There were benefits to having Finnick's mother and added mother figure living on either side of them. Annie couldn't think of any right now, but she was certain they existed.

She sawed at the chicken with more gusto than was probably necessary. It didn't make her feel better. In forty-five minutes, they would both be here, expecting food, and she had started perhaps half of the dishes – okay, she'd really only finished dessert, and she'd already eaten a few of the cookies because they relieved at least a little of the stress. "Where are you, Finn? You were supposed to get back an hour ago." She didn't want to be mad at her fiancée for helping Mags in the garden, but that wasn't going to stop her.

No time for that. Okay, seasoning for the chicken. A quarter cup of lemon juice, three cloves of garlic, salt and pepper to taste, and a t each of coriander, turmeric, cumin, and cayenne. The hell was a t? Annie grabbed for the first measuring spoon she found. Tablespoon, yeah that'd be it. She dumped the ingredients in the bowl, gave them a quick mix, and started to coat the chicken with the spice mixture. She could handle this.

In the oven meant almost ready to go. Great. Annie only looked up from her work when she heard the screen door slam. "How are you holding up?" Finnick asked as he came inside, stopping when he saw her. "What happened to you?"

She held up the kitchen knife. "Want to ask that again?"

"I mean, how about you drop that and go upstairs to get ready while I clean up the kitchen?" He matched his word with that charming grin that he had down to a science.

"That sounds better." Annie glanced around, wincing at the mess she'd made. Flour had a bit of a tendency to get everywhere. "You're sure you can get it all?"

"No, but I know that I haven't done my part all afternoon, and I'm sure you don't want to stay in your flour-stained dress any longer than you have to. I gotta say, though, that pattern you've got going is pretty snazzy."

"Odair, I'm not sure if I want to kiss you or kill you." She settled for a kiss to his jaw.

"Or be me?"

Why had she put down that knife again?

Until she bit down on a bite of searingly spicy chicken, dinner had been going quite well. Annie tried to hide her reaction behind a fake cough, but water wasn't cutting it. Nope, she couldn't get up now, so she'd just have to suffer through it. More water would help.

Ugh, had she just gotten a bad bite? She scanned the faces of the others. Mags hadn't taken a bite yet, nor had Finnick's mother, so no clues there. When she met Finnick's eyes, she knew she hadn't just had bad luck. Oh dear.

There was a very real possibility that both of her future mother-in-laws (she refused to think of them in any other way) were both about to instantaneously combust after eating the chicken she'd made for them. Okay, not a very real possibility, but it wasn't completely impossible. In either case, they wouldn't be happy. Could the world offer her the mercy of just melting into the floor right now?

"I think I over-spiced the chicken."

Finnick, what do you think you're doing? He took another bite. "Yeah, I definitely added some extra cayenne or something. Mind if I take your dishes and we start on dessert a little early? Annie made these cookies that look great."

He really made it almost too easy to fall more and more in love with him, didn't he?