Throughout the rest of the week, Peeta makes sure to find Prim and me after class, so he can walk with us to the Seam. Every walk ends with loaded words and a bundle of bread. We are slowly getting to know each other better. His favorite color is orange, like the sunset. He loves to draw and paint and decorate cakes. He is the youngest of three and loves to go on long walks when the weather permits. His favorite food is, of course, bread, but not just any bread—he loves the garlic and cheese bread from the bakery when it is fresh out of the oven. (One day, he brought a warm garlic and cheese bun for Prim and me to try, and after one bite, I am convinced that it has also become my favorite food as well.) I have noticed many things about Peeta on my own, too. He is really good at talking and explaining things and inspiring people to be the best that they can be. He is encouraging and patient, full of compassion and love. His eyes change color according to his mood; they are always blue, but they get darker or lighter as his disposition changes. I also think he is starting to love Prim like I do. He treats her so well. Not that that surprises me in any way - Prim is easy to fall in love with.  Everyone adores her.  

Today is the day. Saturday. Baking day. I am a little anxious, sure I will make a complete fool of myself. I don't know the first thing about decorating cakes, but Peeta assures me that I will do well. He should be coming over with all the supplies any minute now. I asked my mother about it earlier this week, and she enthusiastically agreed that Peeta should come over. She is just as excited to learn cake decorating as we are.

Knock, knock, knock.

He's here. Oh my god. This is really happening. Peeta is coming spend time in my house with my family. I feel my heart racing in my throat. Quickly, I glance one last time in the mirror to make sure I appear presentable, which is weird because I've never really cared before now. Then, I begin walking casually to the door to let Peeta inside, trying to contain my excitement. As soon as I open the door, I am greeted with sparkling, light blue eyes and a huge smile.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," I laugh.

"What?" he asks, confused.

"It's nothing. I just was thinking about how we should make that our official trademark greeting. It's what we say every time we meet," I explain.

"Oh," he laughs. "Yeah, we should. I like it."

"Me too," I say, moving aside for him to come in.

At first, I am extremely nervous that he won't like my home, but when he tells me that it's perfect, and I relax. Prim and my mother greet him warmly, and they show him to the area of our tiny house which we use as a kitchen. It consists of a sink, a few pots, pans, and dishes, and a table. We don't really have an oven or a stove like most of the people in town do. Instead, we use the fireplace to cook and fry the small amounts of food we obtain.

He empties the contents of his bag on the table: a few mini cakes and cookies, several colors of frosting in plastic piping bags, and a couple of utensils to spread the frosting and cut the cakes. I watch as Prim's face lights up with delight.

"I brought enough for us to each practice with one cookie and one cake. Here," he says as he passes us our materials. "Now, for the cookie, you will want a frosting base, so pick a color and spread it on the top of the cookie; then, let it sit and harden before you pipe any decorations on it."

We all take turns with the frostings and put a base of icing on our cookies. I put green frosting on mine; Prim uses the yellow; my mother uses blue; and Peeta uses orange, of course. Afterwards, Peeta instructs us on how to frost the cakes. He said the icing is called buttercream, and it stiffens after it sits out in the air. We watch as he frosts his cake with ease and perfection. His hands have memorized the technique; he makes it look so easy that I am almost convinced I will be able to do it just like he does.

I don't.

While his icing is smooth and seamless, mine is lumpy and rough-looking. I sigh in frustration. Peeta notices and walks over to help me. He comes up behind me and places his hands on top of mine to show me how to do it. At first, his presence startles me, but a few moments later I relax and allow him to guide my hands. My body heats up again, blood rushes to my cheeks, and my heart beats rapidly, but I am at peace. There is just something so right about Peeta leading me, so I just let it happen. Then, he begins speaking instructions softly into my ear, "Easy, now," and "Don't lift the knife up or it'll leave lumps. Just use it to level the icing out. There, that's it."  I don't think he is even remotely aware of the effect he is having on me. Goosebumps prickle my skin.  Sweat is breaking out all over my body.  My ear tingles from his breath.

I turn my head slightly to look at him, and I see that he is smiling proudly. I smile back, trying to keep him oblivious to the side effects of his proximity. I'm enjoying this much more than I thought I would, and I'm not sure if it's because of the pastries or the pastry maker. After he finishes helping me, he moves on to assist Prim with the same patience and gentleness. My mother, on the other hand, has frosted her cookie and cake beautifully.

Once we finish the icing base on our cookies and cakes, he tries to teach us to make flowers and leaves out of frosting, using the piping bags, but mine turn out to be colorful blobs of icing. Prim does a little better; she has more of a natural talent for creative endeavors than I do. Once again, my mother completes hers successfully; hers, at least, resemble flowers.

My favorite part comes at the end: eating. We each pick either our cake or our cookie to eat now, and we save the other dessert for later. I choose to eat my cake first. Despite the irregular lumps of icing and my failed attempt at flower-making, it tastes amazing. I don't remember the last time I have tasted something so sweet and rich. Even Peeta seems pleasantly surprised at its goodness, which I find odd since he eats this kind of stuff all the time. Prim is in a state of total bliss. She has wanted to taste one of those decorated cakes from the bakery for years, and now, thanks to Peeta, she can.

"So, did I prove my point about being a horrible artist?" I ask, teasing.

"Well... maybe," he laughs. I give him a pretend scowl. "I'm joking! I'm joking! You are amazing! When can you start at the bakery?"

I laugh. "Your family wouldn't hire me if I was the last person left in District Twelve," I say jokingly. But I immediately wish I hadn't. Peeta's face changes from joyful to concerned. I can tell he probably sees the truth behind the statement. Even if I was an incredible baker, his mother wouldn't let me near the kitchen or any other part of their home. She hates the Seam and its residents. And, ever since the Dandelion Day, I can't help but wonder if she harbors a special resentment toward me. Whenever I come into the bakery to trade, she glares at me and leaves the front—without so much as a word—to get someone else to trade with me. It's usually her husband, Mr. Mellark; he sometimes slips me an extra goody to apologize for his wife's ill manners. It doesn't bother me anymore, though. I'm used to it. People from town always look at people from the Seam as if we are filthy animals. That's only one of the many reasons why I am so bewildered by Peeta's attraction to me. He's never looked at me like I'm any less than him. Sometimes I think he actually believes I'm even more important than himself.

I give him a look to reassure him that it was only supposed to be a joke. He smiles a weak smile in response and redirects the conversation into safer waters:

"I've had a blast teaching all of you aspiring cake decorators, but I'm afraid I must head back to the bakery for my shift," he says sadly. "I hope we can do something like this again."

"Thank you, Peeta. You are always welcome here," my mother says softly.

"Yeah! Thanks, Peeta! This was the best Saturday ever!" Prim exclaims.

"Good," he laughs. "I am happy that I could be a part of it!" Then he turns to me, "Katniss, could I have a word with you before I leave?"

"Sure," I reply, wondering what he needs to talk to me about. We walk out to the front of the house, and he grabs my hand to lead me out of the earshot of passers-by.

"Did you like it?" he asks immediately.

"The cakes? Yeah, of course! Who wouldn't?"

"Good. I'm glad," he responds. I know this isn't really what he wants to talk about. When he sees the question in my eyes, he gets to the point. "I wanted to ask you if I could see you tomorrow sometime."

"Oh. Ummm..." I'm not sure what to say. Gale and I always go hunting together on Sundays. It's a tradition. Soon, the only time I will be able to see him will be on Sundays. When he turns 18, he will begin working in the mines. I try to block out thoughts of Gale working under thousands of pounds of rock. Instead, I focus on the present and decide to explain truthfully, "Well, Gale and I usually go hunting together on Sundays." I watch him deflate, and guilt drops into my stomach. I hate hurting Peeta.

"Oh. That's okay. I understand," he says with a look of defeat.

I know that it's probably been hard for him to watch the friendship between Gale and me grow over the years, especially if he's loved me since we were five. Regardless of Peeta's feelings for me, Gale is my best friend, and Peeta will have to learn to cope with that.

"Sorry, Peeta. Maybe we will see you at the bakery if we catch some good squirrels. If not, I'll see you at school," I say apologetically. I really am sorry. I wish he could come hunting with us, but somehow, I don't think Gale would like that very much. "Really, Peeta, I'm sorry. Today was amazing. Thank you. I can't remember the last time I've seen Prim so fascinated by something. Not to mention the deliciousness of it all." I say lightly.

"You're welcome," he smiles. As he says it, he takes another step toward me. "You know it's all for you, don't you Katniss?" His eyes are searching mine, piercing and blue. I don't know what to say. I'm frozen. My eyes are locked on his. Heat is radiating between us.

His eyes shift to my lips, just like in my dream. This is it. Oh my god. I hold my breath. I'm dreaming.

This can't be happening.

Right when I think I'm about to explode, his eyes find mine again. He takes a step back, and the tension dissipates. "I should head back before they start wondering where I am." He takes my hand again and gives it a light squeeze. "Bye, Katniss."

I allow myself to breathe and say, as evenly as possible, "Goodbye, Peeta. Thank you." At that, he turns away and begins his walk to the bakery. I find myself wishing that he never had to leave, that we could always be together. Those wishes scare me, so I try to push them back. It's Peeta. We are just friends.

Yeah, friends that almost kissed, I think.

What is happening to me?

_____________________________

Sunday went as usual. Gale and I met at our normal spot. We talked and hunted. He hasn't brought up the conversation about marriage and fleeing Twelve again. I'm glad.

The next morning, I wake up early to hunt yet again. Gale can't come today. It's pretty typical for him to skip hunting on weekdays; he has to help his siblings get ready for school when his mother, Hazelle, is busy elsewhere. Most of the time, if he can't make it, I drop off some of the game for his family to use for eating or trading.

I get dressed in my father's hunting jacket, a pair of pants, and my boots; then, I kiss Prim good morning, eat breakfast, and head out the door, sporting my empty game bag. As I make my way to the woods, I am overcome with the beauty of the day. The birds are chirping, the wind is blowing a soft breeze through the trees and the grass, and the weather is perfect: sunny with a few fluffy clouds dancing through the sky. I take a deep breath, trying to absorb the goodness of the day, and I can't help but smile.

I climb under the fence and grab my bow, feeling energized and ready to begin the morning hunt. First, I check the traps and load my bag with the kills. Then, I decide to gather some of the roots and berries which won't be around much longer come winter. I make my way to the strawberry patch and begin picking the ripe fruits.

CRACK.

I hear twigs snap loudly from somewhere behind me. Immediately, I stand up and turn around to face the noise, alert. Quietly, I string an arrow onto my bow and ready myself for the attack.

CRACK.

Whatever it is, it is coming closer. I don't have a visual, but I am prepared to shoot at any moment. Adrenaline is coursing through my body, more and more entering my blood with every heartbeat. My eyes scan my surroundings, searching.

"Katniss?" I hear a familiar voice call out from behind one of the trees in front of me.

"Oh my god, Peeta! What the hell do you think you're doing?! I could have killed you!" He steps out from behind a tree, and I lower my weapon.

"That's why I called your name before I jumped out from behind the tree," he laughs. "It would have been terribly stupid of me to surprise Katniss Everdeen, of all people, when she is prowling the woods."

"This is serious, Peeta!" The adrenaline is still pulsing through me, and I find myself angry at him for following me. "What are you doing here?" I ask again.

"I saw you on your way to the woods this morning, and I was... curious. But mostly I just wanted to see you again," he says, almost pleading for me to understand.

I sigh, still slightly peeved from his sneak attack. "Since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. Go pick the ripe berries over there on the other side," I command, nodding in the direction of the strawberry patch opposite me.

His face lights up. "Okay! Happy to help." He walks over loudly, snapping every twig and crunching every leaf in his path. We are going to have to work on that. After a few moments of silence, he speaks up, "So, this is it, huh? These are the infamous woods where Katniss Everdeen hunts."

I smile. "Yep. Thrilling, isn't it?"

"Completely. I don't think I can handle it," he jokes.

"Well, you're gonna have to now. We have a long couple hours ahead of us, and I intend to put you to work," I say mischievously. I like having him here to talk and joke with.

"Really? You'll teach me?" he asks hopefully.

"Teach you?"

"To hunt," he clarifies.

"Oh." That's not exactly what I was thinking, but it makes sense. He tried to teach me to ice cakes; I should return the favor. "Sure... I can try."

His face explodes with excitement. He reminds me of Prim on Saturday as she learned to make flowers with frosting. I laugh at the thought.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing. I just never thought I would agree to teach Peeta Mellark how to hunt."

"Well, dreams really do come true," he teases, but then his face changes from joking to serious. "I never thought  that you would allow me to spend so much time with you." He looks at me, and I stop what I'm doing. I wonder what he is thinking right this very second. My mind flashes back to Saturday afternoon before he left for work. We were so close. His eyes were so full of love. They still are.

He loves me.

"First, we need to work on your hunter's walk," I change the subject back to hunting. "If you walk how you were earlier, you'll scare off every animal within a twenty mile radius."

"Is that right?" he laughs, raising his eyebrows in a mock-questioning sort of way.

"Yep," I answer, smiling. "So, first, you should always walk from toe-to-heel. That way you have better control over where you step, and you can lift your foot quickly if your step promises to be too noisy. Wait for a breeze or some other form of noise cover if you need to run or move fast. Let's practice."

I demonstrate my own techniques and watch as he tries to mimic me. Even after our practice session, he's still a pretty loud walker, but he has improved slightly. It'll have to be good enough for now. I don't expect immediate perfection; after all, it took me years to acquire the skills I have today. As for hunting, I don't expect to kill many animals today with Peeta as a hunting partner, but I do plan on enjoying some time to get to know Peeta without Prim or Gale or my mother around.

Next, I try to teach him to shoot a bow. We pick a random tree with a knot in it, and I show him how to hold the bow and string the arrow. He does so with relative ease. After that, we practice hitting the target. He's not as good at that part… yet. His strength comes in handy, making it easier to manage the tension in the string of the bow, but it will take a while before he is consistently accurate. I can tell he has some natural talent, though.

"Not bad," I say, impressed with his last attempt at hitting the target; he only missed the tree by a couple of inches.

"You're just saying that," he says, disappointed.

"No, really! Most people can barely string the arrow. You are doing well! It just takes time and practice," I say encouragingly. At those words, I know how I am going to thank Peeta for all that he has done. He is going to be a hunter, and he is going to be an archer; I will teach him. I decide to start gathering materials for his bow this week. Without realizing what I am doing, I grin overtly.

"What's so funny?" Peeta wonders, watching my face.

"Oh—um…nothing," I say trying to cover up my mistake.

"You were smiling about something. What was it?" He smiles playfully as he lowers the arrow and walks toward me.

"Nothing. Even if I was thinking of something, I wouldn't tell you what it was," I say defiantly.

"No?" He takes another step closer. We are separated by only a couple of feet. "And why is that?"

Another step means we are a foot apart. His blonde hair has fallen into his face slightly, and I notice the glimmer of sweat which coats his skin as a result of our morning lessons. I am looking up into his deep blue eyes, which are full of love. And desire.

"I—uh—because I don't have to," I stutter. I don't really know what to say, and his close proximity isn't helping me focus. Part of me wants to tell him to stop, to back off, but more of me wants him to keep moving closer, to eliminate the space that is between us.

When he realizes I am not going to tell him what I was thinking, he abruptly changes the subject. "Katniss, I know you told me that you don't feel the same way I do, but I think you realize now that something is different. My feelings haven't changed at all. As a matter of fact, they are probably growing stronger as time goes on, but I wanted to ask you once more, to give you a chance to change your mind and get rid of some of the confusion that is between us. I am saying all this because things have felt different lately, and I think you have felt it too," his eyes are searching mine, hoping that something has indeed changed in me. "If you still believe with all your heart that nothing can happen between us, then I won't ask you again, but if something has changed in your heart, please tell me."

I know he's right. Something has changed; I can't keep ignoring it. In this moment, I know I either have to take the risk and jump, believing that Peeta will catch me, or I have to turn away and figure out how to clear my heart of all of these feelings and thoughts and dreams.

Before I know what I am doing, I close the distance between us and tuck myself into his chest.

"Okay," I say softly.

"Okay?" he asks, unsure of what to do.

"Okay," I repeat, turning my head so I can see his face. "You're right. I don't know how to explain it, but you're right. Something is different. Whatever it is scares me to death, but it also makes me feel alive. I can't stop thinking about you, Peeta Mellark, and it's driving me crazy." I try to explain.

"Really?" His face is overcome with joy. Seeing him so happy makes me happy.

"Yes," I laugh. He joins in, and we just hold each other and laugh. After we settle down, he draws back a few inches to look at me.

Once again, I watch as his blue eyes find my lips, but this time they dart back to my eyes, asking me for permission. In that moment, I know exactly what I want.

"It's okay, Peeta," I encourage him.

He places his strong hands gently on my cheeks, which tingle under his touch, and then he pulls his face closer and closer to mine. At the last second, I close my eyes, like I did in the dream, but I know this time it's real. He is real.

When our lips finally meet, fire consumes me, and I am undone. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him even closer. We begin to move as one. One heartbeat. One breath. And when I feel like I am about to pass out from a lack of oxygen, I pull away and gulp in as much air as I can before finding his lips once again.

A few moments later, Peeta pulls away and looks into my eyes. I wish he wouldn't stop, that we could kiss forever, but then, I see the passion and the excitement in his eyes; he has waited for this moment for so long. His hand tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ears, and he whispers, "I love you, Katniss Everdeen. I've loved you for eleven years, and I will love you until I die." He seals his words with another kiss, but this time it is short and sweet and packed with emotion.

I want to cry. I feel it; I can feel his love exploding all over me with so much force that I'm afraid my legs will fail. All I can do is hold him and let him hold me. I cannot yet tell him what he wants to hear, and who knows if I ever will be able to?  All I do know is that this moment feels so right.  He is beautiful. And I am his.