"Looks like I'm going to have to hire a second set of hands at the bakery," he says.
I'm so relaxed his words startle me. I'd forgotten he was lying beside me. "Oh?" I ask, my eyes trying to find their place again on the page of the book of poems in my hands. A borrowed gift from Hazelle, I handle it carefully. My finger lightly traces the slightly uneven lines of writing as I try to pick up where I left off.
With a loud yawn, he gives a sound to affirm. I hear the scratching of his palm against the light stubble on his cheeks. He's been working so hard lately, he hasn't taken the time to shave since his birthday.
"I hope you weren't banking on this pair of hands," I respond, finally locating my last reading position. Though now that we've struck up conversation, I hold my place with my finger and focus on his words.
"Would not dream of it," he replies. "A mud pie, after all, does not actually call for real mud."
"Well now, that's just where people are missing out, I tell you."
"I put a sign up in the front window this morning."
This statement catches my full attention. Pulling the ribbon out from between the cover of the notebook and the first page, I mark my place and carefully close the cover. "Already?" I ask, surprised. Peeta is usually so methodical about everything related to the bakery. It's hard to believe he already took a step toward a change.
"Mmmhmmm. You wouldn't believe the number of inquiries I got today alone."
"And, pray tell, how many of them came from beautiful teenaged girls?" I ask.
"Quite a few, actually. More than half." He pauses, as if mentally calculating. "More than three quarters actually."
Rolling my eyes, I set the book on the nightstand. I'm too tired to focus on it anyway, and now my curiosity has been peaked. "How many of them did you interview?"
"Why, Katniss Everdeen," he says in a conspiring tone, "is that jealousy I hear?"
"You hear no such thing," I retort promptly, though it is a bit of a lie. I'm not stupid, after all. It only takes a quarter of an hour of sitting at a table in the bakery to catch the wistful way they all watch Peeta, fantasy dreams sparkling in their eyes.
"You," he says, shifting closer and placing a kiss on the exposed shoulder that has slipped out of the neckline of his shirt I'm wearing, "are a terrible liar."
"I am a masterful liar," I object. "Perhaps I fake the awful lies so you do not catch the real ones."
He thinks about it for a moment as his hand reaches for my waist, lifting the hem up to touch my skin. His hands are as warm as my own skin. Everything in the room feels warm tonight. The slight wind from earlier this afternoon has died completely, and the open window does little to cool us. "No," he finally decides, "you aren't that talented."
I scoff at his teasing. "Thanks."
My eyes flutter halfway between opened and closed as his fingers trace ever so lightly across my skin. His fingertips are the wings of butterflies, flitting gracefully along the surface. It was another hot day out, but it feels like the weather is gradually taking the turn towards the cooler offerings of fall. It cannot come soon enough, though I know by winter I will be wishing for the kiss of the sun.
When his hand touches the locket dangling around my neck, he pauses. His body shifts slightly on the bed behind me, some of his weight pressing into my back as he leans to look over my shoulder. I don't usually wear it, but I had happened across it this morning and, on a whim, pulled it on. "I didn't know you still had this." His fingers trace the raised metal bars designed into the cover.
"Of course." His thumb toys with the clasp but leaves it closed. It causes me to wonder what he's thinking. About Gale, Prim, my mother, or something or someone else entirely. His own family, perhaps. That he had been right, in the arena. That no one would be left to miss him. That I would still have people who loved me.
Though perhaps he hadn't been right about everything.
Following my own thoughts, I slide my nail into it and pop the locket open when he decides not to. He has the right to see. I think it might ease any worries clouding his mind. Hoisting myself up into a seated position, my back protesting after the long day it's had, I gather the locket and the chain and pull it off over my head. Collecting it in the palm of my hand, I gently hand it over.
Only one of the original pictures occupies the locket. Prim. Always and forever, Prim will remain. But the photo of Gale has been replaced with a photo of Peeta and myself, taken one night after dinner on a whim. The angle of the photograph is tilted, as Haymitch had been too lazy to drag himself from the couch to set the camera properly. The one of my mother I replaced with a small copy of my parents' wedding photo. I toyed with the idea of putting a photo of Haymitch or Effie in its place. After all, I see both of them more often than I see my mother. But I haven't the heart to remove her completely.
"You are part of my family now," I tell him softly, almost embarrassed by the proclamation though it's been the truth for so long now. I wouldn't have survived the Games if it hadn't been for Peeta. I wouldn't have survived the grief after the War if it wasn't for him. I would likely still be a dirty and angry ball of grime curled in a ball on the couch, living off of Greasy Sae's kindness alone. And even at the time I had realized that kindness wouldn't last forever if I didn't try.
I'm trying now. Every single day. I find reasons to want to get out of bed. I find reasons to want to make it to the next day. A lot of the reasons are thanks to Peeta. "I hope I've told you that. I hope you realize it," I tell him when he doesn't respond.
A flash of struggle crosses his face. It lasts only a moment and then disappears without a trace, but I'm certain I saw it. I try not to dwell on it and wonder what it means. It's been a long day, and I don't want to let my brain start down a dark path for no justified reason. So I revert back to our previous conversation. "And I'm not jealous," I insist. "I just think you might be better off hiring someone like Greasy Sae than a young twit with no experience. That's all."
His mouth returns to a smile I prefer. "Whatever you say," he concedes as he pulls me closer.