When the bakery opened, the entire district poured in. Peeta had not made a formal announcement about the opening, but somehow everyone seemed to instinctively know. With the mines shutting down and a rumor about a medicine factory on the horizon but not confirmed, there was little else to gossip about in the district as we worked to slowly rebuild our home.
Thus, the opening of the bakery was a symbol of all the good to come in the future of the district. It showed that we could rebuild, and not just our town but our lives there as well. Peeta had not set out to make any such bold statements, and yet they attached themselves effortlessly to his work.
Fortunately, the news didn't travel to the Capitol in time for the opening. So while everyone in town crowded around the still rather desolate square, waiting for a chance to enter the shop, at least there were no cameras or reporters present to document the occasion. As we collected ourselves in the kitchen, Peeta frantically running from one task to the next, me just trying to stay out of the way, I was thankful that at least the opening of the bakery was only a district celebration for the time being. From the manner in which he paced nervously through the open expanse of the kitchen, I didn't think Peeta would be able to handle much more attention.
"You can postpone the opening," I told him as I watched him recheck the doughs and batters for the tenth time.
He gave me a dry laugh, not even looking up from his task, "Have you seen everyone gathered out there?" he asked. Though his voice was calm, he was anything but.
"They'll be hungry tomorrow too." Though I knew how much the opening of the bakery meant to him, I tried to downplay its importance as much as possible. He'd tossed and turned all night as was evident from the dark bags under his eyes and my own lack of sleep.
He ignored me as he moved to a bowl on the long working counter. Taking the dishtowel off the top, he dabbed his hands in flour before tipping the bowl and pulling the dough out. He worked it almost maniacally. "Can you check the loaves in the oven?" he asked.
Sliding from my stool, I pulled on a pair of oven mitts as I crossed to the large brick oven. With our victor money, Peeta could have bought the most advanced technology Panem had to offer. Instead, he'd rebuilt the bakery almost exactly the same as it had been, with only a few minor improvements. He'd even rebuilt the attached home, though he spent all his time in the Victors' Village and I didn't foresee him moving back into town.
Opening the oven, I took a step back from the heat that smacked me in the face. It brought a few memories to mind, but I shook them away as I stepped back and waited for the heat to dissipate. Who would have thought that the Girl on Fire would feel uneasy around a simple oven? "They look brownish, but I honestly can't tell cooked from uncooked, Peeta."
"Go ahead and take them out," he said. "I'll come check in a minute."
So I did as I was told, adding them to the closest table where Peeta already had the trays lined up that would go into the display in the front of the store. I had no idea how early he'd gotten up to start preparation, but I'd woken up with the sun and his side of the bed had already turned cold.
"Try one of the loaves," he told me as I pulled the last one from the oven and shut the door.
Maneuvering around the kitchen, I finally found a knife. After selecting the smallest of the loaves, I cut a large piece from the center of the loaf. I still couldn't tell if it needed to cook longer, but it seemed fine to me.
It only took a moment to realize what type of bread he had made for the first batch. My swallow caught in my throat as I studied the appearance of the bread. When the realization hit me, I almost dropped the slice. Raisin and nut loaf. Could he have possibly remembered, after all those years? It was one thing for him to remember the moment, but the details were another thing.
"Peeta." The word was barely a whisper, yet I still managed to choke on it as I stared down at the bread in my hand.
"It is that bad?" he asked, sounding panicked. "I made it from memory, so I know the proportions are probably a little off, but I thought it would be close."
If he remembered, he didn't show it. He didn't even look up from the dough, which he was already sculpting into the next batch of loaves. I, however, couldn't let go of the memory. But I did let go of the bread. Setting it on the table, I took a step away. Wiping my hands against the legs of my pants, I moved toward Peeta.
"I'm going to go wait outside with everyone else," I told him, only making the decision as I said it. It was too much to be in this place, with this boy and that bread.
He looked up then in surprise. I knew I owed him an explanation, but the words would not come. Instead, I pulled him to me in a hug. A white cloud of flour puffed around us as the front of his apron collided with my jacket, but neither of us laughed. Wrapping my arms around his back, I selfishly held him tight as I tucked my face against the crook of his neck and inhaled.
My boy with the raisin and nut bread, who had taken a beating from his mother to toss me a few loaves. Who had rebuilt the bakery with his own two hands in honor of the family he hadn't even been too close to. He would never stop amazing me.
"You are going to do great day," I told him as I reluctantly pulled away. "You already have," I amended. "You're amazing." And he was. Nothing could hold him down forever, and nothing would break him past rebuilding. He still wasn't entirely his old self; I wasn't sure if he ever would be completely, but he had come so far and had worked tirelessly. Standing there in the kitchen, flour streaked across a cheek, hands covered in a mixture flour and dough, it was the spitting image of the boy I remembered growing up. Closing my eyes briefly, I vowed to memorize the moment.
"I'm going to go," I said again, because I had already distracted him for far too long. With a quick swipe of my thumb I brushed the flour from his cheek. "I'll be outside with everyone else when you're ready." I didn't remind him that he could postpone if he needed to, because I knew in that moment that he was ready.
I snuck out the back to draw as little attention as possible. The opening of the bakery was Peeta's accomplishment, and I didn't want to take anything away from it. He had worked so hard and deserved all the attention the bakery was sure to bring.
My eyes scanned the crowd as I rounded the side of the building. When they landed on Haymitch, I laughed aloud in surprise. He barely left his house, except when Peeta or I dragged him out to join us for a meal. And he never left the Victors' Village except to meet the train at the station for his delivery of poison from the Capitol.
A biting remark was on the tip of my tongue. Something along the lines of, 'I didn't know those rusted old joints of yours could even move anymore'. But the sight of him there, surrounded by others he hated to mingle with, was enough to shut me up.
As I reached his side, I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face against his side. His stale smell of booze and grime stood in stark contrast to Peeta's sweet aroma, but for the moment I didn't care. It was difficult to say which one of us was more surprised by the impromptu hug, though his arm did come around me and gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze as if he understood.
When I pulled away, I made no attempt to explain myself. I doubted I could have even if I had wanted to. The emotions coursing through me were suffocating. "Do you think we finally did it?" I asked, shoving my hands into my pockets to prevent anymore displays of affection.
"Did what?" Haymitch asked gruffly. You could tell it was earlier than he was used to being up, yet he had a surprising air to him. Almost as if he was sober for once. Almost, apart from the stench.
"Saved Peeta." I remembered the promise we had made, after I got wasted in an empty house in the village. When I hadn't known the reasons behind my own desires.
Haymitch's smile was crinkled, but it still appeared across his aged face. From the looks of him, I could have sworn he'd actually bathed before leaving the house though he certainly didn't smell like it. I, apparently, was not the only one proud of Peeta and trying to show it. "I guess we'll see," was all he said. It was enough.
We waited in line with everyone else as Peeta unlocked the front door and ushered the first wave of excited people in. It became an all-day event as food disappeared out of the displays as quickly as he set it out. The chatter among the waiting was excited and hopeful, and it was the happiest I'd seen people since our return to Twelve.
Haymitch and I shied away from engaging in conversations. We stood in peaceful silence next to each other as conversations swirled around us. A few people came up to exchange pleasantries - Greasy Sae, Hazelle - but for the most part we were simply left alone. Both of us preferred it that way.
As the crowd slowly thinned, Haymitch made no move to enter the bakery. I followed his lead. The last of the waiting crowd filed in and dispersed. Still we waited outside. On a glance over at Haymitch, I could have sworn I saw tears in the corner of his eye, but he never let them slip. I followed his lead there as well.
Once the town square became vacant Peeta exited the bakery, a load of bread in either hand. As he reached us, he extended one to each of us. Haymitch took one sniff of his before accepting it. With his free hand, he clasped Peeta on the shoulder, "I've had better at the Capitol," he said in a flat tone, "but it'll do, Kid." Squeezing Peeta's shoulder, he tilted his head in acknowledgement and then headed back home without another word.
As I took Peeta's offering, I realized it wasn't a loaf of bread after all, but a cheese bun. Seeing the look of delight on my face, he laughed. "Those are not available to the public yet," he said in a mock whisper, "so don't go spreading the word about it."
He moved to stand beside me, facing the bakery. His bakery. Resting my head against his shoulder, I thanked him. "For everything," I added, not even sure he would know what everything entailed but needing to say it regardless.
"Always," he told me with a smile, wrapping his arm around my waist. We stood in silence, staring down his remarkable accomplishment, until a few late visitors approached to enter the store.
He looked apologetic as he pulled away. "Don't worry about me," I told him. "I've got nothing else on the agenda for today. I'll wait until you close up." With a smile, I added, "Just remember to bring me out another cheese bun for sustenance if it starts to get late."
"Of course," he agreed smartly. He leaned in to kiss my cheek, but I turned my head at the last moment. It was a sloppy kiss with noses bumping against each other as his lips pressed to the corner of my mouth. And it was quick as he pulled away and darted back toward the bakery for his waiting customers. He didn't have a chance to ask, and I didn't have to explain.
With a smile, I tore off a piece of cheese bun and plopped it into my mouth.