Chapter Text
Hoping to get in touch with her Scottish roots and re-connect (if they ever connected in the first place) with her semi-estranged brother, Haymitch, Katniss’s mother has decided to take her daughters on vacation to Scotland. With Katniss being on summer break from college, and Prim from high school, her mother thinks it the perfect time to go for a couple of months.
Katniss will miss her group of friends: Gale, Madge, Johanna, and Rue, and it’s not exactly her first choice of vacations‒she’d much rather spend her time off in the woods, alone‒but she supposes she doesn’t have much say in the matter. And so, the three of them are headed to the land of kilts, castles, the Loch Ness Monster, bagpipes, and whiskey‒which is just about the extent of Katniss’s knowledge of Scotland.
The Everdeen women fly into Inverness and rent a car. Katniss’s mother does surprisingly well navigating the winding coastal roads and doesn’t struggle much with driving on the other side of the road, despite not having been here since she was a young child‒and of course, she wasn’t old enough to drive back then. Prim sits in the front seat, listening to music on her iPhone most of the way while Katniss is in the back, taking in the views through her passenger side window.
The countryside is pretty, the landscape marked by steep mountains, rolling green hills, and clear waters. Uncle Haymitch lives in the central Scottish highlands; he has a place on Lake Tay‒a little over two hours from Inverness by car. Supposedly, her uncle’s home is small-ish but adequate with plenty of land and boasting of amazing lake views. Haymitch had made a point to tell them about the lake. Huh. Katniss hadn’t thought he cared about anything other than a good, stiff drink.
The drive is long, probably seeming longer due to jetlag, but Katniss occupies herself well enough by looking out the window. They pass a couple of small villages, an old white church, a scorched, partially restored castle, and lots and lots of sheep.
When they finally pull up to Haymitch’s cottage and get out, Katniss stays behind a moment to look around, and she can’t resist climbing the hill overlooking the lake, or loch, as they call it. Atop the hill, she surveys the large expanse of land‒there’s crystal blue-green water as far as the eye can see but relatively few trees, except for some dense groves of them near the mountains. She can’t help thinking this is no place for a girl like her, but she also can’t deny the natural beauty of her surroundings.
Come to think of it, there’s something about being in this Scottish meadow…surrounded by tall grass, thistle, heather, and bluebells‒it’s peaceful. A gentle yet persistent breeze whips through Katniss’s hair, loosening several strands of her tight braid and causing them to dance in the wind, and she smiles to herself.
Maybe she could get used to this place.
Not as beautiful as my dad’s lake, thinks she, looking out across Lake Tay, but yeah, it’ll do.
All of sudden, Katniss finds herself eager to explore the Scottish highlands and find out what else is out there, but she doesn’t have much time to think on it.
“Katniss!” Her mother’s call cuts through the serenity of the world around her. “Are you coming?”
Katniss takes a last deep inhale of fresh air, then replies, “Coming!” And she heads back down the hill.
Katniss follows her mother inside. Haymitch’s cottage is the picture of rustic–made of old brown brick and wood, with basic furniture and even a wood-burning stove. It’s a bit dusty in here but good enough for Katniss, and he does have a nice stone fireplace. She catches sight of her uncle’s back; he’s talking to Prim near a large picture window looking out onto the lake.
Haymitch turns and sees her then. He’s dressed in a tattered gray Henley and dirty jeans. He has a scraggly beard, and his dark, curly hair is matted beneath a gray beanie cap.
“Well, there she is,” greets Haymitch in an exuberant, albeit slightly sarcastic tone. “How are ye, sweetheart?” Uncle Haymitch pronounces it like sweethar. He’s always called her that, ever since she was a little girl, which consequently, was the last time he saw her‒during his one and only visit to the United States.
“Fine,” Katniss replies succinctly, meeting his similarly gray-colored eyes. She always thought it weird she ended up with gray eyes like her uncle. “How are you, Uncle Haymitch?”
“Canna complain, canna complain,” says he, approaching her. With wrinkled brow, he takes stock of her, stroking the scruff on his chin.
“My, haven’y ye grown, sweetheart! Like a weed!”
Katniss shrugs. “Time will do that.” While she isn’t tall by most standards of adult females, she has grown since then.
“Aye.” He chuckles. “Ye speak the truth, lass.”
After their little family reunion, Haymitch gives them a mini tour of his home, and they get settled in. Right away, Katniss’s mother and Prim take to the kitchen to cook dinner. Katniss checks in with them a couple of times, and it appears they’re making some sort of Scottish feast. According to Prim, their mother had asked Haymitch what he wanted for dinner, and he’d patted the bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm and snarkily replied, “This is all I need.” Well, their mother had promptly snatched the bottle away from him and berated him about how that wasn’t a meal and so long as she was under his roof, she was going to make sure he ate properly.
Her mother always did take the needs of others seriously.
Katniss offers to help in the kitchen, but apparently, her mom and Prim have got it covered, so she heads up to her room at the top of the stairs. She reads for a bit, stares out the window, and daydreams, then heads back downstairs. The strong smell wafting up to greet her nose is one she can’t quite place, but it must be that of Scottish cuisine‒it does smell tasty.
Her mother and Prim look to be finishing up, so Katniss tells them she’ll set the table. She’s just gathering the plates when she hears the sound of the front door creaking open, and all three women turn.
Katniss hears him before she sees him. “Haymitch! Ye home?” comes a man’s deep voice.
“Haymitch, are you expecting someone?” her mother inquires as her uncle saunters into the kitchen.
“Ahh, no.” He scratches his chin. “But that sounds to be me mate, Peeta.”
“Oh, Peeta, yes,” says her mother, nodding. “How is he?” Haymitch shrugs.
They head into the dining room to greet him.
“Lad,” Uncle Haymitch bellows, “where ye been?”
From the next room, Haymitch’s buddy snarks, “Here and there,” in a sexy Scottish accent.
Yes, Katniss has to admit, he sounds sexy. She’s never thought of a Scottish accent as sexy before, but maybe that’s because she’s not used to hearing one, aside from her uncle’s a handful of times. As for this man, his accent is just as thick as Haymitch’s, but his voice isn’t so gruff; it’s more…velvety.
By contrast, the man’s footsteps are loud and clunky as he steps into the dining room dressed in a leather jacket, black turtleneck, kilt, and black boots, and wearing an orange backpack on his back. He stops short upon sight of the group, which he clearly wasn’t expecting.
“Lad,” exclaims Haymitch. “How be ye?!”
From behind Haymitch, Katniss cranes her neck to get a good look at him. This friend of Haymitch’s is no lad; although, he’s certainly younger than him.
There’s nothing boyish about him, either. He’s stocky and well-built, his arms and legs practically small tree trunks, though not in a revolting way. He has a shaggy, blond mane and a beard, and when he comes closer and catches sight of Katniss, she gets a look at his eyes. They’re blue, exceptionally blue‒bluer than her mother’s, bluer than Prim’s, the bluest she’s ever seen (perhaps even bluer than the sky). Even if she only catches a glimpse when he swipes a thick mass of curls out of his eyes…
Haymitch approaches his friend and reaches out, simultaneously clasping his hand and slapping him on his broad back. “Awright, ya wee bawbag?”
The burly man chuckles.
Katniss squints over at her mother in confusion, noticing that her mother’s cheeks have pinkened slightly and she’s shaking her head in mild disapproval. Katniss gives her a questioning look, and her mother leans in to whisper in her ear what the greeting means. Katniss’s brows raise in surprise. What an odd way to greet an old friend, by calling him a ball sac…
She supposes men are men in any country.
“Ahh, Haymitch,” the blond man hems and haws, “just came by to make sure ye been eating. And nae, whiskey dinna count.”
Haymitch guffaws. “Ye know me too well.” He turns to the girls and says, “The lad, here, keeps me fed.” Flora smiles at her brother, who then turns his attention back on his friend.
“Didnae know ye’d be havin’ company.” The blond man looks sheepishly between Haymitch and the group. When his eyes land on Katniss, she swears his cheeks go ruddy. “Sorry to be intrudin’.”
Haymitch waves him off with a hand. “Ahh, dinna fash, lad. These be me kin. Flora, Primrose, and Katniss.” He turns to the women. “Lasses, this be Peeta.”
“Aye, Peeta Mellark. Glad tae meet ye.” Peeta flashes them all a toothy grin. “What bonnie names for such bonnie lasses.” His blue eyes sweep the group once more, only flitting over Flora and Prim, but he gives Katniss a distinct look up and down, his gaze lingering on her face.
Or, maybe she’s imagining it.
Flora steps forward, extending her hand. “Peeta, nice to see you again. You probably don’t remember me.”
Peeta wraps both of his large hands around her smaller one. “Nae, I was just a wee thing, but I do remember ye, Miss Flor.”
Katniss doesn’t realize she’s been staring at Peeta in a daze until he meets her eyes. Embarrassingly, she’d been thinking about how his shaggy hair and beard made him look like one of those highland cows, only blond and minus the horns. But now, all she can think about is the closest shade to describe his eyes. He shoots her a wink, and despite his haggard appearance, she feels heat bloom in her cheeks.
Before she knows it, Peeta’s already greeted Prim and is stepping in front of her. Sucking in a sharp breath, Katniss makes eye contact with him.
“Hello, lass,” he speaks softly. “Katniss, int it?”
The sound of her name on his lips sends a small shiver down her back. Strange. She nods dumbly.
Katniss doesn’t offer her hand, but he takes it, anyway, holding onto it as he did her mother’s. It’s warm and huge, and she kind of doesn’t want him to let go. Again, strange.
“Pleased t’ meet ye.”
Once more, all Katniss does is nod.
Peeta Mellark pats her hand, then slowly releases it, flashing her a sweet, pearly smile. Then he turns to the others. “I didnae bring anything for the table,” he laments, poking his lip out in a pout. “Oh! But…” He digs around in his pocket, producing a slightly smashed but still acceptable, colorful bouquet of wildflowers. “I picked ‘em on a whim. S’pose was fortunate, seeing how I have some bonnie lasses to give ‘em to.”
“How thoughtful, Peeta,” says Flora. And both Prim and she are all smiles.
“These bluebells match yer eyes nicely, Flor,” says Peeta, heading over to Katniss’s mother. He presents her with the blue, bell-shaped buds.
“Thank you, Peeta,” says Katniss’s mother, accepting them with a warm smile.
“And…here’s some cowslip.” He sifts through the bouquet, separating a patch of yellow blooms. “A relative of the primrose. For young Primrose.” He hands them over, and Prim aww’s over her namesake flower’s cousins.
Meanwhile, Katniss is watching Peeta closely. Her mother and Prim fell for his kindness hook, line, and sinker; whereas, she is more skeptical of a person so openly friendly to people he’s just met. While the two of them gush over Peeta’s flowers, she muses on what to make of this man. He’s friendly and charming, certainly, even if he does look like a sheep. Oh wait, it was a cow. No matter. The point is, is it genuine?
His voice stirs her from her reverie. “And for Miss Katniss…” Peeta pauses. “Well, I didnae find any katniss plants on me journey…”
“That’s okay.”
“So…ye get the rest of the lot,” the words come tumbling out as he sticks out the remainder of the bouquet almost shyly. “Daffodils, snowdrops, and heather.”
“Thank you,” Katniss says softly, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Despite her previous thoughts, she’s touched. She takes them from him, their fingers brushing lightly as she does, and she offers him a small smile. Peeta gives a broad one back.
Katniss observes the tiny bouquet in her hand. “Hey, these are dandelions.”
“Ah, yes, forgot I stuck some’a those in there, too,” he says. “They’re edible, ye ken?”
Katniss nods. “I know.” She stares down at the flowers, the hint of a wistful smile playing on her lips as she recalls what her father taught her about edible plants. She looks back up at Peeta. “You know a lot about plants.”
“Ah, well, not really. But I’ve…,” he rubs the back of his neck, “picked up a thing or two over the years.”
She gives him another slip of a smile, and she swears his cheeks get even redder.
Clearing his throat, Peeta addresses the group again. “Apologies for looking a mess ‘afore all of ye bonnie lasses.“
“Not at all, Peeta,” says Flora.
“Thank ye.” He smiles. “Well, I ken ye are about to have dinner, from the smell of it, a’ least. I’ll leave ye be.”
“You should stay, Peeta,” urges her mother. “We have plenty of food.”
“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m nae fit for that, Flor. Wouldn’y feel right ‘less I cleaned up.”
“Ye can get cleaned up here, lad,” puts in Haymitch.
Peeta hesitates but agrees. “I won’t be long, but ye can go on without me.” He motions.
“Nonsense, Peeta,” Katniss’s mother argues. “We’ll wait for you. And no rush. I’m still finishing the last of the side dishes, so you should have plenty of time to clean up before they’re done.”
This isn’t completely true, simply her mother’s hospitality.
Peeta bounds up the stairs while Haymitch plops into a seat at the table, and Katniss returns to setting the table for dinner.
Twenty minutes later, they’re all seated at the table waiting. Peeta returns, and the moment he materializes, Katniss nearly falls out of her chair.
He looks completely different. He looks…hot.
She’s not sure how he did it so fast, but Peeta has showered (she’s surprised Haymitch even has soap in the house) and is wearing fresh clothing‒a navy button-down that compliments his eyes and another, matching kilt‒he must have had the clothing in the backpack, for she doubts Haymitch’s stuff would fit him. He’s given himself a haircut, his golden hair now falling in soft, shorter waves across his forehead. He’s even styled his hair a little. And he’s clean-shaven. Who knew that sharp, fine jawline was hidden beneath all that facial hair?
Well, that’ll teach her to judge a book by its cover.
Peeta greets everyone, flashing his brilliant smile before taking the seat directly across from Katniss. Okay, so it probably isn’t purposeful; it was simply the closest empty one to him.
“This all looks and smells wonderful,” compliments Peeta. “Wow. Haggis. Scotch pies. Neeps and tatties. All me favorite dishes, too.” Katniss’s mother smiles appreciatively.
“Aye, the lasses did a fine job,” agrees Haymitch, already heaping a pile of turnips and potatoes onto his plate.
Peeta, however, doesn’t readily go for the food and instead raises his glass. They all follow suit. “Slainte! That means ‘cheers,’” he says. “Cheers to fine cookin’ and fine company.” His eyes lock on Katniss’s as he takes a drink, and she can’t seem to tear hers away. When he sets his glass down he gives her a quick little half-wink.
Katniss’s body instantly heats up, and she rubs her palms along her pants beneath the table. She really wishes he’d stop doing that.
“I didn’t do anything but set the table,” Katniss awkwardly blurts out, not knowing why she suddenly felt obliged to confess that to him.
Peeta purses his lips and shrugs his broad shoulders in response. “No skin off me back, lass. Ye can be the fine company, then.”
Demurely, Katniss shrinks down in her chair, though she can’t help the faint smile painting her lips.
Everyone begins digging into the food, and of course, Peeta does the gentlemanly thing of passing dishes around. He always starts with Katniss, but maybe it’s just because she’s the most convenient choice. Once she’s gotten a little of everything on her plate, she raises her fork to her lips to sample the haggis but stops at the pleasurable groan escaping Peeta’s lips.
He’s taken his first bite and is clearly impressed. “This is well tidy scran,” announces Peeta, indicating he’s referring to the scotch pie.
“Means he likes it,” translates Haymitch, shoving a heaping forkful of haggis into his own mouth.
“Aye,” Peeta confirms. “And I’m grateful, ‘specially considering I haven’y been eating much recently. Oh, I ken I look like a beast,” he pats his stomach, but I did drop some kilograms on my journey.”
A beast, huh? Him calling himself that is amusing, and a little enticing to Katniss. Why is it her mind automatically went to a sexual place when he clearly didn’t mean it like that?
“Tis high praise comin’ from the lad. He be a baker, ye know,” Haymitch informs them.
“Aye.” Peeta nods. “But I think I have some competition now.”
Katniss’s mother politely thanks Peeta.
Apparently, the shower and grooming did wonders for Peeta Mellark’s confidence‒Or, perhaps he’s always like this but was simply thrown off-guard initially by their presence‒because he doesn’t act a bit shy during dinner. In fact, he’s doing most of the talking.
As for Katniss, she’s merely trying to enjoy her food (those foods she likes), but she can’t stop herself from surreptitiously (or maybe not so) glancing at Peeta. She’d found his body attractive, and been drawn to his eyes, from the start, but now that she’s gotten a look at all of him…well, his attractiveness is beyond question.
She thinks she’s being sneaky about checking him out, but the little smile playing on his lips suggests otherwise. And when he looks up suddenly and catches her looking at him, his lips spread into a full, satisfied grin. He winks at her yet again, and she feels a strong pulsing between her legs.
Her eyes shoot to her plate.
How dare he.
Does he know what he’s doing? Is he toying with her?
Flustered, Katniss shoves a huge bite of haggis into her mouth, even though she hates it. Making a face, she chews it up while Peeta watches her, his brow quirked amusedly. She’s relieved when the stuff disintegrates enough to slide down her throat, and she quickly takes a large swig of her water to wash it down. She’s likewise relieved when Peeta looks away.
Katniss decides to go for a potato this time. She pops one in her mouth, thankful that Peeta is preoccupied with his own food. She begins to chew but becomes momentarily distracted by the sight of the blond hunk across from her casually licking sauce off his lips, and she sucks the bite down too soon.
And now, there’s a large chunk of potato lodged in her esophagus.
She’s choking‒Oh God, she’s choking! And all she can think is she can’t believe she’s going to die because of getting hot and bothered over a guy…
In seconds, Peeta is behind Katniss’s chair, his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. "Ye alright, lass?" He’s looking down into her face worriedly, and all she can do is clutch at her throat and stare up at him like a deer caught in headlights. She feels his hands slide around her waist then, and suddenly, he’s tugging her out of her chair. He’s just wrapped his hands around her middle and made a fist, applying light pressure, when she manages to cough up the chunk of food, grasping her napkin just in time to spat the piece into it. Ears ringing and face hot, she starts coughing and wheezing.
Did Peeta Mellark just save her life? She isn’t sure whether it was the pressure of his fist that caused her to regurgitate the food or her own determination to survive.
Peeta’s arms are still surrounding her. He sets her back in her chair but kneels protectively beside her, placing one hand on the back of her chair and the other innocently on her knee. “Katniss, ye alright?”
Covering her mouth, for she’s still coughing some, she peers into Peeta’s blue eyes. He wears an expression of ardent concern, and his hand has moved from the chair to her back and is alternating between lightly patting and rubbing slow circles into it. His other hand still rests on her knee.
He smells good‒like springtime after a rain…
“Y-yes,” she stammers.
"Oh, praise be!” exclaims Peeta, squeezing her knee‒probably not on purpose. “I thought I was gonna have to pump it out of ye.”
She assumes he means the Heimlich Maneuver. Well, he was pretty close to doing just that, and her heart flutters retroactively at the feel of his arms wrapped around her. More precisely, it was only his large hands and, partially, his brawny forearms around her small frame.
“Feart I might crack a rib.” He looks down at her. “Ye alright, sweetheart? I didnae hurt ye, did I?” She shakes her head, and he gives her a warm smile.
“Is she alright?” Prim asks, concern lacing her voice.
Peeta looks to Katniss for confirmation, and she nods.
“Aye, she’ll be alright,” he tells Prim, patting Katniss’s leg.
Sure, she’s alright in a manner of speaking. She’ll live, but how embarrassing.
Face hot, and no doubt beet red, Katniss glances over at her family. They’re all on their feet now, her mother and Prim appearing as concerned as Peeta was, and as for Haymitch, it’s anybody’s guess what the neutral expression on his face means‒could be a hint of worry, or he could be ready to laugh his ass (or arse as he’d say) off over her stupidity.
Peeta stands then, and they all return to their seats. With a sigh, Katniss adjusts her shirt, tugging it down all the way after it’d ridden up when he wrapped his arms around her.
After that, dinner continues as normal, Katniss taking it much slower and mainly picking at her food. Peeta keeps glancing over, not flirtatiously as before, but it’s more like he’s checking to make sure she’s still breathing.
She wants to crawl into a cave and die…
Okay, perhaps that’s a tad dramatic.
Katniss makes a few more assurances that she’s alright and chooses to ignore Haymitch’s snide remark about chewing her food before swallowing, but after a bit, the mood lightens. Yet again, she’s grateful for Peeta, who propels the conversation forward, steering it away from her.
He brings up his journey again.
“So, where were ye, then?” asks Haymitch. Turning to his sister and nieces, he adds, “Knowing me mate, Peeta, coulda been an’awhere.”
Katniss wonders what exactly he means by that.
“Now, Haymitch,” chides Peeta, “don’t go tellin’ yer kin all sorts of tales about me that arn’y true. …But, well, I suppose that’s sort of accurate.” He strokes his now smooth‒Katniss assumes, though she’d kind of like to touch to confirm‒dimpled chin. “Went off on a trek ‘cross the highlands for a wee bit o’…self-discovery.”
Haymitch barks out a laugh. “Aye, and what did ye discover about yer’self that ye didnae already know?”
“Nae a blessed thing,” chuckles Peeta.
Haymitch snorts. “Well, sounds like a huge waste of time!”
“Nae all of it. Saw some beautiful countryside, was alone with me thoughts in nature…”
Katniss doesn’t claim to understand every single thing Peeta says, but hearing him talk about his journey is kind of…inspiring, in a way.
However, that doesn’t transfer well from her brain to her tongue.
“Must be nice to take off whenever you want for as long as you want” is what she says. She squeezes her eyes shut in disbelief that she said it aloud. After he was so nice and basically saved her life, of course, she had to go and be a sarcastic little snot.
But Peeta doesn’t appear a bit angry or upset, and he simply says, “Aye, but canna do it al’ways.”
“Canna believe ye left the bakery,” Haymitch chimes in, taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. He pulls it back when his sister attempts to sneak it away from him.
“Was in capable hands with Delly and the boys,” replies Peeta.
Who’s Delly? thinks Katniss. His wife? Suddenly, she’s irrationally jealous.
Peeta must notice the look on her face because he explains, “Delly’s an old childhood friend who works for me.”
“Aye,” nods Haymitch, “good lass. Think the two of ye will ever give it a go, lad?”
Katniss doesn’t quite understand why, but her reaction is to scowl at her uncle for putting such thoughts in Peeta’s head. Then again, maybe the thought was already there. What does she know? Nothing. She knows nothing about Peeta or Delly or whatever there is or isn’t between them.
However, she secretly smiles when Peeta shakes his head and says, “She’s a bonnie lass, but nae for me. Besides, I think she’s got her eye on another.”
Why should she be pleased, though? That’s not to say he doesn’t have some other girl. She didn’t notice a ring, but maybe their culture is different here. And even if he is single, she can’t possibly be considering pursuing an older man, who is her uncle’s friend and lives in another country…
Can she?
Katniss’s mother speaks up then. “So, how was this journey of yours, Peeta?”
“Ah, it was lovely. Thank ye for asking, Flora.”
“What did you do?” asks Prim.
“Not a lot. Made friends with a sheep.” Katniss raises a brow at Peeta. From across the table, he’s looking at her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Not sure which one of us did more of the blathering.”
Haymitch barks out a laugh. “I wager it was ye, mate!”
“Aye, normally I’d agree with ye, but this sheep kept a-goin’ on and on.” Peeta begins imitating the sound of the sheep’s bleats.
Katniss’s mother is silently laughing, and next to her, Prim is full-on giggling. Even Katniss can no longer keep her smile in-check, imagining this hulking man sitting cross-legged in a field chatting up a sheep.
“Did the sheep have anything interesting to say?” laughs Prim.
“Aye, a few things,” he tells her. Prim laughs harder. “But, then he got displeased with me tellin’ him all of me troubles and showed me his curple.”
At that, Haymitch nearly spews his drink.
“Curple? What’s that?” asks Prim.
“His, uh, derriere,” says Peeta, and Prim bursts into uproarious laughter.
Katniss is shaking her head, the corner of her unruly lip twitching. Peeta turns toward her, his bright blue eyes meeting hers.
“Ye dinnae believe me, lass?” He amusedly rests his chin on his knuckle.
“That you talked to a sheep, and it talked back for a while, but then it got sick of you and showed you its butt?” Katniss presses her lips together. “I believe it.”
Katniss’s mother chides her for her rude tone, but Peeta merely grins.
“I’m sorry, Peeta,” her mother apologizes while Katniss turns her head and subtly rolls her eyes. She’s not a child, not even a teen, and she doesn’t need her mother apologizing for her. She’s already embarrassed herself enough this evening, nearly choking to death and all. Maybe that’s why she’s acting this way…
“It’s nae bother,” says Peeta. “The lass is right on the money, as you say.”
Growing bolder, “So, I suppose after that you sheared the sheep?” taunts Katniss, smirking haughtily.
“Actually, I did, on a count of he looked like he could use a trim.”
Prim snorts loudly at that, and Katniss lets out a little chuckle.
Her little sister seems very curious to know more. “Did you take a picture with him?” Prim inquires, and immediately, Peeta is pulling out his phone. He brings it around back of their chairs to show them, settling between the two younger girls. Katniss does her best to ignore the way his beefy arm is slung around her chair, his sinewy forearm brushing her back.
She focuses on the picture. And yes, sure enough, there’s Peeta in a selfie with a large, wooly sheep. He’s smiling, and his eyes are a much brighter blue even than now. Perhaps it’s the sunlight? Or did he put a filter on? She doubts it; guys don’t often bother with that. But damn, those eyes are the bluest eyes she’s ever seen.
He swipes through a few more photos of the countryside, and then there’s another with the sheep looking…less woolly. Unless he’s trying to trick them, he did shear the damn sheep.
This guy is weird. And yet, there’s something appealing about him…
The sheep tale isn’t the only one Peeta tells that evening, and Katniss has to wonder, which of his stories about his life and travels are real and which are not. He’s certainly good at spinning stories, and there’s no telling what he’ll say next. He’s an entertaining storyteller, for sure, and yet, Katniss is not so sure she likes a man who can flat-out lie so easily. Because yes, some of his stories have to be lies.
After dinner and the dishes are done, Katniss, Prim, and her mother sit around chatting by the fire while Haymitch and Peeta play chess. It seems that not only is Peeta good-looking, sweet, and charming, but he’s also an intellectual. How about that for being given with both hands?
Peeta tells more stories, and Katniss finds herself captivated by the lengthy game of chess Haymitch and Peeta have going. They’re both very good, strategic players. But ultimately, they get tired and leave the game for later at a stalemate.
Somehow, Katniss and Peeta are the last two up at nearly midnight. Her mother and sister have already gone upstairs, and Haymitch has wandered off into his study for a nightcap. He’d invited Peeta, but he’d said he needed to get home. Haymitch then offered him the guest room for the night so he didn’t have to walk home, which Peeta accepted.
Peeta is putting away the chessboard. Katniss casts one last glance his way before attempting to sneak upstairs. He, of course, notices and calls out to her. She turns back.
"So,” he says, one corner of his mouth quirking playfully, “I take it ye like the bare look better."
“What?” Katniss gapes.
“Me face. No beard.” Peeta strokes his chin. “And the short hair.” He runs a hand through his gelled blond waves.
Damn him. He’s known the effect he has this whole time…
Katniss’s lips part, but no words come. He has the gall to laugh, and just when she’s nearly found her voice to tell him off, he moves to stand before her. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and smiles. And she loses her words all over again.
If she wasn’t certain before, she is now‒that she’s a goner.
“I dinna blame ye. I looked like a hairy coo when I walked in here tonight.”
The corner of Katniss’s lip tilts. “A what?”
“A hairy cow.”
Katniss bursts out laughing, because, yes, she’d been thinking the same thing. She sort of feels like she should apologize for misjudging him, or rather judging him in a shallow manner, but he doesn’t even know she did, so her apology is moot, and would probably only make matters worse.
“Well, you don’t look like a cow anymore,” she says instead. Her tone is a bit too flirtatious for as ridiculous as the words are coming out of her mouth.
Peeta grins. “What do I look like now?” he quips, those blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
“Um, a…a…a man,” she finishes lamely.
Peeta laughs. “Well, I am that, lass. Good on ye to notice.” He winks at her, and though Katniss’s cheeks flame for about the thousandth time today, she can’t help but smile.
He makes as though he’s going to head up to bed, then, but she stops him, catching him by the arm. She can’t believe she’s being so bold with this strange man.
“I, uh, wanted to say…” she begins. Showing gratitude has always been a struggle for Katniss, not because she’s arrogant, but because she hates owing people. However, she feels she should say something. "Thank you,” she blurts out. “For saving my life.”
Peeta smiles. “Did I? Was nothing, really. Barely did a thing.“
"But you would have,” she persists. “You didn’t hesitate to jump in and help me.”
“Just reacted. Was instinct, lass.”
Why is he so damn modest? It’s kind of annoying.
She opens and closes her mouth, and he seems to understand that she needs his acceptance of her thanks.
“You’re welcome,” he says softly, staring into her eyes. Then he sighs. “Ye had me worried, lass.”
Katniss looks away. “Sorry. But, um, can we please never speak of it again?” She looks back to see him making a zipper motion across his lips then crossing his heart. She smirks.
He’s staring again, and she feels like melting into a puddle right at his feet.
“What?” she demands, a bit too defensively.
“Sorry. Sorry to stare, lass. ‘Tis nothing. Except…I can see where ye get yer eye color from.”
“Oh,” she mutters.
“Canna say I ever paid much attention to Haymitch’s eyes,” he shrugs, “but on ye, the color is exquisite. Unique. Beautiful. Like the grey mornin’ mists over the moors.”
Katniss lips part. She doesn’t normally go for poetic stuff, so why does she suddenly want to kiss him so badly?
They stand there silently for a moment.
“So…ye like it, lass?” he speaks up. “The new look?”
Katniss tilts her chin upward and smiles at him. “I do.”
“Good.” Peeta returns the smile then steps around her, brushing her arm lightly as he goes. “Good night, Katniss.”
“Good night, Peeta.”
That night, Katniss drifts off to sleep to thoughts of Peeta Mellark with an unsettled, but not wholly unpleasant feeling, in her stomach.