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As I close the pages of their favorite storybook, one full of danger and adventure, with a happy ending, of course, I look down upon my children, our children, and I can’t help thinking of how we got here…
Ours was a simple tale of friends who fell in love, although there were naturally a few twists and turns along the way. I’m not good with words‒that’s Peeta’s department–but I’ll do my best to tell it.
It all started with a small coffee and tea shop…
No, strike that, it actually began many years before, around age 5…
A new family, the Mellarks, had just moved in next door. I was outside playing when the moving truck came. Normally, I kept to myself and would have ignored something such as that, but something caught my eye‒a glint of sunlight off the yellowest head I’d ever seen‒and I stopped to look. And then, there were two bright blue eyes, as blue as the sky, staring over at me.
The little boy, about my age, came galloping over‒his parents and two brothers (I assumed) didn’t even seem to notice he was gone.
“Hi!” the blond neighbor boy said, waving. “I’m Peeta. What’s your name?” He quickly wiped dirt or sweat off on his shorts and stuck out a pale, chubby hand almost shyly.
“Katniss,” I told him. I looked at my own hand; it was pretty dirty, too, but I didn’t bother wiping it. Hesitantly, I extended my much smaller, olive-toned hand, and he clasped it.
“Katniss,” he repeated, giving my hand an exuberant yet gentle shake.
“Yes,” I said, amazed he got it right on the first try. I’d been called all sorts of funny names involving cats, such as Catnip…and well, I won’t get into them all. You get the idea.
The little boy, Peeta, started chattering about a lot of things, and it was kind of overwhelming to listen, but I didn’t really mind him talking. Truthfully, I was tuning him out a little, contemplating my next adventure in the woods, when he caught my attention again, this time with his words.
“What?” I asked, unsure I’d heard what I thought I did.
“Your eyes. I like them. I like the color. They’re really pretty.”
I couldn’t imagine anyone thinking plain old gray Seam eyes were pretty, especially not a boy with such nice blue ones.
I looked into his face; his eyes were even brighter, and his cheeks were as pink as my little sister’s stuffed pig. “Um, thank you.” I kicked at a clot of dirt at my feet, breaking it apart with my ratty tennis shoe. I got a peek at his shoes then, which were much nicer than mine.
“I like your shoes,” I told him. Because I did. And I figured I should probably say something nice, too, like my dad taught me.
“Thanks!” He sounded really happy about that. “They used to be my brother’s, and they’re a little big‒sometimes they slip off‒but they’re still nice, and I like them a lot.”
I gave him a small smile. My baby sister, Prim, had to wear my hand-me-down baby clothes, so I was sure she’d be able to relate when she was old enough to know the difference.
Not long after, Peeta’s parents called him to come back, and we said our goodbyes. But before he left, he told me he was glad to meet me and that he hoped we could be friends.
“Okay,” I said. He smiled wide, revealing his very white teeth, and then took off running. He turned back a couple of times to wave at me, and I laughed when he nearly tripped over a stump because he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going.
What a silly boy.
But a nice one.
He was okay, I thought.
Turned out, Peeta and I got along really well, despite how different we were in looks and personalities. And even though his family was better off than mine, none of that mattered. Peeta never saw those things, only me, and he liked me for who I was. And I liked him, too.
From that first day on, Peeta Mellark and I were inseparable. He went on adventures with me in the woods, and I did things he liked to do, too, like coloring and helping his father bake sweets. We didn’t see his father a lot, though, because he was very busy running the family bakery.
When he was old enough, Peeta helped out at the bakery. One day, he asked if I’d like to come along and help out, too. And it was a lot of fun. I only got to help out there once in a while, though, when it wasn’t busy, and when his mother was away. His mother absolutely forbade me to come into the bakery. She didn’t like me very much, and she was always really grouchy. I called her The Witch. Fortunately, she didn’t mind if I came over to play at his house, so long as we stayed out of her way, she said. She usually ignored me, as she ignored Peeta. When she wasn’t ignoring us, we often hid from her.
Aside from his witch of a mother, I suspected Peeta had a pretty good life, but it wasn’t as nice as I’d once thought. In addition to his father being busy and his mother being a Witch, his brothers ignored him, even though he really looked up to them and wanted to be close to them. And then, there were the occasional mysterious bruises.
I often wondered about them, but I never asked, and Peeta always tried to hide them or had some excuse. I should have known where they actually came from.
One day, I saw the cause firsthand.
I was coming over to play when I heard Peeta’s mother’s shrill, harsh voice yelling at him, calling him a ‘stupid creature.’ I was so angry in that moment that my hands balled into fists at my sides, and my entire body tightened up.
Peeta wasn’t stupid; he was the smartest, most wonderful boy I knew! How dare she say that about him!
And then I saw something I never expected. I saw her hit Peeta. And I saw red. I wanted to run at her and fend her off, but I froze, and it was over almost before I could even blink. I’ll never quite forgive myself for not stopping it.
After that, Peeta had a red welt on his face for days and then a blackish-purplish bruise for even longer. Of course, Peeta lied to me about it, at first, but I knew, and he could tell by the look on my face that I knew. So, he admitted it. We never said anything else about it, but I was extremely protective of him whenever his mother was around after that, sticking to his side like glue. From then on, if she tried to hit him, she’d have to hit me first.
I was glad the day Peeta’s father took Peeta and his brothers away from his mother. But I was also sad because they moved two blocks over. That made it a lot tougher to see Peeta, but I would run there or ride my old bike, and occasionally, Peeta’s dad would pick me up and take me home because Peeta always begged to have me over to play. I even spent the night sometimes, and we slept in the same bed, that is, until we were told we were too old to do so.
At age 11, my world came crashing down. That was the year my father was killed in a mine explosion. It was devastating, for all of us, mainly my mother. My mother practically vanished into thin air when it happened, and it was only thanks to what my father had taught me about finding food that we managed to get by. Really, it was because of Peeta that I even remembered what to do, for he’d plucked a bunch of dandelions and given them to me in condolence the first opportunity he had to see me after it happened. Those dandelions were what reminded me about my father’s survival lessons, and they gave me hope that we could, indeed, survive.
And so, I gathered edibles from the forest, and sometimes our neighbor, a kind old woman we called Greasy Sae, would bring us stews. Peeta and his father also helped take care of us, made sure we ate, and Peeta’s dad made sure we weren’t taken away from my mom‒although, we probably should have been.
Now that she was older, I started bringing Prim along to Peeta’s (and everywhere), although I never stayed gone long. I didn’t like leaving my mother alone for very long. Thus, I saw Peeta less and less.
And then high school happened, and Peeta got very involved in sports. He was a champion wrestler and very popular with the sports set, and with the girls, too.
When I noticed girls noticing Peeta, I stayed away. What chance did I have, after all, of keeping his attention when he had so many other options who were far prettier, bubblier, and more interesting than me? It was better that I stepped aside, for his happiness.
Peeta seemed confused, and maybe a little hurt when I started hanging out more and more with Gale Hawthorne, who was two years older than me. It wasn’t because I’d rather hang out with him than Peeta, or that I liked him as anything more than a friend, but he was more my speed. Hanging out with Gale was a good distraction from Peeta’s busyness and popularity, and he wasn’t bad company. But I didn’t talk to him like I talked to Peeta. Peeta was still the one I chose to share my hopes and dreams with, and the one who knew all my secrets, save for one.
In spite of my friendship with Gale, Peeta still did a lot of things he used to. He walked me home when I wasn’t with Gale; he called me frequently, and he always remembered my birthday. But it wasn’t exactly like it was before. I suppose these things happen, friends drifting apart with time, but Peeta Mellark never left my mind, or my heart…
When high school ended, I expected Peeta to go off to some fancy university‒probably on a wrestling scholarship‒so imagine my surprise when he decided to stay home. He said he wanted to stick around Panem, said that he really had no desire to go to college, and it wasn’t like his father could afford to send him and his brothers. I couldn’t say that I wasn’t pleased that he was sticking around, even if I did think he was wasting his potential.
But who’s to say what success is, really? So long as a person is happy, what does it matter what job they do? I think that’s what my father would say.
And I just wanted Peeta to be happy.
Peeta threw me for a loop once more when he brought up an idea I’d only mentioned twice‒to open a coffee and tea shop together. The first time didn’t really count because we were 7 and in the middle of a (fake) tea party, but the second time was sort of legitimate. We were thirteen, then, and talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I’d jokingly said that all I knew how to do aside from hunt and forage was to mix herbs and make tea. Peeta had said that all he could do was bake bread. And that led to a discussion of a coffee and tea shop. Neither of us had ever tasted coffee, but adults sure seemed to like it, so we thought it best to serve that, too, along with my teas and Peetas bread and pastries.
I couldn’t believe Peeta remembered the idea, or that he actually wanted to do it.
But I couldn’t say no, especially not after realizing I wanted to do it, too.
Well, we didn’t have nearly enough money to open a business, so we spent the next few years saving up. At the time, Peeta was sharing a meager apartment with a guy a few years older than him named Finnick Odair. I was still at home, and I remained there until Prim got a scholarship and went off to nursing school in another state. My mother decided to move there, too.
After that, my childhood home felt empty and lonely, but I had no intention of selling it ever, because of my father. Peeta was concerned about me living alone, though, and he invited me to live with him. Pride didn’t want to allow me to accept at first, and Peeta didn’t press, but eventually, I took him up on his offer. I, of course, planned to regularly visit my old house and keep up with the place.
Several days after I turned 21, Peeta and I found a two-bedroom place for a good price, which was being rented out by a surly old drunkard by the name of Haymitch Abernathy.
“You two ain’t married, huh?” old Haymitch said when we took our tour of the place.
I blushed furiously.
“N-no, we’re not,” answered Peeta.
“Livin’ in sin, eh?” He winked at Peeta, and I gaped.
“Excuse me,” I sniped at the old man. “We’re not doing anything of the sort! We’re friends.”
“Uh-huh, suure you are. ‘Cause that always works out,” the old drunkard said. Then he told us to take our time looking around, chortling on his way out.
I scoffed at his retreating figure. What did he know? There was nothing like that between Peeta and me, and there never would be…
Although, why did thinking that make me feel a little weird, almost…sorrowful? Did I want there to be something more? Just because I lit up from the inside out in Peeta’s presence and a part of me always got funny feelings when he looked at me a certain way or said something complimentary, that didn’t mean anything. Peeta was Peeta, and I was me.
I shrugged off my strange musings as moving-in-together jitters.
But maybe the old landlord had a point. I’d heard that even friends sometimes couldn’t live together because their differing habits inevitably led to fighting, but I felt like that didn’t include Peeta and me. I knew most of his habits, and what I might not know, I couldn’t imagine being annoying enough to make me not want to be by his side almost 24-7.
In the midst of my internal panic, Peeta looked over at me, and I could only hope he hadn’t learned to read my thoughts, in addition to all of his other talents.
Peeta gave me a disarming grin and asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” I assured.
“Not having second thoughts?”
“Why would I?” Certainly not because of what some paunchy, slovenly old boozer who didn’t even know us said.
“Good,” replied Peeta with a smile.
“You?”
“About something involving you? Or you and me? Never, sweetheart.” He beamed, and I blushed.
This was going to work. It was Peeta, after all.
We decided to move in that very day.
Our place wasn’t the best, but the price was right, and it was actually kind of perfect for us. With its sandy brick walls and low ceilings, it reminded me of a cave. Some might think it dreary, but for me, it was a place we could hole ourselves up in, safely together from the outside world.
Peeta and I didn’t have many belongings, so the move didn’t take long. Of course, it seems that no matter how few possessions a person has unpacking is always a nightmare, and we spent the greater portion of the afternoon unloading boxes and finding the right place for everything.
Thoughtful as he was, Peeta gave me the big bedroom. As we were unloading my boxes in there, he turned to me and asked once more, “You sure about this?”
“I already told you I was.” As he’d alluded to earlier, if it involved us, I could never doubt.
But that wasn’t wholly true. I had a lot of doubts about what exactly I was to Peeta. I knew we were friends, best friends, but I couldn’t help wondering, perhaps hoping we could be something more…
“Just checking.” Peeta paused a moment, a devious smirk crossing his lips.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just…sure you wanna,” Peeta used air quotes, “‘live in sin’ with me?” He smirked, and I threw a pillow at his head. He snatched it mid-air and hugged it to his chest.
“Yes,” I said. “But not with that attitude I’m not!” I huffed, dropping onto the edge of my mattress and folding my arms tightly across my chest. He rushed over and leaped onto the bed, and before I could escape, he started playfully smacking me with the pillow. I grabbed another one and whacked him hard in the face, and it turned into an all-out pillow fight, ending with us lying on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, panting from exertion.
Hands behind his head, Peeta glanced over and smiled sweetly.
“What is it?” I smirked.
“Nothing.” Peeta shook his head. “That was fun.”
I laughed. “Yeah, it’s been a while since we’ve had a pillow fight.” And it was a rare thing, at that, even as children, for something like that would have definitely been frowned upon by his mother if she caught us, and my place was so small it was tough to get up to any mischief without everyone in the house knowing.
“I have a surprise for you,” Peeta said all of a sudden.
“Oh? What is it?”
“Well, it’s just in my head right now. I’ll go get it ready. You finish unpacking in here or relax, whatever, and I’ll tell you when it is.”
Peeta got up from the bed then, lightly grazing my arm as he did so.
He ended up throwing a belated birthday celebration for me since we hadn’t been able to see one another on my actual birthday, though he had called me and sang on the phone like the sweet dork he was. That evening, he cooked my favorite dinner, lamb stew and dried plums, on the old stove in the apartment, and he even baked a small cake for me. He sang to me again and forced me to make a wish and blow out the candles like a little kid. Well, my wish was simple, but not completely necessary‒because it had already come true.
Well, at least, part one of three had.
And that was enough for me for now, possibly forever, if that was the way it had to be.
When we weren’t working our current jobs, Peeta and I spent our days doing research together on our shared laptop, lying side-by-side on one of our beds on our stomachs, the occasional leg or arm brushing, always causing a pleasant shiver in me. Peeta knew some about business because of his family bakery, but it didn’t hurt to be thorough. We researched the coffee and tea industry, and we used online software to create a business plan and marketing strategy for our café. We looked into suppliers and even visited chains and small shops in the surrounding area to check out our competition and see what they were doing. Finally, we met with a small business advisor by the name of Coin. She was relatively impressed with our business plan, although not at all impressed with our capital, and she advised us to start considering extremely inexpensive locations if we were serious about this.
Coin & Associates offered a few options of location, but turned out, the best one for us was the building we were already living in, and when we had the money (approximately 10 months later), we bought the building below us. The space was small but adequate‒I didn’t like big crowds, anyway. Our surly old landlord was kinder than we’d anticipated, and surprisingly, he’d taken a liking to us and even gave us a deal. All he expected in return was a little kickback in the way of leftover baked goods, which I was certain Peeta would have plenty of with the way he over-baked.
Fixing up our coffee and tea shop wasn’t tricky, and Peeta and I were mainly in agreement on the decor. We wanted a cozy, natural setting. Eclectic, but not tackily so. I wanted patrons to feel like they were off in the woods when they stepped inside, and Peeta went along with that. We decorated the place with a mix of faux and real plants; we had ivy creeping across the back brick wall where Peeta had also painted a mural illustrating important things from our childhood, and Peeta’s art was strewn about the place. He’d mostly done scenic paintings for our coffee & tea shop, but there was also one of me, a profile view with my braid flipped over my shoulder, wearing my signature scowl. I don’t even know when he did that one. When I argued with him about hanging it up, Peeta said he loved it and that my expression had a Mona Lisa-esque quality that he absolutely had to capture, which I found all-too-flattering and not at all true, but he was the artist.
Picking a name proved more challenging than we imagined. We tried being clever, but ultimately, that didn’t feel like our style. Then we tried combining our names, which was…interesting. Some of the combinations were just bad, to say the least.
We landed on: Everlark Coffee & Tea.
It felt right.
Peeta painted the sign, or signs, rather‒he went through several iterations.
“Peeta, I know you’re a perfectionist and all, but how many hours are you going to spend on that lettering?” I asked him that day. I’d seen him go through at least three different styles, each of which I knew had a specific name that Peeta knew, though I could barely distinguish.
But Peeta had a vision. And who was I to question it?
“This is nothing. I haven’t even gotten to the background yet, sweetheart,” he said. “I plan to put several layers in; it’s gonna look great when I’m done with it.”
I noticed Peeta was also adding some intricate details to the sign. When I looked closer, I saw that they were all symbolic of us and our lives together, as with the mural.
Once Peeta finished with the name and the designs, he went on to add some extra announcements:
We Have Fresh Bread!
And Pastries!
Gooey Cheese Buns, too!
“Okay, don’t give it all away, Peeta,” I laughed at his exuberant display. “They can come in and read the menu, you know.” However, the menu was, likewise, so pretty that they might have a hard time getting past Peeta’s colorful doodles to actually read what we had to offer. He’d even caricatured us.
Artists, I goodnaturedly harumphed for the umpteenth time since I’d met my best friend. I’d never understand them, but I couldn’t help but admire their talent.
“I know, I know.” Peeta chuckled as he waved me off.
“Do your thing, Peeta,” I said dismissively, but I smiled as I walked away. Secretly, I liked that he was the way he was, taking care in every little detail.
I stopped and turned to look back at him, taking a moment to study the way he put so much attention and effort into his work. He looked up, catching sight of me, and he smiled sweetly. And a strange but not altogether unpleasant ripple rolled through my stomach.
Autumn was in the air the day we opened Everlark Coffee & Tea; I could smell it.
The decision to open on September 11th was somewhat practical, in that it was the start of a busy season, and that was just when we happened to finish our work. Besides that, Peeta and I both loved autumn. The weather and temperature were nice; it was cozy, and personally, I preferred the clothes because I didn’t have to show as much skin, but I didn’t have to bundle myself up entirely, either.
I was so excited and nervous the night before our opening that I could barely sleep. I ended up crawling into bed with Peeta, and he welcomed me, of course. It wasn’t the first time we’d shared a bed, even as adults. We often did when the nightmares came, mine about my father’s death and his, strangely about losing me rather than his mother’s assaults.
Peeta made me sleep in that morning while he went down to prep the bread, insisting that I needed the extra rest in order to be fresh for our customers. I tried to refuse, but he tickled me into submission until I agreed. Down below, I could hear Peeta’s noisy tread, but rather than keeping me up, it comforted me, and helped me fall into a deep slumber. Miraculously, I caught a good power nap and was feeling much more alert by the time it came to open up the shop.
When I headed down the spiral staircase, the unmistakable scent of Peeta’s freshly baked bread wafted up to greet me like an old friend. The place smelled fantastic; it smelled like home. Well, not the home of my childhood but a new kind of home, one I’d been dreaming of for a while if I was being honest, a home with Peeta.
Peeta didn’t hear me coming, but when he saw me, he came around the counter and rushed over, sweeping me off my feet in an instant and carrying me symbolically over the threshold of our new coffee and tea shop. It should feel weird‒this was what married people did, right?‒but it didn’t. It felt right being in his arms, and doing this together.
I realized then that part two of my 21st birthday wish had come true.
Peeta finally set me, and I followed him behind the counter.
“Don’t forget your apron, sweetheart,” he reminded me. My apron was green. His was orange. Our favorite colors. But Peeta thought it would be cute to switch the first day, so we traded.
I wrapped his larger apron around my waist, and he tied it tight for me, double-knotting it.
Peeta came around from behind me and looked me up and down. “You look cute in my apron,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
“I do not. Don’t lie.”
“But I’m so good at it,” he quipped, to which I smirked. “And I’m not lying. You look adorable. So adorable I want to throw you over my shoulder and carry you off.”
“Carry me off where?” I tittered.
Peeta’s face tinged pink, and his eyes darted away as he gave a little shrug. “Dunno. Just…somewhere. Upstairs…”
My cheeks warmed, but I kept a neutral expression. “Yeah, well you can’t right now. We have to open the doors.”
Peeta’s eyes shot to mine, and he arched a brow. “Later, then?” he asked hopefully, cinching my apron around his waist‒it barely fit, but somehow, it looked good on him.
“Maybe.” I nibbled my lower lip, fighting a smile; then I pointed at the door. Peeta headed over, and I followed, patting my burning cheeks at the thought of him throwing me over his shoulder like a caveman as if I belonged to him and he was carrying me off to have his way with me.
Ignoring my inappropriate thought and focusing on the matter at hand, I unlocked the double doors with Peeta, and we stood back. We weren’t expecting a mad rush through the doors the second we opened, but we also weren’t expecting the first person to enter only minutes later.
When our first customer‒a sweet old woman with long gray hair who muttered a lot‒walked in, Peeta immediately straightened up. I greeted her first, then Peeta piped in, telling her all about our specials, which included pumpkin spice and chat tea lattes, rye bread, and gingersnap cookies.
We did surprisingly well on our first day. People seemed to like our products and responded to Peeta’s personality and to our story. Peeta had actually written our story out and placed it in a frame on the wall. When I read it, I was truly touched, so much so that I nearly cried. Peeta had an incredible memory; it was as if he remembered every detail about me, and us. And his poetic prose was so impressive that nearly every patron stopped to read the entire thing, and seemed nearly as affected as me by it.
That first day, we kept busy and worked together well, amiably bumping into one another and offering hasty sorries with nervous chuckles. We managed to get by the first couple of weeks by ourselves, but it became readily apparent that we were going to need some help, so we hired two more employees, Lavinia and Darius, who turned out to be excellent workers and good people.
Everlark Coffee & Tea got all manner of customers. We had our regulars: a quirky techie guy with glasses who was always immersed in his laptop at the corner table by the window, sometimes with an equally quirky female companion accompanying him; a snarky woman with cropped hair who didn’t have the best people skills but was a loyal customer; a fashion designer named Cinna and his partner, Portia; a pretentious but polite woman who always wore colorful, ornate, bordering on ridiculous outfits, among others…
Haymitch even stopped in here and there as well as Peeta’s old roommate, Finnick, who of course had to tease Peeta about dumping him as roommate for someone not quite as hot. At my scowl, Finnick laughed boisterously, said he was only kidding, and proceeded to take my hand and kiss it. Peeta didn’t seem to like that one bit. Not that I actually thought Peeta was worried, but he definitely didn’t need to be; Finnick Odair couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like me, and I most certainly wasn’t interested in him. Later on, we met his girlfriend, Annie, anyway, who was perfectly lovely.
Our coffee and tea shop’s profit margin was slim (practically nonexistent) the first couple of months, but Coin had told us to expect that; she’d said that most new businesses went under within the first 1-2 years, but we had the benefit of having few expenses and low overhead. We managed, though, and I attributed that not so much to low overhead as to Peeta’s sunny disposition and incomparable baked goods.
Winter rolled around, bringing with it tons of snow, but fortunately, we had all manner of toasty seasonal favorites to warm bellies and hearts. Of course, my winter drink (and all-around hot drink) of choice was hot cocoa. Peeta added a little peppermint to my mug one day, and it was just chef’s kiss.
Peeta thought some gimmicks would keep us afloat our first year, so we hired a singer by the name of Lucy Gray Baird to play guitar and sing folksy holiday songs one night a week, and Peeta baked holiday cookies and gave free ones out to the first 25 customers, just to get them hooked. They couldn’t stop after that, naturally, and they told their friends, too.
We continued with more holiday specials and gimmicks into the new year. For Valentine’s Day, Peeta baked all sorts of romantic goodies, such as hearts and arrow cupcakes and Cupid cookies, and Lucy serenaded the patrons with love ballads.
One day, I woke up clammy and burning up with a 102-degree fever. Peeta was already standing over me, as I’d fallen asleep in his bed again, his hand on my forehead.
“You’re burning up, Katniss.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, you’re practically on fire.”
“You’re exaggerating,” I said, although I could feel it. With a groan, I shoved his hand away and tried to get up.
“No, lie down,” he commanded, clamping a hand on my shoulder and gently pushing me back.
“But the shop…”
“You’re too sick to work. You don’t want to infect people and get the place shut down, do you?”
“No, but…”
“You just stay in bed.”
“What about you?”
Peeta thought a moment. He considered working that day, but he was very concerned for me, so he left the place to Lavinia and Darius, and Lucy even ended up helping out. Peeta checked in sporadically, but Lucy, little mother that she was, insisted that he stay upstairs with me. And so he did.
Despite my protests, Peeta remained by my side, caring for me throughout the day. He was very attentive. He brought me headache medicine and water, and when I got hungry, he brought me lamb stew (just the broth) and crackers. He continuously re-dampened the cloth for my forehead and checked my temperature, and he even forced me into a lukewarm bath, turning away, of course, but remaining just outside the door in case I was so weak that I fell.
Peeta always took care of me, in fact. One time I fell off a ladder. I landed on my feet like a cat, but not having the bone structure that cats do, I sprained my ankle and was laid up for several weeks. Peeta never quite forgave himself for letting me fall, even though it wasn’t his fault, but he took excellent care of me during my recovery.
Midway into Everlark Coffee & Tea’s second year, Peeta and I decided to do an overhaul and try out some new products. And that meant engaging in the tedious task of cleaning out the storage room. One day, I decided to move some things out of storage and put them in our closets upstairs, so I set about making room for the items. That’s when I came across a box of Peeta’s, a box simply labeled ‘Katniss.’
When curiosity got the better of me, I looked inside. And what I found floored me. The box was comprised completely of all our old mementos, just about everything I could imagine (and some things I couldn’t imagine) him keeping. From old childhood books and toys to letters to a shriveled up dandelion crown he’d made for me, the flowers next to dust, though I knew precisely what it was…
Then I found a yearbook from high school. I thumbed through the pages, checking out all the signatures Peeta had gotten from friends and admirers and seeking out every picture I could find of Peeta‒there were a lot‒and of Peeta and me‒there weren’t many of those.
Peeta came in and caught me looking through the box, of course. He didn’t seem mad, though, simply leaned against the door frame resignedly.
“High school, huh,” he remarked. “That was when I was sure I’d lost you for good.”
“What?” My lips parted in shock.
“You started hanging out with Gale.”
“So?”
“I thought you two were dating.”
“No.” I shook my head vehemently.
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I thought you were.”
“I thought you were dating…well, a lot of girls.”
“No, Katniss. I never dated anyone.”
“Wh-what?” I stammered. “B-But…why?” He could have had so many adoring girlfriends.
“Why?” Peeta scoffed. “You don’t know why?”
Of course, I didn’t.
I shook my head.
Peeta sighed. “Because I only ever wanted you, of course.”
My mouth dropped open, and I stared dumbly at him.
Peeta made his way over to me, settling down beside me on the floor. “Back then,” he began after a moment, “I thought you didn’t care about me anymore.”
I glanced up at him from beneath my eyelashes. “I thought you were too busy for me. And better off without me, too.”
“No, never.” Peeta gave a sardonic little laugh. “Huh. Guess we were both idiots.”
“Yeah,” I squeaked, staring down at my hands folded neatly in my lap.
A couple of seconds later, I heard Peeta’s sharp intake of breath. “Katniss…”
I looked up at him tentatively, and he leaned in closer, his broad shoulder brushing mine.
“I need to tell you something, and it’s about damn time I did. Way overdue, really.”
I felt my chest rise and fall heavily. He couldn’t be going to say…no.
“I’m in love with you.”
He did; he said it. Oh my god, it can’t be…
Was part 3 of my wish really coming true?
“I’ve always been in love with you,” he went on. “I don’t know when it started exactly, but it doesn’t really matter because I can’t even remember a time I wasn’t.”
That can’t be so, I wanted to argue, but I didn’t question him. I was too stunned, touched, confused, grateful, happy, a lot of things…
“Please say this doesn’t ruin anything between us,” he pleaded. “I want to be with you, of course, but I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Katniss. If that’s all you can be to me, my friend and business partner, I’m okay with it.”
My head was spinning, and I didn’t quite know what to think. I decided it best not to think at all, but simply to feel, so I switched off my brain.
“I…I love you, too, Peeta,” I blurted out.
Peeta let out a little gasp, and we both reached out for each other instinctively. We shared our first kiss seated in that small bedroom above the coffee and tea shop, a kiss that turned into another. And another. And before I knew it, I was wrapped around him, and he was lifting me.
And when Peeta carried me off to his bed, more like our bed, and laid me down gently, covering my body with his, there was no stopping to think, no questioning. We just knew it was what we’d both been wanting for so long now. And I knew this would have happened anyway.
Fifteen years later, Peeta and I still own Everlark Coffee & Tea. It’s still in business, and booming. We’ve actually had to expand the building and hire more employees to accommodate. And yes, we still live above it. But now we live there with our two children, our dark-haired dancing girl with blue eyes and our blond, chubby-cheeked and legged toddler boy with gray eyes.
I look down at Peeta’s and my children sleeping soundly on each side of me, and I smile. I lean down to kiss their blond and brown mops in turn, and then I slip out quietly. Peeta had a long day at the shop, so I let him sleep‒it was my turn to read the bedtime story tonight, anyway. He’s fast asleep when I crawl beneath the covers, but he instinctively coils around me, just like always. The window is open‒Peeta likes to sleep with them open‒and contentedly, I breathe in the cool, crisp air. It smells like fall.