"I'm done. Officially."

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back into the torn leather seat of the booth. Gale laughs—just once. Then again. Then again and again, throwing his head back and almost spilling his beer all over himself.

"I'm seriously, man," I repeat.

Gale wraps up his laughter, wiping unshed tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, and looks at me. "Peeta, you said that last time. And the time before that and the time before that and the time before that. You aren't done."

"I am! Women are seriously fucking with me now. They get off on destroying my happiness." I take a sip of my beer and it burns on the way down. I don't want to get drunk—I never do. But it's hard not to order alcohol when you go to a bar.

Gale's eyes flash with sympathy, his jokester façade fading. He only lets his guard down when he's with me. I guess that's what happens when you've been friends for almost eight years. "I'm sorry, Peeta. I know you've had some bad luck recently. But you can't give up. Not you."

"Why me?" It's a question I've asked myself over and over throughout the years, in many different contexts. Why did she cheat on me? Why did she not want me? Why did she hurt me? Why me?

"You want it all, Peeta. Love, family, romance, all that shit—and you can't just give up because a slut cheated on you."

"She wasn't a slut," I defend, anger welling inside me.

Gale raises his eyebrows up at me. "Dude, she cheated on you. How does that not make her a slut?"

I…okay. I'll acquiesce on that. But Delly was really sweet when it started. That's why I fell for her. She was smart and kind and a little bubbly, but I liked it. Until tonight. Being dumped by someone whose voice is extraordinarily happy and high is the worst thing ever. Hell, it wasn't until she said "it's over" for the fourth time that I realized she was breaking up with me. For Cato Maxwell. I'm gonna punch that guy in the dick the next time I see him.

"You know what they say," Gale says, interrupting my thoughts. "The only way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

I shake my head. "No. I don't want a one night stand. Done with girls, remember?"

Gale scoffs. "Right, I forgot. Well, just because you don't want any, doesn't mean I don't. And that ginger across the bar is eyeing me." I turn my head and follow his gaze to a short girl with man-made curls in her fire colored hair. I turn my body back around and give him a thumbs up.

"Go get her, man."

Gale stands up and ruffles my blonde curls with his olive hand before he walks off in her direction. I take another slug of my beer, finishing it, before I get out of the booth myself. I throw a twenty down on the table to cover my drink as well as Gale's two bourbons, plus a little extra for the waitress, and head out of the bar to spend my first night alone in two months.

"Hey Dad," I call as I walk through the bakery door, flipping on the "open" sign.

"Peet!" My father looks up at me over the counter, tearing his eyes away from the dough he has in his hands. I cross the white tile floor to reach him, ducking under the bar. He pulls me into his arms as soon as I'm within reach, and I hug him back, relishing in his warm scent of flour and wax.

I've worked in my father's bakery since I was a little tike, but it wasn't until I was in high school, and then college, that I really started to be a part of it. It's basically mine now. My father is only a year or two away from retiring officially, and then he'll sign it over to me. But until then, we work together most days, baking and serving, and he handles the business side—though he's started teaching me that recently.

He pulls back from our hug and forces me to look into his eyes, just as blue as mine. "How are you doing?"

I huff out a sigh. "Not well," I tell him honestly. My dad was the first person I called yesterday when Delly broke up with me. He's been my best friend for as long as I can remember—starting after mom left. I think he always felt guilty about what happened to me, and tried to make up for it as best as he could. He's close with my two older brothers as well, but we've always had a special bond.

Surprising me, he smiles. "Well, I have a proposition for you. Do you remember my friend Patricia Everdeen?"

I nod my head slowly. "Vaguely. I don't think I ever met her, but you've told me stories. You used to date in high school, right?"

My father grins softly, like he's remembering something pleasant from long ago. "Yes, that's her."

"What about her?"

"She died last week."

I feel my eyes bulge out of my head. I didn't see that coming. "Dad, I'm so sorry. What happened?" I place one of my hands on his shoulders and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm not sure exactly. I know she's struggled with depression since her husband died nine years ago, so that may be a factor, but her daughter didn't give me any of the details."

"Daughter?" I question. Jesus, poor girl. I don't know what I would do if lost my father, but losing both parents? Most people couldn't heal from that.

He nods. "Yeah, she had two. The younger one died two years ago."

"Fuck," I curse under my breath. I run a hand through my hair, distress and sympathy rocking my core.

"My thoughts exactly. But this is where you come in."

I start, curiosity lighting up my body. "How exactly?"

"Well, Katniss wants to bury her mother alongside her father and her younger sister in their family plot up in Maine. But she doesn't have a way to get there—apparently she doesn't fly and the car she has can't make it long distances. So I offered her your help, son."

"To drive her to Maine?"

My father nods. "She doesn't have anyone else, Peet. And though she was reluctant for any help, I know she needs some. She's strong, Patricia used to tell me that whenever we talked, but she's stubborn. However, I imagine right now, most of all, she's scared." He puts his hands on my shoulders. "You need some time to get away from your life and this would be the perfect opportunity. A road trip with someone who really needs some support; you've always been good at supporting others."

I pause, taking in everything he's saying. He's absolutely right—I do need some time away. Delly was the third girl in a row to cheat on me, and this could be a perfect escape. I'd be away from temptation, so there would be no way for my heart to get injured again, and I could spend some time trying to find out why this keeps happening to me.

"I'd pay for everything, of course," my father says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "I'd give you my credit card to pay for food and gas, and hotels if you need them, though I assume you'll probably want to find camping spots along the way and set up tents."

"Dad, you don't have to pay—" I start, but he cuts me off.

"I want to, Peeta. Patricia meant a lot to me, and if I can help her daughter out in any way, I'm going to." His eyes, so similar to mine, are glassy with tears and filled with determination. "So you'll do it?"

I smile, nodding my head. "Of course. Did you ever think there was a possibility I'd say no?"

He laughs, short and loud. "Nope. Because you're my son. You can't resist a damsel in distress."

The bell rings at the door, signaling a customer, and I sneak into the back quickly to put my apron on as my father greets them.

The breakfast rush occupies us for a couple hours, and the two of us work tirelessly to make sure that every costumer is satisfied and handled with quick efficiency. It's basically the Mellark motto. Gale likes to make jokes about it and how he's sure it really means that all the Mellark men are quick on the draw. Which always earns him a punch in the arm.

"How old is she?" I ask once the clock hits 11:00 and I'm wiping down the few tables we have in the shop.

My father glances up from his slab of dough, soon to be our raisin and nut loaf, and meets my eyes. "Katniss?" he asks. I nod. "A few years younger than you. Just turned twenty, I believe."

"And when does this trip start?"

My father glances down at his watch, then back up at me, grinning like a thief. "Tomorrow at five. So get the hell out of here and pack."

"Shit, brother, her life totally sucks."

My eyes fly to Finnick, annoyance igniting inside me. "Could you be a little more sensitive, Dickhead?"

He shrugs his swimmer shoulders. "Sensitive is your thing, not mine. But you're right, that was unkind of me." He tucks a lock of his bronze hair behind his ear. "So are you going to pity fuck Katniss or what?"

I throw a wadded up shirt at him, and thankfully, his reflexes don't kick-in in time and it smacks him directly in the face. "No, I'm not." I fold another one of my orange t-shirts and place it in my duffle bag, which is now almost full. I'm over preparing I'm sure, but I don't know if we will ever get a chance to do laundry on the trip, and I have no idea how long it's supposed to last. Plus, there's the whole weather thing. I have to pack clothes just in case it decides to get cold or rain or something.

"Dude, don't bring this." Finnick pulls out my winter coat and throws it into my closet behind him. I shrug my shoulders. He's right—that's probably not necessary.

Finnick's been my friend for almost five years. We met our senior year of high school when I went to a swim meet with my girlfriend at the time. And Jesus, could this guy swim. He was lapping his competitors, breaking school, city and state records. He was even on his way to the Olympics when he irreparably tore the rotator cuff in his right shoulder and they told him he would never be able to swim competitively again. It didn't really bum him out though. He has a natural ability to bounce back from things, even if it takes a while for him to do it. I think that's why we got along. I have that ability too.

"What if she's hot?" he asks, pulling out another heavy sweater from my bag.

"So what? I'm still not going to have sex with her. I'm off women, remember?" I remind him.

"You've said that before."

I roll my eyes and give him my middle finger. Why do my friends keep bringing that up? This time, I actually mean it. I can't keep falling for women that don't care if they hurt me. So I'm just going to avoid them entirely for a while.

"So what you're saying, is that even if this girl strips off her clothes and begs you 'oh please, Peeta, take me with your tiny dick', you wouldn't bang her?"

I lift my eyes to him again, my mind officially blown. "Where the hell do you come up with this stuff? What girl would do that?"

He smiles at me like the Cheshire cat. "You obviously don't know the right type of girls."

I shake my head. "No, I'm pretty sure you don't."

Finnick decides to break into his lecture about how to find a girl with the perfect combination of slut and lady, but I tune him out. I've heard this speech too many times to count, and I'm pretty sure it gets more and more fucked up each time he recites it.

As soon as I left the bakery earlier, I hopped into my car, a 2005 jeep I bought after saving up all my bakery earnings from high school, and took it to get tuned up for the trip. And while I sat in the waiting area, I googled the route. It's almost a 2000 mile drive to get to Bar Harbor, Maine which means that it will take at least four days to get there and four days to get back, if we don't do anything but drive, eat and sleep. Which may be what she wants. I, however, wouldn't mind doing a little adventuring along the way. The whole point of this trip for me, besides helping Katniss, is to let a little steam off and to get out of my head. So yeah, maybe we could make a pit-stop in New York City and see the statue of liberty.

"Are you even listening to me?" Finnick asks, his voice filled with annoyance.

"Not even a little bit." I go to place another pair of tennis shoes in my bag, but he slaps them out of my hands.

Finnick groans, and leans back in my desk chair. "Maybe you should be a little nice to me, considering we won't see each other for two weeks."

I look up to him and meet his gaze. "I'm gonna miss you, Finn." My tone is sarcastic, but it's actually true. Finnick adds a little spice to my life—I like having him around.

He smiles. "I know you will." Then he stands up and gives me a simple hug before he opens my door, departing. "Don't forget to bring condoms!" he calls over his shoulder.

Yeah, right.

I'm twiddling my thumbs, waiting for her to arrive. She lives only an hour and a half south of us apparently, but for whatever reason, I've never met her. My father and her mother kept in contact even after they broke up and married other people, but it was always through conversations on the phone—never in person. And I'm not really sure why that was. But I'd bet my mother had something to do with it. Katniss is driving up to leave her car here while we take the trip, and then it'll be here when we get back. I still think it's interesting that I haven't even spoken a word to her, all contact has been through my father, but I'll see her soon enough.

I hear the bell ring from the front door of the bakery, and I immediately sit up off the stool I'm resting on in front of the stove. I listen to the quiet conversation between my father and a melodic female voice, but I can't make out specific words. I snatch my duffle up off the floor and glance around for my sunglasses. But the counters are bare. I curse to myself. I was sure I brought them with me, but maybe I forgot them. Disgruntled, I throw my bag over my shoulder and exit the kitchen.

"Dad, have you seen my sunglasses?" I yell as I walk down the hallway towards the front. "I thought I set them o—"

I stop as I reach my destination, my sentence forgotten.

"Son, this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, this Peeta," I hear my father's voice say, but I can't see him. My vision is fuzzy except for one perfect figure standing in the middle of the bakery, whose bright yellow walls now seem damp and dreary in comparison to her face. She is pure, refreshing beauty. Her posture is perfectly straight, her fingers playing with the end of a long braid of chestnut hair, her left leg crossed in front of her right in a relaxed position. Her lips are natural pale pink, and she's nibbling on her bottom one; it's not a fake tactic women do to appear sexy, but a nervous habit—I can tell in the way she peels at the skin with her two white front teeth. But it's her eyes I focus on. They're a color I didn't even know could exist in someone's iris, but here it is, and it's so beautiful. They are the color of the clouds that build in sky during a summer storm, warm but dangerous.

She removes her hand from her braid and gives me a small wave. "Hi," she greets me, terse and her tone as hard as stone.

"It's wonderful to meet you," I respond, and I can honestly say I've never said anything more true in my entire life.

She looks momentarily dazed, her gaze glassy, but she turns away from me and back to my father.

"You grew up marvelously, Katniss," my Dad tells her. "Your mother sent me school pictures of you and your sister many years ago. I'm so grieved to hear of her passing."

She nods her head, but doesn't say anything.

"We should probably get going, Dad," I say, trying to remove the solemn pall that has taken over the bakery. "Long drive and such."

My father claps his hands, as if he's forgotten. "Of course! Don't want to get caught in too much traffic. Maybe you'll have dinner with me when you guys come back?" He looks at Katniss with such hope; I can tell she's uncomfortable, but she nods her head anyway, agreeing. "Excellent!" He moves to the counter and grabs a brown paper sack, handing it to her. "I made you guys some snacks for the road."

"Thanks," she replies. "For the ride and for this."

My father places a hand on her shoulder, and I watch her tense under his touch, but she doesn't shake him off. "Anytime, Katniss. Be safe."

I cross the room and pull my dad into a hug. "I'll see you soon," I say, smacking him once on the back.

"Call me every once in a while and drive safe," he warns as he pulls away. He presses a kiss to my forehead and ruffles my hair; I try not to blush. Jesus, I'm not seven anymore and there's a beautiful woman present.

"Will do. Bye." I turn my eyes away from my dad and over to Katniss. She's back to fiddling with her braid. "Ready?" She nods, and together we exit the building.

Quickly and silently, we move her two bags and a box from her rusting Honda and place them into the backseat of my jeep before we crawl in, me in the driver's seat and her in the passenger's.

"I just want you to know that I'm not going to put out," she says as soon as I pull onto the street.

I slam on the breaks and the two of us jerk forward; the seatbelt digs into my chest. I turn my eyes to her, completely and utterly shocked. She looks calm and determined. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask.

"I'm not sleeping with you. I understand that we're going to be in close quarters, sharing rooms and tents and whatever, but I'm not having sex with you. You should know that up front. I just want to bring my mother's ashes to Maine and come home. Alright?" Her voice is cold, but strong, and I don't dare question her, though she is obviously fucking crazy.

"I never expected you to," I reply truthfully, pressing the gas again. "I'm not some creeper that expects sexual favors from a young girl just because I'm helping her out."

"Good," she replies as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Good."

One thought forms in my head as I pull onto the freeway: what the hell did I get myself into?

So this fic has been rolling around in my head recently, and I just had to get it out and see what you guys think! It's my first fic from Peeta's perspective, so I'm a little nervous about that! But now that C&C is done, I figured it was time for another story. Depending on whether or not you like it, I'm thinking it's going to be between 15 and 20 chapters. So please, review and let me know if you want me to continue!

And you can always add me on Tumblr: books-are-better to find out about current and future stories.

And if any of you like this story and would like to make an image for it, I would be happy to use it!