A/N: So in Ch2 was the first Sexy Times scene I ever wrote and did I feel uncomfortable afterwards. I cringe and can't even read the part anymore, I block it out. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like reading Sexy Times scenes, but other authors' fics, not mine :D Anyway...moving on
It definitely is getting cooler. I'm walking home hugging the sweater tighter around me to guard myself off the brisk winds. Then again, I may be over exaggerating. I get cold quite easily.
I catch myself daydreaming about what happened the other night. I didn't realize I haven't felt that kind of…passion, with Peeta, in a long while. And that particular night will go down in the books. Although, I have to remind myself to ban this kind of thought when I am in the classroom. My students have noticed once that I was staring at the wall, at nothing in particular, mind miles and miles away. Little did they know about Miss Everdeen's thoughts zoning out into the gutter.
Peeta asked smugly if I was going to visit his training grounds anytime soon. I denied everything and told him I was never there in the first place and he shook it off as if I was obviously lying. I don't know if anything has shifted between us, but I can sense our relationship has grown an extra layer of titanium.
I approach the vicinity of my house and I see a delivery man standing outside my door. I grow curious, at the same time, alert. I greet him, and scared the wits out of him, from behind.
"Delivery package for Miss Katniss Everdeen. From your…" the man starts in a formal monotone and pauses for a very long time, "…your 'Secret Admirer'." He overemphasizes on Secret Admirer in a tone dripping with sarcastic amusement.
I take the package hesitantly and sign his form, duck into my house and study the package. I snort at it. I may or may not have an idea on who my admirer is. I tear the package apart, excited to see what's hiding inside.
It's a knitting kit, complete with different coloured balls of yarn, needles, patterns, and an instruction leaflet. I giggle loudly, probably scaring the walls of my house, and shake my head. Another item on my bucket list. I find a folded note under the leaflet.
BRRR IT'S GETTING CHILLY. I SURE COULD USE A SCARF
PM (secret admirer)
Peeta and his efforts. He has no idea but I actually collect all the little random notes he has ever written me, place them in a box and tuck them away under my bed. I find a clear spot on the floor and sit cross-legged, placing the box by my feet, and concentrate on reading the instructions. My hands play with a ball of red yarn, these same hands that will produce me a nice, warm scarf for my secret admirer.
I spend the rest of the afternoon knitting on my couch, accompanied by my Saturday lineup of shows and my herbal tea. I am getting weary of these reality TV shows the Capitol keeps making. But beggars can't be choosers.
For the scarf, I choose to inter-mingle the colours red, white and orange. Like all things in life, something new always requires familiarity, a bit of getting used to. There's a lot of blood, sweat, and good amount of tears I put into this first attempt to a scarf, or anything that somewhat resembles it.
By 4:30, I emerge victorious from my nest of scattered yarns and the poor leaflet that was somehow ripped apart. I tried to piece it back together by tape once I realized the level of need for it. I stop by the mirror to quickly check if I look a tad presentable, nod at myself and headed out the door, on my way to my secret admirer.
Peeta is serving two customers when I walk in. One ordered a loaf of bread, the other one, chocolate chip buns. I eye the buns as the woman passes me by with it. The temperature in this bakery is sky high. It is hot.
"Hey," he greets me as he fans himself a little. I approach the counter with my hands hiding the rumpled scarf behind my back.
"Business looks good today," I comment casually, noting the near empty display cabinet.
"Yeah. I will have to close earlier and work on the next batch at home. Feels like an inferno in here today."
I glide across the tiled floor and let myself through the passage way to the area behind the cash register. He has half a smile on his face, his expression reads that he is watching me intently, almost cautious of what I might do next.
I pull up next to him, almost purring.
"I have a secret admirer. And somehow he knew about my interest in knitting," I pause and my right eyebrow raises by itself. "Are you mad?"
"I am fuming. I may have to kick him in the bottom. I hope it's not Gio," he appears tired after a day's work, but still manages to look sheepish.
"Well, anyway, I have something for you." I whip the scarf from behind my back and proudly present to him the freshly knitted autumn/winter accessory. I felt he would appreciate all the orange streaks on it.
"Are you sure that's not for your secret admirer?" he's looking at the scarf I'm hanging in mid-air, unsure what to make of it.
"No…I think I like you better." I move closer to him and gingerly begin to wrap the scarf around his neck.
"Katniss, it's way too long and skinny," he looks down on the rest of the scarf hanging off of him with a bit of a frown. I call him silly and pick up the slack, and continue wrapping it around him until I run out of material. The scarf has now piled up right below his lower lip.
"It's so warm! Thank you!" he mumbles through the scarf and leans down and gives me a kiss, intentionally rubbing the fabric against my chin. I pull back and slap him in the forearm lightheartedly.
"Now you can serve top quality baked goods…with style," I say before I turn around.
"I don't know Katniss, I have a giant brick oven right behind my ass and I might sweat on this beautiful scarf," he calls out as I reach for the door knob.
"It's ok I'll make more for you!" and I'm out the door.
It was a slow day in the woods, and I had a tough time trading in the Hob. It's during this kind of drought that I am grateful that I have the part time job as a Science teacher, even though I only allocate two hours per day for the two classes. All my earnings from the 74th Hunger Games are depleted at this point in time. Peeta invested most of his Games earnings into purchasing equipment, appliance and aesthetics for his bakery, and has been returning positive net sales a year after he continued to run the family business on his own.
I haven't seen him all day. He is not answering his phone, and the bakery is closed. I was actually one of the crowds that have congregated in front of the store, curious of his whereabouts. I must have dialed his number about twenty times, and then I decided to drop by his house as a final check-in.
Come afternoon I am worried sick. His door was locked so I sneaked in through the living room window without thinking twice, my heart beating triple the rate, afraid of what I may come across inside. I turn on the light and investigate each room in the house, which he has left neat and orderly. He's not here. He's not anywhere in the house.
I stand frozen in the middle of his living room, petrified that he may be experiencing an episode, and may not even have an idea where he is. The last flashback I have documented in my head was five years ago and it involved knives, and plenty of running to and running from Peeta. That was the last, major episode he's ever had, and I'd say the worst one, because I had come very close to killing him in my defense.
I leave his house feeling defeated and enter mine, sitting on the couch and staring at the knitting kit box that he gave me on the coffee table. Just then, I spot something near the box. A small note. I'd recognize that scribble from anywhere.
Meet me by the willow tree at seven tonight. Wear something nice.
PM
I feel my spirits lift and all types of relief flood me. I restrain from feeling angry, for making me worried the whole day, and instead I stride up the stairs up to my bedroom and focus on the contents of my closet. I browse through my casual wear, then perk up as I remember the closet where I hide all the dresses that Cinna had created for me back in the day.
The first thing I notice is another note sticking out, clipped into one of the hangers.
Wear this one
PM
I pull out the hanger and gasp at the nostalgia brought on by the sight of a long, sleeveless yellow number, laced and embedded with pearls and diamond studs, empire waistline. The layer beneath the laces is a lighter shade of yellow, made of fine, soft silk. It was one of the dresses I wore on a victory tour, although the specific district where I showcased it escapes me.
I glance at the time. It's 5:30 pm.
It seems like Peeta has everything arranged because as if on cue, Ashton shows up outside my house and waits until he sees me parked on the street around 6:30. He teases me about Peeta during most of the drive, and I try not to fan the flame. Our meeting place is a little bit far up northwest on the way to District 11, and I didn't want to walk the road in a mesmerizing yellow dress.
I thank Ashton as I leave the car, and my heart is beating out of my chest. My black pumps descend onto the soft grass as I scan the area in front of me. There are cute lighting fixtures hanging low off the willow tree branches holding big candles inside. Right underneath the tree is a table covered in white cloth with red trim, and two chairs also donned in the same cloth. There is a round glass in the middle of the table filled with water and a floating red candle inside. Off to the side of the dining set is a long buffet table holding a number of closed trays, with built-in heaters underneath that keeps the food warm.
A server greets me as I try to absorb the scenery in front of me, and he smiles as he sees the pleasant look of surprise on my face. He leaves and walks toward the table of food, and stands there without saying another word.
My breath hitches in my throat. My senses are working overload and I feel I'm about to burst.
I hear scuffling behind me and I see Peeta smiling, approaching me with a stem of red tulip. He is wearing a dark blue suit and a black tie, clean-shaven and his blonde hair gelled back. He brushes up against my arm and he hands me the flower, takes my other free hand to kiss. He moves a step back and takes his time observing my body, the way the yellow dress hugs my curves, lingering a bit longer at exposed arches of my breasts. His gaze settles back up on my blushing face and his hand comes up to hold my jaw as he steps in closer to kiss me tenderly.
"You look beautiful," he says in a hushed voice.
I am speechless. My mouth looks like it's about to speak but I am staring at his face and he looks so handsome.
"Shall we?" his arm outstretches and gestures towards the river, where the willow tree and dinner awaits.
I sit on my chair, mirroring Peeta's action. I am still smiling like a fool. The waves on the river grow a bit stronger as slight wind picks up, and I marvel at the comforting scent of nature.
"Peeta this is…such a wonderful surprise. Thank you," and that's all I could come up with. His eyes are twinkling from the burning candle below us, the long leafy vines from the willow tree swaying majestically behind him.
"I hope you're hungry," he says.
"You can count on that," I tell him. It's true. I didn't eat the whole day from being worried about his disappearance.
His head turns and he is looking far into a distance, as if waiting for something. I try to look at what he is suddenly engulfed with, and I shoot him a confused expression.
"Wait, I have one more surprise," he says. And out of nowhere he calls out somewhere far into the dark, "Here girl! Come! Let's go!"
A small little thing starts running towards me, with two dark beady eyes, all covered in white, curly fur. It has a rolled up paper in its mouth, and for a while it looks like it's having trouble keeping it in tact.
"It's a puppy!" I am beaming at the sight of the cutest thing I have ever seen. It sits down in front of me and drops the paper on the ground.
Peeta is off his chair and tends to the puppy.
"You see, we've been practicing this running bit a lot," he pets the small animal and puts the rolled paper back in the mouth. The puppy looks up at me expectantly. "She wants you to take it," Peeta whispers to me.
"Oh!" I lean down and pick the paper from the puppy's mouth. She yips at me as a response.
"She's a bit shy, but she seems to like you already," he gets up and reclaims his seat across mine. My lips are hurting from smiling too much and I gather all will to stop myself from picking her up and putting her in my lap because Peeta is telling me to unroll the paper.
It is the menu for tonight.
Appetizer
Seared Sea Scallops
Butter Leaf Salad
Mushrooms Neptune
Main
Braised Lamb Shanks with Rosemary and Steamed Rapini
Citrus Honey Brined Smoked Turkey
Lobster Tails
Served with either: Risotto or Wild Rice
Dessert
Brownie Sundae
Passion Brulee
Apple Crumble
My heart stops. These are food imported from the Capitol. It takes me a couple of seconds to piece two and two together. My bucket list. This is another item on my bucket list he's checking off. The puppy. I mentioned a puppy on my bucket list. My emotions take the reign and my lower lip starts to tremble and I feel tears converge in my eyes. He was gone the whole day battling it out and dealing with Capitol people just to get these items, and probably this puppy, across the country and into this district.
"Peeta…"
He suddenly has a distressed look on his face as he realizes I'm about to turn on the water works. He tells me it's ok and that we should order now because our server is growing restless, kicking pebbles into the river.
I can't help myself, but I inhale my food gracelessly. Peeta looks amused and he tries not to watch me eat. The puppy has fallen asleep right by Peeta's foot, her bowl of dog food now empty. We chat over our empty plates and wine glasses, as he tells me the pains and trials of getting the food delivered away, and we laugh at all the questions he was asked at the border as he was trying to leave the Capitol.
Night has completely fallen and he rises from his chair, extending his arm and asking me for my hand. I gladly give it to him and I also stand up and we both stretch, groaning outwardly at the sudden change from our sitting position.
"May I have this dance?" he asks. I have a ridiculed look on my face and glance around us. There is nothing here but the sounds of a light river and the rustles of the towering willow tree above us.
"Peeta, we don't have music," I remind him. He pulls me closer anyway and wraps his arms around my waist. My arms and hands lift up and encircle around his neck, closing the gap between us even more. I find myself hypnotized by his lips as they begin to move.
"You can sing. It was one of the reasons I started falling in love with you," he says. I sigh inwardly and my head has not stopped spinning since I got off Ashton's car.
"No Peeta, I want you to sing," I challenge him.
"Katniss," he says firmly, "there is only one singer in here and it sure isn't the dog or the server and most importantly it isn't me, so come on, sing anything," he insists, burying his lips in my hair. "Trust me, you don't want to hear me sing."
I pull my head back to show him my lower lip jutting out in hopes he'll grant me my request.
"Alright, alright. You asked for it. Don't tell me I didn't warn you," he gives in. He's looking up at the night sky, trying to think of a song, face in deep contemplation. He starts to sway me from side to side, one of his shoes almost stepping and crushing mine, and he takes a full breath of air as a buffer. And he starts.
"When I'm feeling blue…"
I bring my head down and rest it on his chest, and lightly giggle at the choice of his song.
"…All I have to do…"
I smile as I hear his heart beat under my cheek, and his voice reverberate through. I intake his smell and sigh contently. What did I ever do to deserve something like this.
"…Is take a look at you…"
I feel loved.
A/N: Thanks for the support so far and reading along! However...I am on my 3rd chapter and Who Wants To Be my First Reviewer?! I appreciate all the views but I am barely getting any love :*( and I don't quite know what that makes me feel...maybe it feels like I'm doing something wrong with the story.
I'd so welcome any feedback! I will love you like Peeta love Katniss.
I don't know what to name their dog yet. But the song is by Phil Collins, something classic and something I was fond of during my childhood, because I can't imagine Peeta singing Love You Like A Love Song, or Slave 4 U. Which I love too by the way.