Katniss Everdeen shows up at my door for the first time that next spring. The mine accident had taken her father about a year ago and I'd heard rumors that her family wasn't faring well. Peeta hasn't spoken about her in awhile, but I still think he's got a thing for her. The way he gets temporarily distracted when she and her sister pass by the window or how he makes a habit of walking home the same route as they do. Little things, but they don't escape me.

I wonder if I should get him now. But Katniss holds up a squirrel before I can make a decision.

"Trade?" she asks. "For some bread?"

I take the thing and look it over, searching for the puncture. She must have hunted it illegally. Then I see how she's killed it.

"You shot it in the eye, didn't you?" I ask quietly.

She nods tersely. "With a bow."

I don't say anything else. I just go inside, get two small loaves of fresh bread, and make the trade. Technically, I should have given her only one loaf, but Peeta likes her and it makes me feel better to know I'm doing something for her mother. No shame in giving someone a bit of help.

That night at dinner, my wife eyes the squirrel meat wearily. "Where'd you get this?" she asks.

"Cray was trading them for the heels of bread. To make bread pudding." I lie.

She eyes me. "You payed him the heel? No one asks for the heel."

I nod and take a bite.

My boys don't seem to care where I got it. It's been so long since we had fresh meat. It's been winter and the trades have been more for paraffin and wool - not game. Despite her grumbling, their mother inhales the meat leading me to believe she was just as ready for fresh food as the rest of us. She catches me looking at her and glares at me. "I've got to deal with the budget."

She's better with numbers than I am. I bake. She handles the money. That's how we keep the equilibrium.

Peeta watches as his mother lays down her fork and leaves the room. At thirteen, he's more observant than most kids his age. It's my own personal theory that baking replenishes the soul. It's quiet, rhythmic, and allows you to think. "Dad, where did you actually get the meat?" he asks once she's out of earshot.

Shrugging, I take another bite. "Traded it."

"But surely not with Cray. He couldn't catch a squirrel if it was sitting on his boot," his brother says. "How he got the job of Head Peacekeeper is beyond me. I guess human targets are larger - easier to hit."

"And no one trades for heels. Not even for pudding."

My boys are much too clever for their own good. "The little Everdeen girl was over here earlier," I say, careful not to make eye contact with Peeta. "She killed this squirrel with an arrow to the eye and I was so impressed I gave her some bread for it."

Peeta, who'd taken a sip of water, chokes and has to be pounded on the back. Eyes streaming, his face has turned the color of beets. "K-Katniss killed this? She was here?" he wheezes.

I nod, glancing quickly at the other boys who are smirking at their younger brother. I hold their gaze and shake my head ever so slightly.

My wife reenters the room. "Where the hell -" she scans the room and notices Peeta, who's now so red he's hard not to notice. "Peeta," she says sharply. "Dear God, are you catching something? Your face is red as a raspberry."

"It's - um - very hot in here," Peeta mutters, standing up. "I'll go splash my face."

His brothers roll their eyes at each other. When their mother leaves the room again, I take the chance to say something to them. "Don't tease him."

"But Dad, he -"

"I know," I say wearily. "Just, let him alone, okay?"