Epilogue

The sun is not yet in the sky when my husband Peeta and I arrive at the mine's entrance to begin work.

"I really think you should quit soon, honey," Peeta is telling me for the third time since we got up this morning, as we pass each other our headlamps off the rack. "You miss the woods, I can tell, and... I worry that something's going to happen to you."

I smirk at him, plopping his helmet fully on his head as I give him an apologetic kiss. "Well, maybe I will quit... if I have a good enough reason to. Like, say... if we get pregnant."

Peeta nearly trips over his own two feet as he spins around from where he's been punching our clocks, to stare at me in amazement. "Katniss Everdeen Mellark, are you trying to tell me something?"

I grin impishly. "Nope. Believe me, if I was knocked up, you would know." I shrug. "But perhaps... someday."

Peeta has been begging me for the last ten years of our marriage to agree to having children. And every time, I have refused. Willow, our niece, is just a year away from becoming eligible for the Reaping, and that day is going to be hard enough as it is on us, never mind Prim and Rory. The Hunger Games have always made me refuse motherhood. I would only agree to bear a child if that cursed contest was abolished.

But now... perhaps with Peeta by my side, we would be OK. And maybe we could weather fearing for the safety of any child of ours during its teenage years.

Peeta must read these thoughts on my face, and has clearly worked out what they mean. His expression could light up the sun. Taking my face in his hands, he tilts my chin up so he can indecently kiss me full on the mouth. Tilts my face to his so far, and kisses me so hard, in fact, that my miner's headlamp tumbles off my head and plops into the dirt, forgotten. Meanwhile, I close my eyes and kiss him in return, moaning in pleasure until we gently break apart. I stare at my husband, startled by the intensity of his kiss, but also deeply aroused.

"I love you, Katniss," Peeta beams.

I smile back. "I love you too, Peeta," and even saying the words makes my eyes prick with happy tears.

I lift the ladle from the pot as I take a testing taste of the soup. Hearing a playful shriek from behind me, I turn.

"Chrissy," I murmur quietly. "Dinner's almost ready. Wash up; your father should be home soon."

I fell pregnant not long after the conversation with Peeta at the mines. The moment we learned the news, I quit my shift at the mines, much to the relief of Peeta and the consternation of Thom, the new Foreman. Rory was disappointed at being passed over for the top spot... until Thom assured him that he would be his chosen successor.

Nine months after I left the mines, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Our daughter. Peeta's and my daughter. Chrysanthemum. Peeta liked the idea of giving her a flower's name, the way that I was named, as well as Primrose. I agreed, on the condition that we pick some pretty name of a bread for her middle name. Mother and The Baker adore her. The Witch has never met her, and that suits me just fine. She doesn't want to know her grandchild? Fine. At least Chrissy has plenty of cousins to play with: Willow and her many Mellark relatives.

Just as Chrysanthemum takes a seat at the table, I hear the latch at the front door turn. Peeta drags himself in, exhausted... at least until I perk him up by running into his arms and bestowing on him a long kiss in greeting. "Well, good evening to you too, sweetheart," he chuckles, his energy restored.

I smile shyly back. "Supper's ready, my love."

And my husband and I sit with our little girl, ready to tell each other about our days.