3
Katniss is just finishing a four-mile run when she jogs up the sidewalk right outside The Hob. She tries to tell herself that it's just a coincidence that she ran over to the bar on running club night. She's ended her run here lots of times in the past, rather than drive over. It has nothing to do with a blue-eyed, blond who just might be setting up the check-in table tonight.
But he's not at the check-in table; Delly's there instead. The snacks are all set up inside: orange slices, the big soft pretzels and water again. Katniss finds herself drawn to the aroma of freshly baked bread and she edges over to the snack table out of curiosity. Could these pretzels possibly be homemade? She touches the edge of one and finds it still warm. She's just about to pick it up when a voice startles her from behind.
"You'll have to tell me what you think," Peeta says.
Katniss' fingers edge back from the table. "Oh, um, I'm not in the club," she mumbles.
"It's fine," he says, and she can actually hear the smile in his voice.
She chances a quick look at him, and yes, he's still gorgeous, today in a faded blue t-shirt and gray baseball cap. Holy shit, she's never seen anyone that looks as good as this boy.
"You, uh…you're a runner, too?" Peeta asks. He picks up the pretzel she was eyeing earlier and extends his hand, offering it to her.
"Thanks," she whispers, barely audible. She takes the pretzel and tears off a bite, popping it into her mouth. Immediately her eyes widen. It's really, really good.
Peeta laughs, and if she thought his face was carved by angels then she most definitely thinks his laughter is one of the most beautiful sounds she's ever heard.
"So what do you think? Does it need more salt?" he asks and she gives him a curious look.
She shrugs, not willing to commit to having an actual conversation with this overly friendly Greek god. He's way out of her league anyway, she thinks. He's probably with that Delly chick.
"Well, have as many as you want," Peeta continues, when it's clear she isn't going to speak up. "And you should run with us sometime. We'd love to have you join us."
"Maybe," she says softly, still not looking him in the eye. She gives him one more barely polite nod before she walks away.
….
She keeps tabs on him, after that; she can't help it. Even though she won't talk to him and he tries to talk to her every single time he sees her in the bar.
She watches as he interacts with the other runners; she watches him stretch before he runs; she watches him set out the snacks early before the other runners arrive. She knows that he drives a rather beat up vintage looking Jeep and that he keeps the music up really loud but he always turns it down just as he turns into the parking lot.
She sees him staring at her, but he always looks away when she notices and she pretends right back that she never saw him. When he does approach her, she barely looks at him—it's like looking into a blinding light! But he's unfailingly polite. Continuing to ask her questions about how her week is going, despite her one-word responses.
It's gotten to the point where she inwardly groans when she sees him coming—both uneasy and excited by his presence. And yet she hasn't missed the chance to be at the bar on running club night in a long time. Gale and Haymitch have both noticed.
"Looks like your boy is right on time," Haymitch says, gesturing toward the glass windows where Peeta's Jeep just pulled up outside, without even looking up from his paper.
Katniss snorts. "Are you talking to me?"
"That's why you're here, isn't it?" Haymitch returns. "To pretend that you don't notice him while you secretly track his every move around this bar?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Katniss says, but the fire has gone out of her voice.
"He's a good kid. You should give him a chance," is all Haymitch says. Then he folds up his paper and tips it in her direction before he takes off out the back door.
Gale comes into the front room from the warehouse just as Haymitch is leaving and Katniss is already abandoning her spot at the bar. "What? Leaving already?" he asks her. "You'll miss the snacks." She doesn't miss the sarcastic tone of his voice or the smirk on his face.
"Screw you," she retorts.
"You missed your chance a long time ago," Gale throws right back, but he's laughing and she knows he's just messing with her. It's true that he once had feelings for her that went much deeper than their long-standing friendship, but one kiss proved that there was absolutely no romantic chemistry between the two of them.
She rolls her eyes at him now and bends to pick up her bag from the floor where it lays. At that exact moment Peeta enters the bar, and although Katniss misses the appreciative glance he gives her backside as she retrieves her bag, Gale certainly does not.
"What's up man," he says to Peeta, whose eyes immediately dart to Gale's face, a bit of guilt discernable in the vivid blue hue.
"Not much," Peeta returns.
Katniss' back stiffens, hearing Peeta's voice, and she braces herself for yet another awkward encounter where she can barely speak and bumbles over her words when she does. She turns slowly, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and biting her lip as she glances at Peeta. As soon as he catches her eye he gives her a small, shy smiles and lifts his hand in a short wave as a greeting.
She returns the gesture, lifting her hand in a quick greeting, then turns to Gale. "I'm headed out," she says. "See you tomorrow."
"Bye Catnip," Gale says, but the smirk is still on his face.
Head down, Katniss makes her way toward the door, passing Peeta who seems frozen in the same spot since he entered. She can feel his eyes following her progress and she tries, she really does, but she can't help but glance at him when she passes him. He's staring right at her with a very earnest look on his face, that she can't quite decipher. And it's perhaps because she's puzzling over this, but mostly because she's not watching where she's going, that the next thing she knows she has walked right into the glass door leading outside.
She feels the clunk of the cool glass making contact with her face, and although she wasn't walking very fast and she didn't hit her head very hard, it still shocks her and hurts, too. "Fuck!" she says, reflexively putting her hand up to touch her forehead where it knocked into the glass.
Peeta is immediately by her side. "Oh my God are you okay?" he asks. His hand is on her shoulder and suddenly her face is numb and the only thing she can feel is the place where his hand rests against her shirt. She's certain her face is as red as a tomato now and she can't look him in the face.
"I'm fine," she says. "Thanks." Her eyes flit up to his concerned ones quickly and then she pushes open the door and hurries out.
'What in the hell is wrong with me?' she thinks. If there was any doubt before, she's certain now that Peeta Mellark must think she is a complete idiot.