It was Saturday morning. The pastry shop Peeta had rebuilt from scratch was full of people and he beamed at the sight. Most of the costumers were young people, none of them older than forty years old, and for that he was thankful. Older costumers had known his father when he was Peeta's age, they knew how much better the father was than the son, and insidious feelings of inadequacy began to settle in as soon as they came into the shop. It was even worse when they talked to Peeta about his father's suicide.

Peeta sighed. It would have been good to have his father with him, not only as his best friend, but also to teach him the family secrets that had been forever lost, and that Peeta tried so hard to recreate. He still had a lot to learn, and he was trying his best, but it didn't seem to be enough. His mother never really approved the reopening of the pastry shop, but she hadn't exactly wanted him to go to college either. In a way, he knew he was exactly at the place where he should be. Being a baker like his father, even if it meant tiring himself all day, struggling with business, listening to his mother's complaints. Sometimes she would come to the pastry shop and, even though she didn't offer much help, she drove him and Thresh - his employee - crazy with her veiled insults and uncalled criticism. Thank God for her new boyfriend. Now she was mostly absent, and Peeta wanted to thank the poor man for that. He wished him luck.

His father's death, when Peeta was only eighteen, had hindered any possibility of a future outside the small town of New Panem and had driven him into depression. His brothers had been long gone to New York City, their studies recently finished, but their condition was also precarious: being in their early twenties, they couldn't help much. As a result, Peeta took his father's place. But his father hadn't left anything as simple as a recipe book. There were no notes, no help: for everything he achieved, for every successful recreation he conquered, he had no one to thank for but his own memory, creativity and palate.

His days began long before dawn, as he meticulously crafted each pastry, hoping it would work out well. The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, drawing in a steady stream of customers who praised his skills. Still, every croissant or cake still felt like a feeble attempt to honor his father's legacy.

Peeta chewed his fourth slice of cake. He had learned to compensate his anxiety with food; as a result, he had gained some weight and, although he was only slightly overweight, it affected his confidence even further. Especially with girls.

The door opened and he swallowed the bite of cake hastily. It was her, finally. Not having seen her for the last three weeks, he prayed he wouldn't embarrass himself now that she was finally here.

In the past few months, Peeta had found himself gradually infatuated with this girl. Infatuations were not out of character for him, but he usually overcame them before he got the courage to try to do something about them. This time, however, it didn't seem to be going away by itself.

Now, gray eyes looked brightly at him from the other side of the counter and he decided to give it a try.

"Long time no see," Peeta heard himself say, fighting against the violent thumping in his chest. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about us."

The girl looked around her surroundings, confused. When she realized there was no one next to her, she looked at Peeta and asked, "You actually mean me?"

The girl of the chocolate cake - as he referred to her in his mind - used to come to Mellark's every Saturday morning. Each time she came, she purchased two slices of chocolate cake to go and left without giving Peeta much chance for small talk.

Though he had seen her around since childhood, Peeta had never truly noticed her until recently. They had attended the same school, in the same year, but not the same class, and they had never interacted with each other before she started coming to the bakery. He remembered her sitting alone at school, always wearing a braid and having a permanent scowl on her face. Not exactly pleasant or desirable to approach.

On closer inspection, though, she looked frank and kind. And she was gorgeous, with her long ebony curls, those gray eyes and olive skin. In their few interactions she had seemed serious but playful, almost sweet, which contradicted the previous mental image he had of her. Seeing how men stared at her now, he admonished himself for having never noticed her before. He could have taken a chance with her in high school, had he not been so blind.

"Yeah. You buy two slices of chocolate cake every Saturday morning," Peeta grinned, and she blushed.

God, she was so adorable.

"That's right."

"So you want your usual or something new?"

"The usual."

Peeta picked the two biggest and yummiest slices and put them slowly and carefully into a white bag that read Mellark's.

"I thought you'd abandoned us for good," he smiled. He wasn't sure if he had ever learned her name. At least he couldn't remember it, and he felt the need to introduce himself. "I'm Peeta Mellark, by the way."

He extended his hand, and she shook it carefully. Her eyes followed his big hand as it wrapped around her small one, and he hoped she didn't notice the flour in his wrist.

"Katniss Everdeen. And no, there's no chance I'd ever stay away from this cake," she giggled awkwardly. "It tastes like... Like home. It was my favorite treat growing up."

"My father created the recipe," Peeta said proudly. Her eyes grew somber. Everyone in town knew what had happened to Mr. Mellark. No, no, no. He didn't want to spoil their first real conversation. "But I'm the one who bakes the cakes now. I'm the only person who knows the recipes."

Her eyes widened in awe. "Oh. They're really good. Better than anything I've ever tasted in New York, and trust me, I've tried to find a good substitute."

Peeta's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know if it was pride for the compliment or fear that Katniss would find a bakery that she liked better than his.

"So you spend all week in New York and the weekend here?" he asked.

She nodded.

"College?" he asked.

She nodded again. He had figured as much. She had been out of town for years now - that much he knew. There was no way their paths wouldn't have crossed if that wasn't the case.

"Hey, it must be exciting. I never got to go. I wish I could experience that college life."

"It's overrated," she grimaced. "Too boring if you're not the partying type."

"But it must be more exciting than baking day after day after day, no?"

Stupid thing to say. Why was he trying to convince the girl how boring his life was? Why was he disagreeing with her just to keep her talking?

Her eyes widened. "But being a baker is so cool! I mean, who wouldn't want to eat these cakes for free? And the way this place smells, it's so good. You must smell like cake even after a shower."

Katniss blushed furiously at her own words, her eyes closing in embarrassment . "Well, I'd rather be a baker than count the days until I can finally come back home," she concluded.

Peeta laughed. Something about her wondering the way he smelled after a shower sat well with him. Things were going better than expected. "We can arrange that," he bantered. "You can get a job here when you graduate."

She giggled awkwardly. "I may take you up on that offer one day, but only if you promise you'll teach me your secret recipes."

"That's one step forward," he replied casually. "To learn the Mellark family recipes you'll eventually need to become part of the Mellark family."

Katniss' eyes widened as she attempted to make sense of Peeta's words. His throat went dry. Fuck, he had ruined everything. What the fuck was he even suggesting? He could pinpoint the exact moment in which Katniss understood the implication, because then she blushed furiously. It was over. Time for damage control.

He gave her the bag with her purchase inside. "There, your cake."

She blinked. "Oh, thanks. How much -"

"It's on the house."

"Oh, there's no need –"

"I insist."

Katniss gave him a funny look. "But I have money."

"Save it," Peeta said. "Come here and buy more cake tomorrow."

She smiled. "Maybe I will. You're taking me hostage with your cakes, aren't you?"

"That's the plan."

Katniss blushed and nodded, realization apparently downing on her again. "Um, thank you..." She appraised him discretely. "See you tomorrow, then."

Peeta closed his eyes, mortified. He had been too forward. She was shy, she probably hated his approach. It was over.

But at least he had tried.

Katniss came back the next day, and every day of every weekend after that.

He learned a few things about her. That she studied journalism. That her second slice of cake was for her younger sister. That she laughed a lot with his friendly banter.

But there was one thing he still didn't dare ask: was she single? If so, would she be available to go out with him on a date?