Chapter 18

Breaking Bread

HAYMITCH POV

An eerie creak from the floorboards in the foyer jolts me awake. My hands frantically search for the dagger I often cuddle with, but I can't seem to find it. Fuck... it must have slipped from my hand and slid under the couch. My ears perk up as I try to wrench my hand underneath the couch. I can hear the footsteps now. They're heavy; a little stilted like one of them is off balance. I suck teeth and place my head back on the armrest of the sofa. "I'm not making any more deliveries for you, so you can take that sack of bread back to the bakery," I call out.

"Relax."

There's something in his voice I can't place. I turn my head towards where he stands by the doorway, leaning on the white beam with a bundle of cloth in his hands that I have no doubt conceals several loaves of bread. "You don't look depressed," I remark, staring more intently at the starched white cloth, "So what's with the bread?"

He avoids my eyes, instead staring at my forehead. "Do you want the bread or not?"

"No need to get hostile. Since when are you so pissy in the morning? I thought that was the girl's job." He doesn't answer me. He doesn't even wait for me to get to my feet before he heads towards the kitchen to rest the bread on the table.

"Don't fuckin' tell me you two are still at it?" I groan, rubbing the rough patches of facial hair on my jaw as I walk towards where he stands, resting loaf after loaf on my kitchen table. "Just talk to the girl!"

"We've talked," he tells me shortly.

"And?" I begrudgingly ask, even though I know I'm entering territory I would really rather stay away from. Dealing with these two almost makes me miss my days spent in the Capitol. No one cared for my opinion on anything; they were satisfied with just staring at me.

He tries to shrug his shoulder nonchalantly, but I can see the change in his eyes. There is more to what happened between those two than what he's letting on. "It went well. I'm going to see her tonight."

I lift my head to the ceiling in exasperation. I know I'm getting older and more likely than not the rules regarding courting have changed since I was playing the field, but this is ridiculous. "Then why are you such a killjoy? Shouldn't you be singing the good news from the top of the town square? You won!"

He sighs and pushes the cloth to one side of the table before he turns to face me. "I didn't know that I was playing for something," he fixes me with a disapproving frown. "Katniss isn't—"

"Oh please, don't get all righteous-thou-art with me," I plunk down on the seat next to him and hack off a huge chunk of banana bread from the loaf in front of me. It's still warm and the tantalizing smell of the brown glazed loaf nearly brings me to tears. "Course you were. Whether you or the girl meant to or not, you got yourselves wrapped up in one hell of a triangle—messy, messy stuff," I pop a piece of spongy bread in my mouth. "You might not see it as a win," I mumble between chews, "but coal-boy sure as hell views it as a loss," I whisper to him.

The boy looks up at the ceiling in contemplation. "What makes you so sure of that? That's not my intention."

"A kid as bullheaded as that won't see it as any other way." I don't mention that the real reason I know how Hawthorne is going to feel about his bosom huntress taken up with the baker kid is because me and him share a similar worldview. That's not something I'd willingly admit to. "Doesn't matter what your intentions are."

His hand moves to the back of his neck, something I've noticed he does when he's anxious. Aw hell, something tells me he didn't just drop by here to give me bread. Peeta turns his head towards me, his lips part like he wants to ask me something.

"No," I tell him flatly, reaching beyond him to pick up the bread knife beside him.

"No what?" he asks, bemused.

"No, I'm not going to give you any more relationship advice. I'm done. Go ask Effie...or better yet, discuss it with your father. You have one of those, don't you?"

I watch the boy scowl as he leans against the table. Geesh, the girl is rubbing off on him already? I don't need two people with that kind of attitude.

He breaks off a piece of the bread and toys with it. I try to quell the possessive snarl that starts to build in my throat. I guess I can't really go barking at the kid when he's the one who made the bread in the first place. Still, once he lays it out on the table like this doesn't it become mine?

"I'm not really looking for advice," he states, taking a small bite of the bread. "You know her in a way that's different than how I do. There's an understanding between you two."

"I don't know if I'd really call it an understanding," I muse. I guess I can read her a little better because I'm familiar with some of the things she had to deal with growing up. I don't think anyone really knows for certain what goes through that stubborn head of hers.

"I just want to know what you think," he continues, resting the remainder of the bread on the table. "I'm assuming she talked to you."

My mouth stills on the chunk of bread that I'm munching on. "You wanna know what she said?" I question.

"No!" he hastily responds. "I don't need to know what you talked about. I just...well...you know for me that whatever has been going on between me and Katniss has always been genuine. I'm invested; she tells me she is..."

"Then she is," I finish for him. I lower my voice fearing that there may be prying ears about. So far, everything we've been talking about can be misconstrued as an argument that got a little out of hand. No need to give those Capitol fucks any more to work with. "Think about it boy, that's no ordinary dame you're dealing with. Somehow you've managed to get close enough to clean off that dusty heart of hers. If she's told you that it's real, then it is."

My ears don't miss the soft breath of relief that escapes him. I go back to voraciously stuffing bread into my mouth, hoping he'll get the hint and we can move beyond this romance crap.

"Ok," he states, and I actually see a smile grace his lips. Well, thank fucking goodness.

"We're done then?"

"Yeah," Peeta grins—I can't believe it, the kid is grinning. "We're done."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

KATNISS POV

"When is he coming?"

My hand stills on the wooden spoon I've been absently stirring around the cast iron pot for the last twenty minutes now. "I don't know, Prim. I guess when he finishes at the bakery."

"I hope my cookies are done by then!" she chirps, bending low to try and peer into the glossed window of the oven. I'm glad one of us is excited. When I told my mother and Prim that Peeta would be stopping by for dinner tonight, Prim started rattling off everything she had to do to prepare. I almost thought she was the one going on the "date." She insisted on making the sugar cookies that Peeta had shown her. I wish she would throw some of her enthusiasm my way, all I feel is nauseous.

A date...what am I supposed to do on a date? I wish Peeta would've ditched the formality and just said that he wanted to stop by. That...that I can handle. This is like waiting for my name to be called at the training centre. I feel the pressure to impress him but I don't know exactly what I should do.

"Ok Katniss," my mother's voice sounds from behind me. "Let me take over. You're stirring too much. You're going to turn the potatoes into mush." My eyes dart to the pot in a panic. The stew is the only thing I have going for me right now. The potatoes have definitely gotten smaller but most of them are still intact. I move to the side so my mother can reach the pot and lean with my back against the counter. From this angle I have a clear view of the front door. My ears strain to pick up any sort of movement—a knock, a shuffle, anything.

"You look stressed," Prim observes. Sometimes I wish Prim wasn't so intuitive. I release my hands from where they've been hiding, tucked under my armpits, and try to relax by leaning further into the counter, but I feel as rigid as a board and the ledge ends up digging into my spine.

"I'm not," I reply shortly.

Prim turns her nose back towards the oven but I can tell she's dissatisfied with my answer. "You shouldn't be."

"Prim—" I start, with an irksome edge to my voice, but my mother cuts me off.

"Listen to your sister, Katniss." I clench my hands around the ledge behind me and do as my mother requests, chewing my cheek to stop the feral feline in me from hissing back.

"You know Peeta," Prim tells me without removing her face from the front of the stove. "He knows you. And if he didn't care about you already, we wouldn't be making this dinner."

My mother notices the way that my nose scrunches in confusion. "I think what your sister is trying to say is that the hardest part has already been done. There is already a connection between you two."

"Boy, was it ever hard," I huff under my breath.

There comes a soft wrap at the door and my eyes widen in panic. Prim and my mother look over at me expectantly, urging me to greet the person standing on the opposite side of the glass pane. I smooth my palms against my thighs and repeat what my mother and Prim just told me as I walk towards the door. "No need to be nervous. You know Peeta," I tell myself. I take a deep breath before I pull the door open.

As soon as Peeta sees me his eyes begin to sparkle as his cheeks rise in a smile. His arms are filled with brown-papered parcels. "I didn't know exactly what to bring," his smile grows even more dazzling and my mouth gets dry. "So I brought a little of everything."

I nod my head, unable to do much more than stare at him in wonder and appreciation. What did I do to deserve you?

"Peeta," my mother calls out from behind me. "Come in, dinner is just about ready. How was the bakery today?"

I feel a flush of heat rising to my cheeks as I move to the side so Peeta can come in. I was too dumbfounded to even invite him in. It's only been thirty seconds and this date is already rough.

"Pretty good, Ms. Everdeen. Dad made some of his infamous cinnamon rolls so I thought I'd bring some over for all of you along with a few other things."

"Ahhh," my mother smiles nostalgically, "I remember those. That's very kind of you," she takes the parcels from Peeta's hands and turns to head back to the kitchen.

Peeta takes a step towards me and grazes his finger against the back of my hand. I can still feel the heat that has settled in my cheeks. "One step at a time," he whispers, reminding me of our conversation at his hideaway. He leans in and presses a gentle kiss against my temple and I close my eyes reveling in his act of comfort.

"C'mon you two, food's ready!" Prim calls out.

The entire meal I sit barely saying a word. Prim directs most of the conversation, proudly boasting to Peeta about how she made the sugar cookies all by herself and how excited she is for him to taste them. Peeta listens with an attentive ear, describing some of the other recipes he would love to teach my little sister whenever she has spare time to swing by the bakery. I try to listen to the discussion and add something of value, but I can't stop myself from focusing on how close Peeta is, how good he smells, how I desperately want to curl my fingers around his left hand, which hangs idly by his side. I can't explain it, but even though he's sitting right next to me, it's not enough. I need to touch him.

I tentatively stretch my fingers towards his hand.

"Wow!" Prim exclaims, causing me to recoil as if I've been caught. "Peeta did you make this bread?" She holds out a roll of honey brown bread with sweet almond slivers decorating the edges. Peeta nods his head bashfully. "Oh my goodness! I never want to finish it," my sister looks at the bread with a furrowed brow, contemplating whether she should tuck what's left of it away or eat all of it right now.

Peeta notices this and chuckles softly. "Don't worry Prim; there's still plenty left."

"Is this Taith's recipe for almond bread?" My mother asks, sinking her teeth into a roll.

"With a little twist," answers Peeta while scooping up a potato with his spoon. "Try to guess what it is." He seems unphased that my mother referred to his father so casually. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He was the one to first inform me about their past relationship.

"Hmm," my mother ponders, staring intently at the roll in her hand. "There's something more distinct in the flavour that mingles with the honey that you coated the almonds in." She takes another bite and chews it slowly. "Nutmeg?"

"You got it!" Peeta laughs. "It took my father longer to find out what I added."

"Well, I have a lot more experience with herbs and spices," my mother smiles. "Your father had quite the knack for experimenting with flavours. It seems you've inherited it. "

"I think I may have ended up with a lot more misses than he did at my age, but I always get it right in the end," Peeta replies modestly. "The key is patience. Good things happen gradually." This next statement is directed towards me, though he says it to my mother. I muster my courage and trail my fingers lightly against his hand. He gets the hint and interlocks his fingers with mine without batting an eye, though he doesn't try to hide his lopsided smile.

After dinner we all move to the living room, with the exception of my mother who insists on packaging a bundle of food for Haymitch. Prim and Peeta are seated on the floor playing a game of checkers. I sit on the couch near Peeta, looking on as Prim's black pieces dominate the board.

"Pretty soon you'll have nothing left to play with," I tease Peeta, nudging him with my foot.

He strokes his chin in contemplation. "Prim, didn't I teach you this game? When did you become so good?"

Prim smiles broadly and twirls her finger around a wisp of blond hair from her ponytail. "I've been practicing." She slides her piece to the end of the board and claps her hands ecstatically. "King me, Peeta!" I bite my cheek to stop from laughing. At this rate, Peeta won't last five more minutes.

"Prim!" my mother calls from the kitchen. "Don't forget about your cookies."

Prim eagerly rises to her feet. "Right! I have to finish them up. Sorry, Peeta," she calls out as she runs over to the kitchen.

"Well, that is completely fine with me," Peeta remarks, while studying the board with a perplexed expression on his face.

"She really has been practicing," I tell him in a voice barely above a whisper, breaking his focus off of the pieces in front of him. "Buttercup can never seem to beat her." This is the most I've said to him since he arrived at my house. For some reason my mind is blank more often than not and I've resigned to letting Prim and Peeta direct the conversation.

Peeta rises from the floor and takes a seat next to me on the couch. His thigh brushes against mine and I bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself. His azure eyes rest on my face and seem to be searching for something. "Do you want to take a walk outside?" he asks.

A walk? It's a little after eight, I guess we could still head down to the square if he really wanted to. I nod my assent, and we rise from the couch to head towards the door. "We'll be back," I call out to my mother and Prim before closing the door behind us.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask Peeta, allowing my eyes to drift to the speckles of light dotting the night sky. It's nice out, a little cool but not anything that a sweater couldn't fix.

"Hmm," he drifts away from me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his brown slacks. "I have an idea, I'll race you to the dead end."

Immediately my brow furrows in disbelief, "You're not serious?"

"C'mon Girl on Fire, afraid I'll beat you?" he teases while looking back at me from over his shoulder.

My arms cross over my chest of their own volition and I can't help the scowl that appears on my face. "When has he ever beat me when it came to running?" I wonder. Unless that means he's been holding back when we do our morning warm-ups. "Fine," I call out marching towards him and planting my feet once I'm by his side. "No sulking once I beat you though."

A breathy laugh escapes his lips. We both stand facing the end of the Victor's Village which is a few metres off. I can feel the competitiveness in me rising, there is no way I'm going to allow him to win so that he can gloat when we get back inside. I roll out my ankles waiting for him to speak.

"On a count of three," he states. "One…two..."

"You sure you're going to be able to run in those merchant slacks?" I smirk, keeping my eyes locked on the road in front of us.

"Don't worry about me, Everdeen."

My fists are balled so tight I can feel my pulse drumming fervently as I wait for him to call out the final number.

"Three!" he yells out.

The balls of my feet press into the ground as I bolt off, staring at the wild brush that signals the end of the Victor's Village like it's a bullseye. The adrenaline propels me forward like a slingshot and I whip past the other desolate Victor homes in a blur. I skid to a halt on the grass and whirl around, ready to gloat, but Peeta is nowhere in sight. Come to think of it, I don't recall hearing the steady pound of his feet for the last few seconds. My heart drops to my stomach and my eyes dart around in a panic, searching the shadows for golden blond curls.

I'm suddenly propelled back to the 74th Hunger Games when Peeta's ignorance with plants almost cost him his life.

"Peeta!" I call out. There is a worried lilt to my voice that I don't even bother trying to disguise. I take a few steps away from the grass, straining my ears to hear his heavy footsteps.

"Where are you?" I call out again, rubbing my hands against the fabric of pants to keep them from shaking. Could there have been Peacekeepers out here? My ears strain to hear something, anything that will tell me where he is.

A voice ghosts across my neck and causes me to jump. "Katniss, turn around." He stands there unharmed, with a smirk on his face.

A mixture of relief and anger overcomes me. "Peeta," I growl, causing the smile on his face to falter. "I thought something happened to you! You can't just disappear like that," the last few words escape my mouth in a hiss.

He reaches for my hand but I move it away, shifting my gaze from his face so he can't read the fear that hides in the corners of my eyes.

"Katniss," he calls my name in a soothing hum like he's trying to coax a wounded animal out into the open so that he can heal it. "I'm fine...you're right, I shouldn't have disappeared like that. I was just trying to get you to loosen up," he takes a tentative step towards me and once again reaches out for my hand. This time I let him grasp my fingers and rub soothing circles on the back of my hand.

"It's just…" I start to say, trying to explain the feeling of dread that started to pool in my stomach.

"I know," he interrupts. "I should've realized it sooner."

I step towards him and brush my nose against his cheek, relieved to smell the the sweetness of the baker once more. He releases my hand and slides his arms around my waist pulling me into a snug embrace. I feel the warmth of him spiraling through my chest and the feeling is so addicting I have to fight myself from clinging to him when he starts to pull away.

Peeta shifts so that he can look me in the eye and I notice the sincerity that laces his blue eyes. I let my hand fall to my side and swallow down a shiver that starts to settle in my breast. "I spoke to Haymitch today," he tells me.

My eyebrows lift in question, "What for?" It's hard to believe that anyone would go to our mentor simply for civil conversation. That's the last thing you'll get out of him.

His eyes drop to focus on the seams of his tan pants rather than look at me, and I can tell that this is something far more intimate than strategy for the Games.

"I didn't want to keep it from you. That's why I'm telling you now."

"So what wisdom did our mentor impart on you?" I ask with sarcasm dusting my speech, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I'd hardly call it wisdom," he sniggers. "And it came with a whole lot of criticism."

"I believe that."

"I just needed to know if it was fine to let my reservations fall away. I know you already told me that you want this," he motions between the two of us. "I just needed to be sure that fear wasn't what was drawing you towards me. I know I shouldn't have to hear it from someone else to realize that your feelings are true, but I'm just afraid..."

"...of being hurt again?" I interrupt. I feel a sharp pang of guilt when Peeta responds to my question with a nod of his head. I avert my eyes, staring at a loose thread on his sweater. I'm ashamed that I made him feel this way. "That's fair," I whisper, unable to stop the guilt from cloaking my words.

"I can't really put into words the way I feel about you," he tells me, busying his fingers with the hem of my sweater.. "It's something so full and uncontainable that sometimes I'm afraid it's too impossibly sweet to actually exist." His hands stop fidgeting and he leans in to rest his lips by my ear. "I've waited for you Katniss Everdeen, for a very long time."

A pleasent quiver races up my spine as he says my name. "How long, Peeta Mellark?" I whisper back to him.

Peeta leans back so he can look me in the eyes as he describes the very first time he knew that he wanted to get to know me, but I raise a finger to his mouth to stop him, suddenly feeling very bold. "Don't tell me," I say to him, "show me."

His eyebrows raise in surprise and a curious grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. His lips don't immediately go to mine, instead they dust along my jaw and trail towards my neck. I tilt my head so that he can reach more of my skin, and almost whimper when he nips at my neck and I feel the warmth of his tongue on my skin.

"Peeta," I whisper, feeling the need to express why he no longer needs to fear.

"Mmm?" he moans in question. The sound is so delicious I feel a flood of warmth starting to build around my pelvis.

"You don't have to worry. This is the strongest thing I've ever felt in my life, and I want it. I feel like I need it," I admit to him and to myself.

His lips move from my neck and rest on my mouth. I lose myself in the feeling of his lips against mine. All that matters in this moment is him, with his body against mine and the pressure of his tantalizingly soft lips toying with mine.

He is the first to pull away, but he does so reluctantly. There is a hunger in his eyes that make them darker and I wonder if my own mirror that same appearance. I have never taken that much pleasure in the feel of someone before in my life. I think that this should frighten me but I don't feel the least bit scared.

"Prim's cookies," Peeta says with some effort.

The thick haze that covered all my other priorities begins to clear a bit. That's right, Prim would be disappointed if we weren't there to eat her cookies. "We should head back then?" I ask, though if I were honest with myself, I'm not ready to return just yet.

Peeta nods, "But let's go slow." I grin and take his hand in mine, feeling contented that we'll have a little more time to ourselves before heading in.

"You didn't tell me what Haymitch told you," I say to Peeta as we reach the front door and his hand rests on the handle.

He smirks, "Well, in true Abernathy-fashion, he told me that I've somehow cleaned off your dusty heart and if you tell me that it's real, then I should believe you."

I scowl and turn my head to glare at Haymitch's home. Funny how the old drunkard is fine criticizing everyone else, but doesn't like to own up to his own faults. "Doesn't he just have a way with words," I tell Peeta with the irritation hanging off my words.

"Basically-I should trust that what you're saying is true because it takes a lot of strength for you to admit it."

"It does," I nod, turning back towards him. "I mean it."

He leans down and kisses the tip of my nose before he touches his lips to mine. "I know," he smiles, opening the door so we can both get inside and finish our evening.

Once Prim hears us enter, she is rushing towards us with a tray of decorated cookies. They lack the finesse of Peeta's hand, but the white icing swirls bordering the circular cookies are still impressively done.

"These are fantastic," Prim grins, tugging on her braid affectionately. "They're a beautiful golden beige." Peeta picks up a cookie and I see Prim suck in her breath in anticipation. I find myself growing a little anxious as well. I know Peeta would never tell Prim if her cookies tasted bad, but I also know how excited she was to bake them and share them with him so I really hope they came out well. Peeta swishes the chunk of cookie around his mouth as if he's tasting wine. "Ah," he says after what seems like forever. "The right amount of sugar, a nice soft crunch. Absolutely delicious Primrose Everdeen," he tells her affectionately.

"Really?" Prim asks with a grin spread from cheek to cheek.

"Yes, really. This means you're ready for more challenging receipes."

Prim jumps a little after hearing this. "Oh my goodness, I can't wait! Katniss, try one!"

I hurridly scoop up a cookie and take a bite. Peeta wasn't lying, they actually are quite delcious. I feel an immense amount of pride swell my heart. "They're wonderful Prim. Make sure you save some for Rory, Vick and Posy to try them."

"Oh yes, of course!" she says excitedly. "I'll put some aside right now," and with that she rushes back to the kitchen.

Peeta and I walk back to the living room and position ourselves near the unfinished checker's game. I sit on the couch and Peeta rests on the floor with his back resting against my legs. My hand instinctively moves to toy with his hair, the same way my mother used to when my father was alive. He sighs in contentment as my fingers graze his scalp.

"Looks like there are two bakers in your life now," Peeta tells me as he closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of my fingers in his hair. "Are you sure you'll be able to handle it?"

"I have no doubt. More sweets for me," I repsond and he laughs.

"I'm glad," he sighs contented. "I'm really, really glad."

A/N: It's been a really long time since I updated this story. My focus sort of shifted. I was actually surprised to see that there were people still coming to read it and choosing to follow or leave comments. For that I thank you. I think you're probably the reason why I thought that I should continue writing it. I would also like to see this story finished in some capacity. So here we are, chapter 18. I wanted this chapter to be really sweet and "feel-good" so I hope I achieved that. Please let me know what you thought, or if you're a new or a returning reader. I'm sorry it took me so long to come back to this tale.