardness between us, mostly because I realized that I was being naturally hostile and he didn't deserve it.
Peeta has been as kind as ever, always welcoming and quick to make sure I'm as comfortable as possible. Every morning he opens the back door with a big smile on his face and every time I leave he gives me a warm and friendly goodbye. For the past week or so we've taken to having breakfast together. It's quick, probably only 15 minutes, but I must admit that it's often the highlight of my day. He'll usually have some muffins fresh out of the oven waiting for me or a pot of oatmeal cooking when I come in the morning. Always with tea and eaten at the workbench side by side. We talk some of the time, him often telling me about some new creation he's working on or a lighthearted story from his childhood. I suspect he is so diligent about feeding me breakfast because of how visibly malnourished I am.
Ever since I received my first paycheck, I've been able to actually keep food on hand at home. I think Peeta still doesn't think I'm eating enough though because he always seems to be trying to get me to eat something. In the morning, he'll make me a rich muffin and serve butter with it. If he makes oatmeal he gives me a deep little pot of thick, amber, honey, lots of brown sugar, and nuts besides. During the course of the morning he will make buttery toast for me and tea with lots of cream. Anything fattening that he can get me to eat he will. One time a few days ago he decorated a cupcake special just for me and put a beautifully crafted katniss flower on it. I was a bit speechless as he presented it to me timidly, an anxious smile on his face and downcast eyes. For the first time in a long time I felt a strong rush of emotion. I was overwhelmed at the fact that he would do something so innocent and kind for me. I thanked him vehemently, though I would be lying if I said that I understood why he did it.
Working with Peeta, I would be eating well even if he didn't pay me. But he does. Generously. Working 5 days a week for about 6 hours a day I make just about as much as my father did when he was working 10 hour days in the mines. When I brought my first envelope home, heavy with coins and bills, I was giddy. I thought of all the things I would finally be able to do and buy for Prim and I was ecstatic. I picked Prim up early from school that day and skipped over with her to the sweet shop, hand in hand, where I bought her some peppermints and gumdrops.
I've noticed that I've been happier since starting work at the bakery. While I would like to say that it is solely because of the steady paycheck, I know that it is also because I have found something of a friend in Peeta. We talk during the day and I find myself telling him things that are silly and unimportant, things that I feel stupid for saying. Like my favorite color or my favorite treat at the bakery (cheese buns). Though I feel stupid for entertaining such shallow thoughts, Peeta makes it feel natural and fun to talk freely. Something about him makes me want to talk, a feeling that is entirely foreign to me.
Sometimes, he is still shy and unsure of himself, which I am surprised by. I thought he would become more confident like he usually is with other people, especially in his own bakery. And while he has acclimated to my presence a little bit, I can still sometimes sense some underlying tension or apprehension. I've tried not to read too much into it, even though I have on occasion wondered if it's because of my harsh nature. I know I can be abrasive without intending to and I sincerely hope that I haven't made Peeta to feel as though I do not like him or am grateful for all he's done for me.
There is a part of me that is bitter about the debt that I feel I owe to Peeta for all the kindness he has showed me. The only reason I'm not driven crazy by the need to repay it is Peeta's benevolent and giving nature. I still don't understand why he has repeatedly given me so much when I have nothing to offer him, but I know that he never expected anything in return. He is a very sensitive and empathetic person, someone unlike any other person that I've met.
Peeta is someone that sustains a terrible injury to his leg when he tries to feed a stray dog. Someone that has been abandoned by his cruel mother after the sudden loss of his father and yet maintains a truly radiant disposition. He's kind and generous and I guess it shouldn't surprise me that he would see a starving seam girl and give her food and a great job. It doesn't surprise me when I think about, what does surprise me is that this girl is me. I feel wholly undeserving of his generosity yet accept it freely, coming back each day for more gentle words and big smiles.
Unfortunately, Peeta's pleasant nature has not discouraged my fascination with him. In the time that I have been working with Peeta, the periods of distraction I felt on the first day have not abated in the least bit. It's nothing short of frustrating, how I will find myself staring at him as he kneads dough or concentrates on piping a cupcake, his long blonde lashes blinking lazily. Even now when I'm just thinking about it I feel the same feeling of fascination and dare I call it, yearning? Something about him makes me nervous and happy at the same time. His sweet nature makes me feel protective of him, ready to defend this sweet boy that has done nothing but help me.
It's hard to admit that I feel a sense of kinship with him, as I am reluctant as can be about forming relationships or getting close to people. Ever since my parents died I have been able to see nothing but the cruel consequences of loving someone, the complete desolation that you are left in when something happens to them. Because of this, I keep my distance from people, something that's not difficult with my intimidating and abrasive disposition. Despite my efforts, the baker has inexplicably lowered my defenses. Caring about someone other than Prim is scary but I must admit that it is not all bad. I enjoy having a friend, despite never thinking I needed one.
All this talk of Peeta reminds me that I must get going, as it's about 4:40 and I have to start the walk to the bakery. As usual, Peeta unlocks the back door at my knock and greets me with a signature grin and a cheerful "Good morning Katniss!" I feel a rush of heat to my face when I take in his appearance and notice that he has traded in his usual thick sweater for a thin long sleeve henley that hugs his muscles.
I feel so stupid even noticing something like that! I usually don't notice or care about how guys look but Peeta is the exception. I have come to the conclusion that my periods of distraction and momentary appreciation are my traitorous body's way of telling me that I have matured. I don't have many curves to speak of but as I have gained some much needed weight over the past week I have noticed my tiny breasts filling in slightly, my hipbones no longer jutting out. I think that the added nutrition has brought on natural, albeit unwelcome, feelings of attraction. They are directed at Peeta simply because he is just about the only man I ever come into contact with, I decide. Regardless of why, these feelings are downright embarrassing and I hope feverently that Peeta doesn't take notice of my awkward behavior.
I enter the threshold and go to sit at the stool for our breakfast, as has become custom. Peeta has made delicious blueberry muffins this morning and I feel instantly calmed as I inhale their warm, sugary scent. Peeta brings over his own muffin and our tea, fixed with cream the way I like it. I waste no time in taking a big bite of the muffin and moan my approval, Peeta chuckling softly beside me.
"I'm glad you like them, they're a new recipe." He says, watching me intently as I devour my muffin in a very unladylike fashion.
"They're amazing, as usual." I say around a mouthful, swallowing and taking a sip of my tea as I try to manage a small smile in appreciation. It occurs to me suddenly that he must have to get here much earlier than I do in order to make muffins. Typical of me to take two weeks to notice that he must work very long hours, despite him saying he hired me so that he could work less.
"Peeta?" I ask, him looking over at me, a stray crumb clinging onto his plump bottom lip in an annoyingly adorable way.
"Hmmm?"
"I was just wondering, what time do you get here every morning? You must have to get in pretty early to make muffins, let alone try out a new recipe."
He looks a bit sheepish, as though he's been found out. His cheeks redden a bit, as they do often and he picks at the crumbs on his plate. "Umm, I don't get here that much earlier than you do. I just have to clean up a bit and do some accounting and I figure I might as well bake muffins while I'm here."
"Ok, but you're always here before me and you're here after I leave. You said you hired me so you could work less. Do you not trust me to be here by myself? If you need me to come earlier I can, or I can try to do some accounting or inventory. I know you haven't known me that long but I promise I wouldn't ever steal from you or anything. I can take on more responsibility so you don't have to work so long." I say, surprised that I feel a strong urge to help Peeta. The thought of him returning home after a long day utterly exhausted and alone, makes my heart ache a little bit. I don't want him to think that I'm incompetent or untrustworthy and that he must be here at all times to supervise me. While it is true that I wasn't a natural at first, I'd like to think I've learned the basics pretty well and could handle whatever he needed me to.
He looks up at me suddenly after he's finished listening to me, a fat, blonde curl bouncing on his forehead. His eyes are wide and alarmed, as if I've just told him something unthinkable or horrifying like that I hate his muffins.
"Katniss, I trust you implicitly." He says, an unexpected vehemence and passion behind his words. "You are extremely capable, I know that. I've actually been working significantly less since you started working here because I don't have to stay open as long or do as much prep work. You've been a tremendous help to me and I really enjoy having you here. I just come in early because I like to be here to greet you and have our breakfast together." He says the last part timidly, like he's confessing an embarrassing secret, as though I don't enjoy our morning routine and will be dismayed that he does.
"Ok, as long as you're not too tired or anything. You work very long hours and I imagine you must be exhausted when you go home." I don't know why I said that after he said he was ok, but regardless of his reassurance I still feel a nagging sense of concern at the thought of him overworking himself and coming home tired and lonely. Plus, its really none of my business, I am just his employee after all, but I can't shake the sadness that I have at the thought that this exceptionally kind boy has no one to look after him.
"I'm ok." He says, trying to reassure me, a sad smile on his face as he stares down at his now empty plate. "Honestly, I like to work as much as I can because I get kind of lonely if I spend too much time at home by myself."
I can tell he regrets saying that, that he thinks I will feel pity for him. I feel sad for him, but not pity. I find it unbelievable that someone as kind as him does not have a pretty blonde haired wife to cook him meals, worry over him, and shower him with affection at the end of every day. It seems strange that he is not married or in a long-term relationship given his desirability but I think I know why, having spent so much time with him.
Peeta is extremely sensitive and most girls in town would not understand him. They would see him for his good looks and his successful business and take advantage of his generosity. The girls in town are loud and flirtatious and I can't think of a single person that would be a good match for him. He's quiet and I imagine simple in his desires in a mate. Having gotten to know him these past couple weeks I have found that Peeta values honesty, loyalty, simplicity. He doesn't want a glamorous girl that flirts shamelessly and wants to go to parties. Though he would never think down on someone who wanted those things, that's not what he wants. He's very different from the boys at school that were crass and rude, that would say anything to get a girl to go out with them and give them kisses.
Now that I think about I don't think I've ever seen Peeta with a girlfriend. It's a surprising thought, someone as desirable as him not dating. It's possible he's gone on a couple dates but I don't know of any serious girlfriend of his. It's none of my business and I shouldn't be thinking or prying into his love life but I can't help it. My heart aches for Peeta, the more I think about how lonely he must be. His father died, his mother abandoned him, and I don't think he has any close friends.
No wonder he enjoys our breakfasts together. Like me, Peeta is quiet and responsible. He doesn't really have friends and certainly not a girlfriend. I have Prim, but I can't imagine how lonely I would be if I didn't have her.
I used to think Peeta and I were vastly different but I realize suddenly that we're not. Not at all. On the surface we appear to be, him coming from a comfortable upbringing, mine one of struggle. He is very outwardly charming and friendly whereas I am introspective and often prickly. But we are both similar in many ways, in our interests and independence and reluctant desire for companionship.
I don't know what to say in reply to Peeta's confession. I've been sitting here in silence for a moment, thinking about his life and how he must feel. I want him to know that I care about him, that we aren't that different, that I consider him a good friend, but I've never been good with words. I tentatively reach out my hand before I can think better of it, and cover his large hand on the table with my skinny fingers. He looks up suddenly, surprised at the gesture. Once again, his stubborn curl bounces and it inexplicably makes me want to reach out further, so I do. I cover his hand with mine completely, even though I know it's inappropriate and probably unwanted.
He doesn't look disturbed though, he looks surprised in the same way someone would be if a wild bird perched on their hand. He is shocked and still, not knowing how to react to my uncharacteristic act of support and affection. He looks down at my hand on his and then back at me with wide eyes. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turn up into a goofy grin and all the anxiety I had been feeling washes away. While unexpected, I can tell that he is touched by my gesture, much like I was with the katniss cupcake he gave me.
He very slowly and tenderly moves his other hand gently over mine, our hands gently clasped together in a very innocent and intimate way. He squeezes my hand softly and looks up at me again. His eyes are watery and his face is full of emotion but he is still smiling.
"Thank you, Katniss." He says so softly I can barely make out the words. I smile at him to let him know that he's welcome, that I understand, that I'm here.
The intensity of my concern for him scares me but it also invigorates me. Having a friend is a new experience for me and I can't imagine having a better one than Peeta.