I paused outside of Peeta's door for a moment to listen. I heard the groan of the bed springs as he dropped down onto his mattress. I moved downstairs quietly, a little nervous that I'd offended him. Rye was sulking in the kitchen and scrubbing the hell out of the pans in the sink. Twain stepped into the room as he heard me come down.
"Everything okay up there?" he asked, glancing toward the stairs.
"I think so," I said, looking back over my shoulder. "He's having a rough few days, I think." Twain nodded. I tightened my scarf as we said some slightly awkward goodbyes before I left. Rye didn't even look away from the sink.
As I walked I thought back over the past couple of weeks; how detached he always was and how distant he seemed. It was frustrating. When I did seem to catch his attention it was clear that I didn't have all of it, but it was rarely that even happened. He certainly seemed more at ease with me than anyone else, though I found myself wondering what I could do to work that to my advantage.
At school the next day Madge noticed my preoccupation immediately and made a few idle comments I did my best to ignore. That lasted until about lunchtime, when I couldn't stand the circle my brain was running in any longer. I pushed my meal aside, leaning forward. She cocked an eyebrow, slowing mid-chew.
"How do you get Gale to pay attention to you?" I asked. She looked both thoroughly confused and very, very amused by the question.
"What?" she laughed.
"I know he listens to you," I rolled my eyes. "And he doesn't listen to anyone. How do you do that?"
"Why are you trying to get Gale to listen to you?" she said, putting her sandwich down and leaning her arms against the table.
"Not Gale," I shook my head. I could feel a hint of a blush creeping into my face and hoped it didn't show. "I'm just sort of...asking. In general."
"Katniss Everdeen are you trying to get a boy's attention?" Madge's face all but lit up. "Is it Peeta? It's so Peeta. It's either him or his brother and...ew. It's Peeta isn't it?"
"I'm not trying to get his attention like that," I gave her a look. The smirk on her face told me she didn't believe a word of it. "I just want to help him, and I'm the only person he opens up to."
"Yeah, you've mentioned that," Madge raised her eyebrows. I sighed, looking away. "Listen, if he likes you it's only going to work in your favor. And who knows, Peeta's a good guy, pretty cute. Maybe he'll bring out the human in you."
"Spare me." I glanced back at her before pulling my meal in front of me again. I shouldn't have opened my mouth.
"You're the one who asked for advice," she smirked. I just looked at her, waiting for the damn advice. "Just talk to him. And listen. Pay attention to what he has to say and ask him questions about himself. Look him in the eye. Laugh at his jokes. Touch him."
"That's it, seriously?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Just pay attention to him," she shrugged. "If he knows you think what he has to say is important he's going to listen to you, too." I picked apart my bread, pursing my lips for a moment. That did seem to make sense. "And don't forget to touch him. A lot." That just made me roll my eyes. "You're going to be awful at flirting, you know that, right?"
"Shut up," I snapped. "And I'm not trying to flirt."
"Whatever you say." Madge pressed her lips together in a tight little smile I wanted to slap right off her face.
That did nothing to help. As I followed Rye to the bakery—noting, interestingly enough, he was actually acknowledging Delly's existence today as they walked home—I hadn't found any peace of mind. The kiss I caught Rye plant on Delly's cheek, though, gave me plenty of ammunition to use. By the time Peeta came downstairs to sit I had Rye so worked up his ears were turning red.
"Just promise me one thing," I said, shooting a smile at Peeta. He raised his eyebrows in question. Rye turned away from the counter, narrowing his eyes at me.
"What?" he spat.
"That you'll invite me to your toasting," I said.
"Oh, fuck you," Rye snapped, turning back around.
"Wh-what's going on?" Peeta asked, a hint of a smile on his face.
"Your little girlfriend over here is a pain in my ass," Rye looked over at Peeta, hooking his thumb toward me before moving the tray of cookies he had finished frosting onto the worktable with a loud clang. Peeta startled and winced at the sound.
"He was being quite adorable with Miss Cartwright," I said, raising my eyebrows and smirking at him. "In public, no less. Held her hand on the walk home. Even kissed her cheek."
"And th-the world d-didn't end?" Peeta feigned shock, looking over at Rye. I laughed, nudging Peeta with my elbow as I picked up the tray of cookies to move into the cases out front. I could hear the two of them talking quietly. Twain gave me a grateful smile as he rang up the customer in front of him. I unloaded the tray and returned to the kitchen.
"It's none of your business," Rye said, frowning at Peeta. He'd moved his work from the counter to the table, meaning he was no longer standing with his back to the two of us. It felt like a little bit of a victory, getting the two of them talking to each other. Even if they were bickering. "And it will never be any of your business."
"Rye is, um," Peeta shook his head, turning toward me as I stood beside him. "He's afraid th-that if he actually admits he—likes her. That he has t-to start treating her like he d-does."
"But if you do like her why wouldn't you want to treat her like you do?" I reached over the table and snatched two cookies off of the tray, handing one to Peeta and keeping the other for myself. Twain didn't seem to mind us sampling as long as we didn't take advantage of the kindness.
"It's not that I don't want-" Rye cut himself off, shaking his head and sighing. "I'm not explaining this shit to you."
"He doesn't have—feelings," Peeta explained, still smirking. I snorted back a laugh. "Also D-Delly c-can be-"
"She is fucking needy and high maintenance and I am not opening those floodgates," Rye snapped.
"I think it might be a little late for that." I raised an eyebrow, taking a small bite of my cookie before going on. "You didn't see the way she kept looking over her shoulder at you when you walked away after that kiss. You might have a real girlfriend now, not just someone you're secretly fooling around with."
"It's n-not that much of a, um—secret," Peeta said. Rye tightened his jaw, cutting his eyes at the two of us before turning the bag of icing over in his hands. I looked over at Peeta, saw the smile in his eyes, something I hadn't seen in nearly a week. If helping him poke at his brother was going to bring him back to himself then I'd be more than happy to oblige. I nudged him with my knee, wanting him to turn that smile toward me, and he did, if only for a moment. A light, splotchy blush crept into his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze to the table.
Peeta stayed downstairs with us until it was time for me to leave, though he seemed to slip in and out of focus. A distant look would cross his face, he'd get silent and still, and a few minutes later he'd blink himself out of it, or draw a breath and return to the conversation. He looked absolutely exhausted when I said goodnight and headed for the stairs before I was even out the door.
When I arrived home Prim was setting the table for dinner, and she gave me a smile that looked a little too much like the one I'd seen on Madge earlier in the day for my liking. She raised her eyebrows, looking back down at the table and straightening out the flatware around her plate before moving to the next.
"What?" I frowned at her, hanging my coat and scarf by the door.
"Nothing," she said, her voice a little too high. I dropped down into my seat at the table, eying her as she finished and sat down across from me. Mom took absolutely no notice of the exchange, just plopped a hot casserole dish in the middle of the table and took her own seat. It took a few minutes of silent staring between Prim and I for her to catch on to the atmosphere at the table.
"What's going on?" Mom cocked an eyebrow at me before looking over at Prim.
"Katniss has a crush on Peeta," Prim said, biting back her smile and hunching up her shoulders when I dropped my fork to stare at her.
"Prim! I do not," I snapped. "Where did you even hear that?"
"Madge," she said, giggling. Sweet as she could be, Prim loved nothing more than getting me worked up, and this was doing exactly that.
"Madge told you?" I nearly slapped the table, leaning forward toward her.
"So it's true," Prim grinned.
"It's not," I said, sitting back and folding my arms across my chest. And it wasn't, but that didn't stop the flush from creeping into my cheeks. Mom was watching the exchange with a vague air of amusement, her eyes flicking back and forth between us. "And why would Madge talk to you about something like that."
"Well, she didn't, exactly," Prim concedes, looking off to the side. "She told Gale."
"She told Gale?" I dropped my arms, my lip curling involuntarily. At least I had a warning, and wouldn't be blindsided on our hunting trip in the morning. Not that that meant I was going to spare Madge from getting an earful about it. "Then how do you know."
"Primrose, we've talked about your eavesdropping," Mom raised an eyebrow, giving Prim a look over the edge of her glass.
"I wasn't though!" Prim protested. "I was out back with Lady and they were out on the Hawthorne's porch and I can't help it if they're loud."
"Well, they're also wrong," I snapped, picking my fork back up to continue eating.
"Are they?" Mom asked, looking over at me, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"Yes," I deadpanned, giving her a look before glaring down at my plate for the rest of the meal. The subject was mercifully dropped after that.
The next morning I had to drag myself out of bed. It was freezing; just slipping out from beneath the covers felt like torture. Prim frowned and curled in on herself without even waking as I tucked the blankets back around her. I layered the best I could, frowning and picking at the hole in the side of my wool pants. They'd need replacing, and a moment after the thought occurred to me I realized I had more than enough money to do exactly that. I gave most of what I made at the bakery to Mom to help cover our expenses at the house, but she refused to take it all, and I had nothing to spend it on. I'd bought some sweets for Prim and replaced our boots for the winter, but aside from that most of what we needed I was still trading for at the Hob. Having breathing room was completely foreign, and I decided that if I managed to bring down anything on this trip I was going to force it on Gale one way or another. We still had nearly a whole side of pork in our ice box from a particularly enthusiastic trip to the butcher Mom had made the week before.
I slipped through the fence, the cold air burning my lungs, and ducked into the treeline before slowing. I picked my way through the forest carefully and quietly. Being so dead set on being generous didn't make game appear any faster. It had been a lean couple of weeks for hunting. I caught up with Gale near our ridge. He stood on the hilltop, overlooking the valley with a hard frown on his face.
"Snares were empty again this morning," he said, turning up the collar on his coat as a gust of wind blew past us.
"Maybe it's time to move them," I suggested, shrugging my bow off my shoulder and checking the string. "They've been sitting there a while."
"No point," he shook his head and tugged at the strap of his quiver. I felt a little guilty being out here with no need for it and for having enough to go around at home when he was barely scraping by. I'd been in the same place last year, though. "Can't find any game trails."
"Yeah, well, I'm better at that than you are, anyway." I smirked at him, trying to lighten the mood, and started down the hill. He rolled his eyes and followed after me. I didn't have much luck finding anything either, but I had no intention of admitting to it. The two of us combed the woods until the sun rose without sign of anything more than a few starved looking crows. Neither of us had ever turned up our nose at crow, but even a healthy one is barely a meal for one. "Have dinner with us tonight."
"Katniss, there are five of us. You're not going to keep feeding us all winter," Gale sighed, dropping his shoulders. They'd shared a few dinners with us in the past weeks, and that was nothing compared to how many we ate with them last winter. The snow had been relentless and brutal, fence repairs were necessary at least once a month, and the money Gale made working on the repair crew carried both of our families through the worst of the season. "Besides, aren't you a little busy with your new townie boyfriend?"
"Oh fuck you," I groaned, looking over at him. Gale just laughed. "Your townie girlfriend doesn't know what the hell she's talking about."
"Yeah, okay." He cut his eyes at me, a smirk lingering on his face. "You're awful smiley when you come back from that bakery, though."
"I'm reconsidering my offer for dinner," I muttered, shaking my head and starting back for the fence. Gale laughed again, trailing behind me the entire way home.
Maybe I did smile easier when I spent my afternoons at the bakery. I liked it there. That kitchen was warm and comforting, and the work was satisfying without being too taxing. Honestly, I spent as much time with Peeta as I did actually getting any bakery work done. On the afternoons Mom was there I was more than content to pass the time antagonizing Rye or talking and working with Twain until she finished her work with Peeta.
Not much of what I did seemed to stop him from disappearing now and then, though he did seem more engaged when he was present. I was learning which topics were safe and which needed to be avoided. His friends were always a touchy subject, with the exception of Delly and her relationship with Rye. Stories about life in the bakery were fine as long as they steered clear of his mother's temper. When he was in a good mood I could even get him talking about his artwork. My attempts to get him to show me any of it were still falling short, though.
"You don't stutter as much as you used to, you know," I said. I leaned across the table and pulled the tray of danishes Rye had liberated from one of the front cases closer to the two of us as Peeta snapped his attention toward me. Rye was stuck out front, a line of customers keeping him occupied.
"I don't?" he asked, frowning a bit as I passed him one of the danishes.
"You still do when you're tired," I shrugged. "Or when you're stressed. But it used to be all the time."
"I didn't even really—notice." He dropped his eyes, a small smile on his face. I nudged him with my elbow, picking apart one of the danishes for myself.
"So when are you going to let me see your paintings?" I angled myself toward him. His eyes went wide briefly before he looked over at me.
"Um. N-never," he said.
"Drawings, then," I tried. He shook his head. "Why not?" He didn't answer, just raised his eyebrows at me and took a bite of the danish. Eating was another thing he seemed to be doing more lately. He'd lost a lot of weight in the months since it happened, and though he certainly didn't gain any back, he'd at least stopped shrinking.
"He's hiding his sketch book under his bed if you want to track it down," Rye said as he came back into the kitchen.
"Sh-shut up," Peeta frowned.
"Don't be a jerk," I narrowed my eyes at Rye, setting my hand on Peeta's back. "Although now I know where to look." I glanced at Peeta out of the corner of my eye, smiling a little. The look on his face told me he wasn't amused. Maybe he wasn't in as good of a mood as I thought. "I'm just curious."
"He's good," Rye said, sitting down and taking one of the danishes for himself. It was nearly closing time, and the prep work had yet to be started, but considering how much I did this afternoon while he trotted across the square to see Delly the minute Twain went upstairs I had no intention of pointing it out until I was on my way out the door. Rye raised an eyebrow, looking me over for a moment. "He just keeps it to himself."
"Well, that doesn't seem exactly fair," I said. Peeta glanced at me, and I realized I'd been scratching lightly across his back. I pulled my hand away, dropping it into my lap. "I'm going to annoy you about it until I get to see."
"I'm—sure you will," Peeta said quietly, trying—and failing—to hide a smile. He laughed softly when I slapped his arm.
"Think you're funny, huh?" I tried to scowl and couldn't quite manage it. Rye just stared us down, the bell in the storefront saving us from whatever comment he was gearing up to make.
Some things might have improved, but Peeta still tired quickly. I was getting better at seeing it coming. When I suggested getting upstairs he seemed grateful for it, and I stood up, rubbing my hand across his shoulder as he got up as well. Before I made it to the stairs, Rye grabbed my arm.
"Um, no," he said, giving me a look before turning to his brother. "Goodnight, Peet."
"Goodn-night," Peeta raised an eyebrow, clearly as confused by this as me, but Rye offered no answers. I shrugged as Peeta glanced at me before heading upstairs. Rye watched him, his eyes trained on the top of the stairs until we heard the bedroom door close at the opposite end of the hall.
"Okay, listen," Rye let go of my arm and pointed in my face. "If you're fucking with him I'm going to kill you."
"I'm not—what?" I jerked back, frowning.
"Whatever the hell this touchy feely shit you're doing is," he said, waving his hand toward me. "Are you making fun of him? I'm not fucking kidding. Do not mess with my brother."
"I'm not messing with him," I snapped.
"Are you actually hitting on him? Like, really trying this time?" Rye said. The disbelief in his voice offended me more than the accusation. "Do we seriously have to have this conversation again? I mean I know you like him but that-"
"I'm not hitting on him, either." I folded my arms across my chest. Rye's expression blanked, and he just stared at me. I drew a breath to speak, thinking better of it at the last moment and looking away.
"You like him, you're just too stupid to see it. That's fine," Rye said, his voice dripping with patronization.
"Not everyone wants to fuck everyone else," I snapped. "I know you can't fathom a world that doesn't revolve around getting your dick wet, but you should try it."
"Friends are more fun when you can touch them, just so you know," he said. "And you can deny it and get all annoyed with me all you want, but it just proves what I'm about to say right. You are flirting with him, and you are terrible at it."
"I am n-" I cut myself off and sighed. "Am I really that bad at it?"
"You're awkward as fuck, and it would be adorable if you were like, nine, but you're fifteen fucking years old. Get your shit together," Rye said, smirking at me. I dropped my shoulders and frowned at him. "Look, if you want to get in his pants you need to be way more obvious about it. He couldn't even handle subtle before, let alone now, and you fucking blow at subtlety anyway."
"I do not," I protested, shifting and glancing toward the stairs. I really hoped Peeta couldn't hear any of this. "Do I?"
"Yes," he chuckled. "And at this point he's not going to clue in unless you climb into his lap and stick your tongue down his throat." I gave Rye a look and he smirked, shaking his head and looking away. "Look. If you're going to do this you need to fucking stick to it. If you hurt him you're going to regret it. Really regret it. Do you understand me?"
"And what the hell are you actually going to do?" I said, putting my hands on my hips.
"Stop it," he pointed at me again. I was starting to hate that gesture. "I'm being serious. Do not fuck around with him."
"Okay," I raised my hands. "I won't."
"Good." Rye looked me over for a minute, like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe me. When he turned away I sighed, looking back toward the stairs. I was not equipped to handle the gravity Rye had just laden the entire situation with, and while I had every intention of staying here late to spend more time with Peeta before that conversation, now I just wanted to get home.
"I have to go," I blurted out, heading for the back door. I pulled my coat on, leaning back into the kitchen from the mudroom as I tied my scarf around my neck. "Have fun with the prep work, by the way."
"What?" Rye looked at me, and I ducked back into the mudroom as he whirled to look around the kitchen. I was already halfway out the door when the realization of what I'd stuck him with hit, and he unleashed a slew of exceptionally creative cursing.
The insinuations about me and Peeta didn't just go away. Prim harped on it like a dog with a new bone, and Madge just encouraged her. Her amusement with it all didn't seem to end. Even Gale found a way to get in on it on a regular basis. It made me self-conscious around Peeta when I was at the bakery. It wasn't as bad at home, when there was no one there to see but Mom. Rye had taken to staring me down, watching everything I did with a scrutiny that I hated.
I took an afternoon for myself, bundling up against the cold and making my way out into the woods. A light snow began to fall as I walked toward the ridge; small, light flakes that drifted down slowly. Snow was late coming this year, but this had taken some of the bitterness out of the cold. When I reached the hilltop I leaned back against a tree, drinking in the wide expanse of the valley that opened up before me. I tried breathing in the cold air, focusing on the slow build up of white over the ground. I wanted to clear my mind. That's the whole reason I came out here, to get away from the annoyances at home and have some time to myself. It didn't really work, because my mind kept going back to the same subject. Peeta.
He was nice. Sweet. He needed help, and for whatever reason, I was able to give it to him. Or maybe it was just that I was the one he was able to accept it from. I wasn't sure which one of those was stranger to me. The more I thought about it the more I did find that I was caring about him. More than I realized I would when this started. But that was part of my job, wasn't it? I wouldn't be much of a help at all if I didn't actually invest myself in helping him. And it didn't hurt that he was so damn endearing. When he smiled at me all I could really do was smile back.
The snow began falling harder, in heavy clumps, and I headed back toward the fence. By the time I slipped through enough had fallen that I needed to conceal my tracks around the fence. I didn't even realize how long I'd stayed out until I got back into the house, and the heat of the fire made my hands and feet ache as they warmed. I still felt restless, and as I sat warming myself I tried running through what little options the weather left me to solve that. Gale was in town with Madge, and that was too far of a walk this late in the day in this kind of weather. Not to mention if I made that walk I'd go to the bakery before I went to the mayor's mansion.
The realization made me pause. Did I really want to see Peeta more than I wanted to see my friends? And did that make all the nonsense I'd been listening to about myself true? I didn't have time for that kind of garbage. I had school, I had work, and I had to help take care of my family. Developing feelings for Peeta Mellark didn't exactly fit in to any of that. It had to be that desire to help him messing with me and making me think more of our friendship. It had to be.
I thought I'd been noticing an abundance of couples before, but now it seemed worse. Maybe winter was making everyone feel a little lonely and clingy. Maybe that was really what was at work with me. I sat in the cafeteria and watched. If Madge had been right, and Thill had been trying to get into Meadow's pants, he certainly seemed to have succeeded. There was nothing coy about her interaction with him anymore. The two of them shared their lunches, leaning close as they talked. The pair they were sitting across from were holding hands under the table, tossing sly little smiles back and forth during lulls in conversation. I chewed the inside of my lip and watched as Thill draped his arm around Meadow before kissing her temple and making her blush furiously.
"You're really puzzling over this one, huh?" Madge said. I snapped my attention back to her, carefully controlling my expression.
"Puzzling over what?" I raised my eyebrows, turning my attention back to the cinnamon bread I'd brought for lunch. Madge didn't answer, just dropped her hands to the table and gave me a look. "What?"
"I know that look," she said. "You're studying their behavior like you're out in the woods watching game. Please don't tell me things are so bad that you're seriously considering eating our classmates."
"Things are fine," I chuckled, shaking my head. "Though there's a few I wouldn't mind putting an arrow through."
"Way to evade the real question, Everdeen," Madge smirked. I rolled my eyes, looking away and waiting for her to drop it, even though I knew better than to expect her to. "Well?"
"What do you want me to tell you?" I sighed.
"That you are an actual, breathing, normal teenage girl with needs," she said, her smile widening. I dropped my shoulders and stared at her. "And you have a crush on Peeta Mellark."
"Oh, shut up," I snapped. Madge just laughed.
"For the record, the longer you take to own up to this, the more I get to say 'I told you so'." She shot me a satisfied little smirk. She was blissfully quiet on the topic until school let out, though I fully expected one last jab as she said goodbye to Gale and I before heading to town. The fact that she didn't had me feeling a little hopeful they were going to let up on the topic.
Gale and I made plans to go out into the woods. The bitterness had gone out of the air as the afternoon went on, and though we didn't expect much in the way of game this time of day, we were at least hoping to find a decent spot to relocate our snare line. Maybe put together a second and give the other side of the District a try if we had to. It wasn't as easy to get through the fence on that side; it was a little more densely populated and there was less cover around the fence itself, but if the hunting was better it could be worth it.
We were nearly home when we passed Twain heading back to town from my house. He stopped to talk to Prim, who was walking a short distance ahead of us, drawing a broad smile out of her. She ran off toward the house, leaving Twain chuckling as we stopped beside him.
"I left some of those jelly cookies she loves so much with your mother," he said, watching her bounce up the porch stairs as soon as she reached them.
"No wonder she's so excited," I smirked. I brought some home for her a few weeks ago, and she hadn't stopped talking about them since. They were far too sweet for my taste, though.
"Don't worry, I left a little something for you, too." Twain patted my shoulder. "I have to get back there before Phyl and Rye kill each other. I'll see you later." He nodded to Gale and I before turning and heading back to town.
"I bet he means his son," Gale said with a grin. I slapped his arm and moved ahead, ignoring his laughter. "I'm guessing this means you're not going out to the woods with me?"
"Your smarmy little comment means I'm not going into the woods with you, ass," I sneered over my shoulder at him before climbing the steps to my house. He just laughed and continued on to his own house.
Peeta's wheelchair stood just inside the door, and I set my hand on the back of it to balance as I pulled my boots off. Prim was standing by the kitchen table, grinning at me around a mouthful of cookie, pointing to a second bag sitting next to the one she had her hand in. I hung up my jacket before turning around.
"Hey girls." Mom looked over at us from her seat by the fire. Peeta was sitting in his usual spot on the couch with Buttercup curled up on his lap. The cat was watching us, and Peeta's attention was turned toward the fire. "Did you see Twain on your way home?" I nodded, forcing myself to look at her instead of Peeta. "Would you mind taking your homework and your cookies into your bedroom for a bit while we get some work done?"
"Okay!" Prim chirped, scooping her books off of the table and dropping the bags of cookies on top of the stack before crossing the room to our bedroom. I didn't have any homework—or at least any that I had any real intention of doing—but I knew Peeta was still painfully self-conscious about having witnesses to his appointments with Mom.
"Hi, Peeta," I said, lifting up my books and watching him hesitantly turn toward me.
"Hey," he said softly, glancing up at me briefly before looking back down at the cat in his lap. That damn thing loved him, though it made sense. He was gentle and kind, and probably spent significantly less time hissing insults at the thing than I did. I went into the bedroom, closing the door behind me and flopping down onto the bed beside Prim.
"These gross ones are yours." She tossed the small white paper bag onto my chest. I turned the top of it toward me, noting that she'd opened it to see if whatever Twain had brought for me was worth poaching, and smiled as soon as the smell hit me.
"They aren't gross," I smiled to myself, pulling one of the peanut butter cookies from the bag and taking a bite. They were still warm in the center, and I was halfway through the bag when I realized how bizarre this was. How completely foreign. Just a few months ago I'd have laughed at someone if they tried telling me there would be any point in my life that I'd happily be lounging in bed in the middle of winter plowing through half a dozen cookies without a second thought. I wondered if Twain had any real idea of how much he had done for us just through giving both my mother and I work, let alone the extra food that always seemed to find its way to our house. Prim hadn't looked so healthy in a long time.
I folded up the bag, suddenly feeling guilty for the gluttony, and set it down on the floor before turning onto my side. Prim sat up against the wall, a textbook in her lap, frowning at the page. I watched her absently suck powdered sugar from her fingertips as she read. There was a point last winter when she got so hungry she barely had the energy to cry. I had considered resorting to some seriously desperate measures then to keep us going until spring came around. With any luck by the time Peeta no longer needed my mother I'd have figured something out. And it wouldn't be much longer until I could legally drop out to work full time. Maybe Twain would take me on at the bakery. It'd certainly pay better than the mines. And be less likely to kill me.
The door opened, jerking me out of my train of thought. Mom poked her head in, smiling at me before saying, "We're all set, if you'd like to come out."
"Thanks," I smiled at her. I looked over at Prim as Mom moved back into the living room, leaving the door partially open. My sister was giving me a barely suppressed grin I did not like the look of one bit. "What?"
"Go hang out with your boyfriend," she teased as she nudged my hip with her toe. Her smile burst into giggles when I slapped her shin and got out of bed.
Peeta was standing by the window near the back porch with his arms folded against his chest. He glanced over his shoulder at me as I crossed the room to stand beside him. I returned his brief smile before he turned his attention outside. Lady had climbed up onto her shed, something I still wasn't entirely sure how she managed to accomplish; none of us actually ever saw her get up or get down.
"Your mom asked me to stay—for d-dinner," he said, chewing his lip.
"I hope you said yes." I smiled to myself.
"It would be d-dark afterward," he looked over at me. "It's a long walk—part of it you'd be alone."
"Peeta," I chuckled and raise an eyebrow at him. "I sneak outside the District before the sun comes up every day. One of my hobbies is killing things. You think I can't handle walking home from town by myself in the dark?" He laughed quietly, ducking his chin and rubbing his hand over his eyes as his face flushed lightly. I should have been insulted that he thought I was so incapable of taking care of myself, but his concern for my safety was oddly touching.
"Can we um, go outside?" he asked, glancing briefly toward the bedroom. "It's k-kind of hot in here."
"Yeah, hang on," I smiled and touched his arm before turning to go get my coat. Prim was standing in the bedroom doorway, half hidden behind the frame. Her grin broadened as I narrowed my eyes at her, and she ducked back into the bedroom before I got too close to her. I tugged my coat on and stepped into my boots, lifting his coat from the hook on the wall as well. He might run entirely too hot, but that didn't rule out him wanting it at some point out there.
I led Peeta out to the tiny back porch; really nothing more than a small landing and a set of rickety stairs. He held on to the crook of my elbow as we walked down them,then walked with me over to Lady's pen. I hung his coat on one of the posts before holding my hand out and snapping to get her attention. She was still up on the sloped roof of her shed, and she turned toward us. Her hooves thunked against the weather beaten tar shingles I'd nailed to an old door—both of which I'd had to salvage from an abandoned house nearby, along with the wood and chicken wire for the fence—when I rebuilt the pen over the summer. She stretched out her neck toward us, sniffing at my hand and briefly leaning into Peeta's as he scratched along her jaw. As soon as she realized neither of us had any food to offer she snapped back indignantly and turned her head away.
"She has more p-personality than our animals," Peeta smirked.
"I don't think you'd want animals you raised for food to have personalities." I raised an eyebrow at him. He laughed softly, shaking his head.
"The chickens aren't—neither are the d-ducks," he said, and reached out to drum his fingers against the roof of the shed. Lady stomped and shook her head in protest. He smiled at her. "The pigs are—but that doesn't make eating s-someone I f-feed every day any easier."
I looked over at him. Someone. I had a hard time seeing animals as anything beyond a resource, even when they were as full of personality as Lady and Buttercup. Lady brought us income, through her kids and her milk, when we could actually afford the stud fee that the Goat Man charged. Buttercup made Prim happy, and that was as valuable as any amount of food to me. Tending to the animals was possibly the only duty at the bakery I knew he still kept up with from time to time. They shared the small livestock they had with the tailor next door, splitting the daily eggs and the meat from the occasional slaughter. I looked over at Lady, thinking about how close we had come to eating her in the past, and how little remorse I'd felt over the notion. Peeta would be horrified.
"Your mom thinks I n-need a pet," he said, still watching Lady.
"You can have Buttercup. That hell beast loves you," I joked, turning toward him and leaning against the fence, shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat.
"Yeah, P-Prim would love that," he shook his head, smiling down at the ground.
"You could give her visitation rights," I said, drawing a gentle laugh out of him. "She'd love an excuse to drop in on the bakery. She thinks you're cute."
"She has q-questionable taste," Peeta chewed his lip, his gaze still turned down.
"Not really," I said, looking away when I realized what had come out of my mouth without a single conscious thought on the matter. So was that actually how I felt? I could feel him looking at me and feel the heat that was drawing to my face. I must have been bright red. I caught sight of Gale leaning against the railing of the Hawthornes' back porch, watching the two of us. He waved, and even from this distance I could see that stupid smug grin on his face. I snatched Peeta's coat from the railing. "Let's go in."
"Um, okay," he said, a hint of confusion in his voice. I walked behind him up the stairs, my hand hovering between his shoulder blades. Before going in I looked toward Gale. He cocked his head to the side and laid his hands over his heart. I held my arm out to flip him off as I followed Peeta into the
house.
We settled around the table for dinner with Peeta beside me. Mom hefted a crock of beef and noodles in a thick white gravy onto the table and spooned some out to each of us, an odd gesture she explained away by pointing out that the crock was hot. I think it was really just to spare Peeta the embarrassment of struggling to serve himself. Prim chattered away with Mom, and I tuned them out even more than I usually did, sneaking glances over at Peeta. His grip on his fork was odd; his hand curled around it as if he was trying to brace the handle against his palm with his fingers. He ate slowly and deliberately, with his hand shaking a bit, even moreso when he noticed that I saw it. I smiled at him and nudged his foot with mine under the table before turning back to my meal.
"Peeta," Prim lifted her chin and set her fork down. He looked up, slowing down mid-chew and raising his eyebrows. "Do you have a girlfriend?" He nearly choked, raising his hand to his mouth.
"Prim!" I snapped. She ignored me, waiting for her answer. Peeta shook his head and put his fork down on the edge of his plate.
"Have you ever had one?" Prim pushed on. Peeta cleared his throat, and I wasn't so busy glaring at Prim that I couldn't see him cast a nervous glance at me as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.
"N-no, I haven't," he said, chewing his lip and looking between me and Prim.
"Have you ever kissed a girl?" Prim asked, and I kicked her foot under the table. She just jerked her foot away, staring me down.
"He just said he hasn't had a girlfriend," I snapped before turning to Mom and staring at her in disbelief. Why wasn't she doing anything?
"So? Rory kissed Jenny Morgan, and she's not his girlfriend," Prim sneered.
"Yeah? Is that because you are?" I imitated her tone.
"Ladies," Mom cut us off finally, sitting up a bit. "Behave yourselves, please. I'd like Peeta to actually want to stay for dinner again in the foreseeable future." She cast an apologetic glance toward Peeta. He looked caught between terrified and amused.
The walk home in the dark proved to have a benefit I didn't think of. On our trips through the Seam, and especially when we got into town, I'd noticed the stares. People peering through their windows at us, and anyone we passed outside either stared or went out of their way to pretend we were invisible. It bothered the hell out of me. It must have been horrible for him. I did, however, manage to get the wheelchair stuck in a pothole I didn't see just before we got into town. He laughed it off, getting up to try to help me get it moving again. He didn't sit back down, though, instead walked the last short leg of the trip beside me, with one hand on the wheelchair to steady himself. I helped him up the bakery steps, parked the wheelchair just inside the mudroom, and said goodbye before heading home.
It was a few days before I worked at the bakery again, and I was surprised to find myself nearly rushing to get there. Peeta was already sitting in the kitchen when I arrived. He seemed as close to comfortable and relaxed as I'd seen him in a long damn time. He sat talking with Rye, the two of them too caught up in their conversation to see me coming in, hunched over a book, and arguing over a recipe. I hovered by the doorway, watching Peeta shoot Rye a glare and shove him away, catching sight of me in the same minute. His smile faltered briefly.
"Oh, hey, Catpiss." Rye looked over toward me, shoving Peeta right back, though far softer than he probably would have to anyone else. "You're just in time."
"For what?" I pulled one of the aprons off of the hook on the wall, watching Rye pat Peeta's back a little too hard as he passed behind him toward the ovens. Peeta dropped his gaze, scratching his fingers up under the edge of his hat and trying to hide the blush creeping onto his face.
"I wanted to make sure I c-could still make them," Peeta glanced up at me before looking over toward Rye to watch him open the ovens and pull out a tray of cookies. The small of warm cinnamon hit me before he even set the tray down. "B-before I try—teaching you."
"You made me your suck-up cookies?" I smiled, crossing the room to the table and leaning forward to get a better whiff. They smelled incredible. Peeta turned away, hiding a smile, and picked up a spatula from the counter behind him. I watched him scoop the cookies from the tray onto the cooling racks, smiling to myself at his hesitance, and the light tremble in his hand.
I tried getting him to help in the kitchen as much as I could, guiding him through what I knew he could do. Every now and then Twain would step in from the storefront, leaning against the wall by the door and watching with an approving smile. Peeta was nervous about his work, second guessing everything he did. The key to snapping him out of that, though, was invariably to get him to laugh. Even Rye seemed to pick up on that, and it was a good three hours before Peeta started wearing out.
The heat from the ovens had him drenched in sweat, and the two of us went out back to sit on the edge of the porch. I kept my jacket draped over my shoulders, a bag filled with the cookies he made sitting on the boards between us. He wouldn't let me try them until he'd had one first. They were delicious. Soft and buttery, just sweet enough for my taste.
"Thank you for those," I nodded toward the bag. "They're great."
"I'm g-glad I didn't lose that," he smiled to himself, glancing at the bag before looking out over the yard. His posture sagged a bit. He looked exhausted, but that smile never quite left his face.
"You've said that before," I said, watching him. He looked over at me, raising his eyebrows in question. "Said you're glad you didn't lose something. What do you mean? What have you lost?"
"Um—memories. Just—things I should be able to do," he frowned, dropping his gaze. "Even th-those. I c-couldn't do that without Rye helping." Peeta sighed. "I used t-to be able to tell when something was d-done—just by the smell in the kitchen. D-didn't have to check. It was always—perfect. N-now I c-can't even remember if I have s-something in the oven."
"Can't you learn that again?" I regretted the question as soon as it left my mouth. He looked at me with painful disappointment.
"That t-took my whole life," he said softly. I knew, logically, that fifteen years wasn't a long time in the grand scheme of things. That if he could learn it again, if it would come back to him at the same pace he learned it to begin with, he'd have that back by the time he turned 30. But that was still twice as long as either of us had been alive. "There's things I c-can't learn ag-again, though."
"What do you mean?" I asked, shifting a little closer. He pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands for a moment.
"M-memories. My family-" he pressed his eyes closed, clearly struggling with something. I waited, watching him quietly as his chin jerked to one side, and he tried to rub the twitching from his face, pressing his fingers into the muscle around his eye. "Dad had Mr. C-Cartwright here, a couple d-days ago. He was t-telling this story about—me. And my uncle. From when I was nine. I sh-should, um, remember th-that. But I d-didn't. None of it." I wasn't sure what to say to that, or if anything I could say would make things worse. Peeta looked out over the yard, his mouth twisting briefly. "Leaven d-d-died three years ago. I d-don't get any n-new—memories with him. What else d-did I lose?" He frowned, looking down at his hands and closing his eyes. I moved the bag of cookies and closed the gap between us, reaching out for his hand. He curled his fingers around mine, squeezing gently.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, not sure of what else to say. Or what else to even do. We sat in silence for a few minutes, the tension in him slowly easing. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, loosening his grip without quite letting go of my hand. "At least you didn't lose your suck-up cookies." He laughed softly, and I smiled in relief. I wasn't sure the joke would be well received. "So what are you trying to get out of me? That's what those are for, right?"
"N-nothing," he chuckled, his cheeks flushing as he looked away. I couldn't tell if he was lying, but I found myself hoping he was. There wasn't much he could have asked from me at that moment I wouldn't have done for him. I studied him, the gold of his hair in the late afternoon sun, the angle of his jaw, the way his tongue nervously darted over his lower lip before he snagged it in his teeth. He looked over at me, flashing a brief, almost shy smile that made me realize Madge was right. He was cute. Very cute. Handsome, even. And we were comfortable with each other. It really seemed like he could only be comfortable with me. He certainly wasn't around anyone else. I smiled back at him, looking out over the yard and trying to figure out how to keep him out here with me, away from Rye and Twain, for a little longer.
"Introduce me to your birds." I tossed my chin toward the chicken coop before looking back at him.
"Seriously?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," I nodded. He laughed, and as indignant as I felt about that I couldn't help but laugh with him. "What?"
"Just p-promise you won't k-kill any of them," he smirked as I stood up, holding out my hand to help him pull himself to his feet. "I know th-that's your favorite hobby."
"Shut up," I laughed, following him down the stairs and over toward the pen. Peeta kept close to the porch as he walked, one arm outstretched towards it, his fingertips running along the boards to help keep his balance. He paused at the corner, lifting the lid from a drum full of what looked like dried corn and grain, scooping some out with a pail that sat inside and passing it to me. He knew every one of the dozen speckled red hens by name, and pointed out how to differentiate them when I refused to believe he wasn't making it up. The hens were mean. They pecked at the toes of my boots and picked at the hem of my pants until Peeta shooed them away, tossing their feed to the other side of the pen to keep them from tormenting me any more. The ducks I didn't mind as much. They were docile enough, and they ate calmly from my hand when Peeta filled it with a bit of what was left in the bucket, crouching down beside me and leaning on me for balance.
"N-not interested in the p-pigs?" he smirked, glancing over at me as he latched the pen closed again.
"I'm interested in bacon," I said. "Does that count?" He rolled his eyes.
"They d-don't like leaving their shed now anyway—too c-cold," he looked toward their pen. I could hear them snuffling around in the shed. "And it st-stinks in there."
"That definitely gets me interested," I smirked. He gave me an odd look, the expression breaking into a laugh when I grinned at him. We went back into the house, and Peeta sat down at the table as I got back to work. Rye kept shooting looks my way in between moving out front to handle customers—Twain had gone upstairs to rest while Peeta and I were outside. It didn't take long for fatigue to completely overtake Peeta, too. I paused behind him, rubbing my hand over his shoulders and lowering my voice, leaning close for him to hear. "If you want to go upstairs to get some sleep then go. I'll see you Monday."
"I'm j-just um—very t-tired all of a sudden," he said, glancing toward me. He didn't need to point it out. I could see it in his face.
"Go on," I nodded toward the stairs, letting my hand slide down his arm.
"T-take those cookies home," he nodded toward the last of them as he stood.
"I will," I smiled to myself, watching him carefully cross the kitchen and climb the stairs. Rye was leaning in the doorway to the storefront, arms folded across his chest, that same stupid look on his face he'd been giving me since Peeta and I came back in. "What?"
"So you decided to do this, then," he nodded toward the stairs.
"Do what?" I dropped my shoulders and narrowed my eyes at him.
"You're not this dumb," he scoffed, crossing the room to me and pulling out a stool to sit at the table across from me. "You like him. I know you do. And I'm pretty sure you know you do now, so why don't you just say it so we can have this fucking conversation."
"What conversation?" I snapped. He just raised an eyebrow, folded his arms against the edge of the table, and waited. "Fine!" I threw my hands up. "I like him. I'm pretty sure I like him a lot, actually. Why? What 'conversation' do we need to have?"
"He likes you. A lot," Rye said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "And you need to not fuck this up by being... you."
"What the hell does that mean?" I frowned.
"Katniss, I know this might come as a shock," his sarcasm returned full force. "You're an idiot about social interaction. And Peeta kind of is now, too, though his idiocy is acquired. Six months ago he'd have probably already sweet talked his way under your shirt, if not into your pants at this point."
"I thought he hadn't had any girlfriends." I sat up a little straighter, wondering who Rye was talking about, and why it was making me feel—jealous.
"He hasn't, and I'm not saying he put that ability to use, just that he had it," he shook his head, scratching his hand through his hair. "He doesn't get what you're doing. Not that you do either, but- look. You need to be more direct, but if you just throw yourself at him it will probably scare the shit out of him."
"If you're trying to give me advice please stop dancing around it and just say it," I said without bothering to mask my impatience.
"Be patient," he said. I raised an eyebrow. That was the point of this big conversation? "You're deciding to do this, and I'm glad, because watching you pretend otherwise was fucking painful, but now you stay with it until he's done with you."
"Excuse me?" I folded my arms over my chest. Rye blew out a breath, looking at me with nothing but honesty; his expression almost pleading. It was unsettling; he was never anything but a smarmy ass around me.
"If you give him the time and space he needs to be the person he wants to be for you," he paused, shaking his head briefly before looking back up at me. "You won't ever get tired of him. But you need to stay with this. Don't just give up. On any of it. Understand?"
"Yeah," I chewed my lip, dropping my eyes to the table as the bell in the storefront rang. Rye slapped his hand lightly against the tabletop before getting up to go out front. I turned the idea over in my head, trying to figure out what he meant. And it didn't escape me that he pointed out that Peeta liked me. I had to process that piece of information along with the rest of it. At least that was straightforward. But the rest of what he had to say felt like there was a layer of meaning I wasn't grasping, and I didn't like it.
Big ups to my husband for struggling through the flu to get this chapter edited. That is some serious dedication. Everybody thank him, he was a real champ today. Find us on tumblr! He's yourpeetaisshowing, I'm alonglineofbread.