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I park my car in the lot and turn off the engine, resting my head against the rest of my seat and closing my eyes briefly. Why did I let Madge talk me into this? I wonder. I don’t have a creative bone in my body and yet I allowed myself to be coerced into a painting class. Madge can be pretty persuasive when she wants to be. Our conversation from the previous week plays back in my mind. “Come on, Katniss. It’ll be fun,” she’d said. “You never want to do anything fun.”
“That’s not true,” I’d argued.
“Ok,” she conceded. “You don’t like to do anything new,” she amended. I nodded, not able to argue. I like what I like and have a hard time branching out from that, but it works for me. I’ve had to make a lot of sacrifices in my life to help my family and now that things are more stable, I want to do things just for me. That usually includes not letting myself get pulled in to every new fad that Madge comes across.
“I’ll go,” I told her. She really wanted to do this after hearing about what a great time it is from some work friends.
“And,” she said excitedly, as if she had the final argument that would make me change my mind, “Cashmere, my coworker, said the instructor is really hot. She actually tried to pick him up after the class, but he turned her down. Obviously he’s a smart guy if he turned her down – you remember how she is - and I’d like to check him out.”
At least there will be alcohol, I think as I step out of the car. Its been a long day and I would much rather be at home watching mindless sitcoms with my feet up on the coffee table. The thought of the leftovers I’ve already been eating for two days makes me glad I’m going to at least have a fresh meal tonight that I don’t have to heat in the microwave or hunt down myself.
I push the door open to the brewery where the class is held and pause inside the door. In the back corner there are tables pushed together with easels holding fresh, white canvases. The tables are facing an easel holding a blank canvas and another displaying the sample painting that we will be, in my case, horribly imitating with our amateur efforts. There is no way that anything I attempt will look remotely like the sunset over the Panem skyline. It looks simple, really, as I inspect it while I walk over to the area. There’s no one else over here yet and I realize that I’m earlier than I expected. At least it gives me time to eat before I pick up the paint brush.
I pause in front of the painting after typing out a quick message to Madge letting her know I’m here. Its calming, really. I can imagine myself in the place I would have this view, it is from the park across the river from downtown, one of my favorite places. When I was younger, I spent a lot of time there hiking, climbing trees, and taking archery lessons. Time with my dad. The strokes in the paint are visible, the mix of colors that I didn’t initially notice. Not just red, yellow, and orange, but deeper. Not solid colors, there’s orange beneath the yellow, which fades into the blue at the top of the canvas. “How does yellow turn into blue?” I wonder aloud in a quiet voice.
“Very carefully,” a masculine voice says from behind me. I whirl in surprise so quickly that my braid smacks against my cheek, my eyes wide. A blonde man stands there holding a fistful of brushes, a soft smile on his face.
A spark of recognition flares inside me and I feel an almost physical jolt as I realizes that this is Peeta Mellark, former classmate and grade school crush. I draw in breath sharply and stare at him.
While I try to articulate a thought, any thought, his eyes crinkle at the corners and his smile stretches wide. “Katniss? Is that you? I’m Peeta, we went to school together.”
“Peeta, yes, I remember you. How’ve you been?” I am surprised at how calm my voice sounds. Standing before me is my grade-school crush all grown up and seeming more gorgeous than ever. He looks just the same, but different. He still has ash blonde hair that curls over his forehead and ears and he’s always been strong, but he’s filled out and his shoulders are even broader, if that’s possible. His jaw is ridiculously square and his hands look strong. He’s wearing a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. How is it even possible for someone to be this attractive? I muse.
He’s speaking again, pulling me from my thoughts. “What have you been up to the last 6 years? I don’t think I’ve seen you since we graduated. Do you still live in town?”
“I’ve been here since we graduated. I took classes at District 12 Community College and now work with the Parks and Rec department,” I tell him. “What about you? I definitely haven’t seen you since I graduated. I figured you’d move off to the Capitol and be a famous artist or something.” I am almost startled at the words flowing from my mouth.
He chuckles good-naturedly. “Well, that was the plan of course. After I graduated from Capitol U I moved back here to help Dad with the bakery. My brothers decided they’d had enough of the early bakers’ hours, so here I am. As much as I love painting, it is something that I can do while I help Dad. To be honest, I didn’t like the big city as much as I thought I would. The people are different and I just felt like District 12 was home. Besides, I really like teaching and interacting with people, so teaching these painting classes is perfect for me.”
A few people drift over to the class area and Peeta glances over at them. “Take a seat anywhere,” he tells them before turning back to me. “I should finish setting up before everyone gets here.”
“Yeah, right, no problem,” I stumble. “I need to order some food anyway,” I say waving the paper menu in my hand.
“I’m glad you’re here, Katniss. Its nice to see you.” His voice is soft as he says this and almost seems reluctant to walk away, but he does turn away and continues to set up the area.
I glance over the menu which lists typical bar food, then lift my head and seek out the waitress. She comes over to take my order and comes back quickly with my beer. Luckily the dinner crowd is just starting to trickle in, so I should have my food soon.
A short while later, Madge breezes in and takes a seat next to me. By now I’ve received my sandwich and the class area is half full. “What did I miss? Have you seen the teacher?” she asks, reaching for the chips on my plate.
I hand her the set of brushes I picked up from the bins and tell her about Peeta. “No way,” she practically shouts and twists in her seat to get a look for herself.
“Way,” I say. “And keep your voice down. Everyone’s looking over here.”
“Oh, Katniss. Don’t worry about them. I can’t believe its him! I haven’t seen him forever. Looks like he’s just as cute as ever!”
“Me either,” I answer, “but he remembered me.”
Madge waves at Peeta when he looks over again and his face breaks out into a smile. “Hey, Madge, how’ve you been? Its been a long time. I should’ve known you’d show up when I saw Katniss walk in.”
Sitting back and chewing my food, I watch Madge and Peeta chat comfortably about old high school friends of theirs and find that I have nothing to contribute. Though Madge is my best friend, she has a lot of other friends that she’s kept in contact with over the years. Unlike me, she was always encouraged to socialize and participate in school activities. I wasn’t discouraged, exactly, but I was definitely too busy to care much of what anyone else was doing.
Peeta glances at his watch and, noticing the time, excuses himself to walk up to the easels at the front.
“Ok, everybody, we’re going to get started” Peeta calls to bring attention to the front of the makeshift classroom. “Thank you all for coming tonight. I hope that you’ll all have a good time painting.
“If this is your first time painting, don’t worry. I’ll be breaking down things down step by step so that it isn’t as daunting as it looks. For those of you who’ve been to one of my classes before, welcome back. So, let’s get to work. First, pick up your pencils and we’re going to make a light sketch of the horizon. This doesn’t have to be perfect, it is just to guide you. Hold your pencil at the edge of the canvas and make a light mark about halfway up. Keep your pencil marks light so they don’t show through the paint…” He continues on with the instructions and I have to admit that this is easier than I thought it would be. So far. His voice is smooth and deep and I find myself entranced by it, so much so that sometimes I forget to actually follow his instructions.
As Peeta pauses to give us time to catch up to him, a girl in the front row calls for his attention, requesting help with the simplest of instructions. Unsurprisingly, Peeta shows patience as he repeats his directions and encourages the girl. I can see her simpering under his attention and narrow my eyes before focusing back on my own work.
“Ok, now that we’ve got our outline sketched in, we’re going to start painting.” My eyes widen and I have a fleeting sense of panic as I wonder if I’m ready to make this permanent with the paint.
“We’re going to start with this cloud over here. You’ll want to dip your paintbrush into the colors and mix them in the middle of your plate. Use a little of the blue, some white. If it looks too dark, mix in a little more white. If its too light, put in a drop of black. The clouds are reflecting the light from the sunset, so you could mix in a touch of your sunset colors if you’d like.” OK, I think, that seems simple enough. I watch as he follows his own instructions and then places the brush on the canvas. In one smooth movement, a cloud appears on the white background. I look down at my own plate and plunge my brush in the dollops of paint.
After the clouds are done, we begin on the sunset itself. Distracted, I watch the muscles in Peeta’s forearms flex as he wields the paintbrush, colors magically blending into one another. I look down at my plastic palette with its blobs of paint and sigh, knowing that I will never be able to recreate the scene as he has. How does he make it look so easy? With a dip into two different colors and a few seconds of swirling, he then places his brush in the canvas. It is as if the sunset itself is dripping from the tip of it. Taking a deep breath, I plunge my brush in and begin mixing.
A few minutes later, Peeta has most of the scene painted in almost an exact duplicate of the original. He cleans his brush and looks out over the class. Our eyes meeting, I duck my head and can feel my cheeks heat. Trying to focus on my painting, I take another sip of my beer and stare intently at the canvas.
Madge glances at my painting and whispers, “This is harder than I thought it would be. Peeta’s a pretty good teacher, though, right? I mean, what are the chances that he would be the one teaching this class?”
“He’s always been into art,” I reply. “Remember that award he won when we were in high school?”
“Hmm, vaguely. I’m surprised that you do,” she says while side-eyeing me. “I do remember him in that little wrestling singlet, though. Half the reason I’d go to watch Thom’s wrestling matches in high school were to admire the team in their uniforms.”
We look at each other and giggle. The alcohol must be working because I don’t giggle. “I remember you dragging me to watch with you,” I reply.
“I don’t remember much force being needed to get you there. I always thought you had an ulterior motive for going and now that I see how you’re hot for teacher over there, I think I finally have my answer to that question,” Madge retorts.
I want to refute her statement, but my cheeks are burning too much to do so. “I’m not… Hush, he might hear you. You know I don’t…” My voice trails off as I glance nervously at Peeta who is standing nearby answering some questions. I can’t even think of a decent excuse. At least in high school when I’d watch him there were more people around. I turn back to my painting signaling that the discussion is over for now, but I know that we’ll be discussing this later. Madge is very perceptive and while she may press me, she knows how private I am and will not embarrass me.
I make a few swipes across the sky and after a few minutes I feel a presence behind me. Glancing up, I see Peeta looking at my canvas with his eyes narrowed. I flush again as he looks at my poor attempts. This is quite possibly the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. Why did I think I’d be able to do this? What is he thinking? My painting looks like a 5 year old did it. I take that back, he probably painted better than this when he was 5.
“You’re doing great, Katniss,” Peeta says, more warmly than I deserve for my pathetic attempt.
“Sure I am,” I say with a rueful chuckle.
“No, really, you are!” he says earnestly. “Painting is tough. I’ve been working at it for years and I still have so much to learn. Here,” he says, pointing to the horizon. “Put a little more of the yellow on your brush to blend the orange.”
I dip my brush in, but end up dunking it too far. “May I?” Peeta asks gesturing toward the brush.
“Sure,” I say, eager to relinquish the offensive tool. His hand moves, but instead of taking the brush from me, he places his hand over mine. Together we move our hands to the tray and wipe off some of the paint and then mix the colors more on the palette before moving to the canvas. I feel the heat from his body as he leans over my chair, his golden curls brushing against the side of my face. His hand engulfs mine and is gentle, though I know its strength from years of kneading bread at his parents’ bakery. Again I flush and feel as though I am on fire. He’s barely touching me and yet I could combust at this moment.
After a few strokes on the canvas, Peeta releases his grip and straightens, taking a step back. “Ah, I think you’ve got it now. Just, um, use a smaller amount of paint at first and, uh, blend on the plate until you get the color you need.” His voice sounds a bit nervous and I look up to see him reaching back and gripping the back of his neck.
“Good work, Madge. Add a little green to the left for the tree line at the horizon,” Peeta instructs in his normal tone before quickly stepping to the next student, continuing his circuit of the room.
I look at Madge to find her already looking back at me. There’s a huge grin on her face that I can see her trying to suppress. “Katniss!” she exclaims quietly.
“I know, I’m awful,” I say feeling embarrassed all over again. “He couldn’t even let me do it myself.”
“Don’t be silly. I think he likes you – did you see how close he got and he held your hand!”
“No, I don’t think that’s –“ I begin before I’m cut off by Madge.
“That’s exactly it. He didn’t help me like that and mine is just awful.” I have to admit that they’re both pretty bad. Though, for the first thing we’ve painted since watercolors in grade school, I suppose we’re being a bit hard on ourselves.
I glance around to see where Peeta is and note that he is at the end of the row, far enough away so that we won’t be overheard. A painting by someone in front of us catches my eye and I gesture to Madge to check it out. The guy sitting in front of us, probably dragged here by his girlfriend by the looks of his demeanor, has painted in a lizard-like mutt charging the buildings at the horizon of his painting. “Godzilla?” Madge mouths at me. I nod and we giggle again.
She picks up our conversation again. “He wanted to touch you. He complimented you and smiled so much at you. He didn’t do that with me. Trust me on this one.”
I pick up my beer and take another large sip hoping that the cool liquid will help quell the flames racing through my body from embarrassment. Signaling to the waitress, I order another beer. Usually I don’t drink much when I’m out, but I need something to make me relax. I feel keyed up with the embarrassment and the feeling that Madge’s insinuations have brought on. What if she’s right? As long ago as it was, I feel my crush flaring to life and can’t help but feel hope at her words. I glance in Peeta’s direction again and, as if he could hear my thoughts, he looked up and smiled at me. Returning the smile, I again duck my head and picked up a different sized brush and get back to work.
When we finish, we take a minute to sit back and critique our work while it dries. I sip on my beer and feel proud of myself for completing the painting.
Madge thrusts our phones at Peeta when he passes us on his round of the room. “Take our picture with our masterpieces!”
I groan, “I don’t want photographic evidence of this, Madge. Please don’t put this on your blog.”
“You’re no fun, Katniss. I’ll crop you out of the picture,” she promises, smiling.
“Can you send me this?” Peeta asks as he snaps the picture. “I like to post pictures of people enjoying the class on the website, if that’s ok with you. Hopefully it encourages others to try it out.”
“Katniss can send it to you, can’t you Katniss? I have to take this call,” she says holding her phone up to her ear and walking away from us toward the entrance. There’s no one on her phone, I think as I watch her walk away. I look up and my eyes find Peeta’s.
“If you really don’t want your picture online, I don’t have to –“ he begins, his hand reaching up to the back of his neck again.
“No, its fine. Just don’t put my picture next to hers,” I state, gesturing to a woman near us with a painting that looks almost as good as his own.
He chuckles, “She’s an art teacher and was here getting ideas for her own class. Don’t give her a second thought. She’s got nothing on you,” he says, his voice softening at the end. His gaze is intense, but soft as he looks at me. I have the distinct impression that he’s not talking about my painting skills. Maybe Madge was right.
My cheeks burn and I push my phone toward him again. “Put your number in and I’ll text the photo to you,” I tell him, looking down at the floor.
He takes my phone and I hear the quiet tapping as he enters the information. “There, all done,” he says as he returns the phone. “I’m just going to start packing this all up now,” he gestures toward the easels on the tables. I look around and notice that the crowd from the class has dispersed. A few ladies remain at the bar occasionally looking over at Peeta and hoping, I’m sure, that I’d leave so they can have a shot at him.
“I can help,” I tell him and move toward the tables with him.
“Thanks,” he says with a grin. I mimic his movements as he picks up the metal stand and folds it up. We move in opposite directions down the row, folding and stacking the easels. One of the vultures swoops in when he’s a few feet away from me and I can hear her shrill voice questioning him about the class and, suggestively, his ‘technique.’ Some people are so obvious, I think snarkily as I continue down the row ignoring his response. My jealousy surprises me.
Madge walks back over to me to let me know she’s leaving. “Stay, ask him to have a drink with you. I’m serious Katniss; you need to have some fun and do something for yourself once in a while. I’m not talking about hiking or archery. You need companionship, more friends than just me and Gale. We love you, but I want you to be as happy as we are.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say to placate her, knowing that I could never be so bold. “I’ll see you later this week,” she tells me as she turns and walks to the exit.
I’m still doubting her earlier words and I don’t want to let myself believe, really, because I don’t want my hopes dashed when he tries to let me down nicely. I haven’t dated nearly as much as Madge has because I’ve always been more preoccupied with caring for my sister and working to help support my mother’s meagre earnings after my father passed away in an accident at work. Truthfully, I haven’t had time to go out or the extra money to do so. And now that I do, it is so far out of my comfort zone, I don’t even know how to get started. Its probably for the best that I don’t even attempt since we obviously have nothing in common.
“I’m going to run this stuff out to the car,” Peeta says while lifting a box of supplies that I wouldn’t have been able to budge without some assistance. Peeta’s strong, though, and I can see his muscles flexing with the effort.
“OK,” I say, accepting his dismissal and good-bye. He walks out the side door of the brewery and I make my way up to the bar to pay my tab. It has gotten considerably more crowded since I first arrived and my waitress is pretty busy now. The bartenders are also busy, so I stand at the rail and play with a paper coaster while I wait until one of them has a chance to make his way to my end of the bar. A few minutes later, I make eye contact with one and he nods at me to let me know he’ll be down my way. I feel someone step close to me and I turn to see who has invaded my personal space.
“I’m glad you waited!” Its Peeta, unbelievably, and seeming happy to see me still in the bar.
Confused, I say, “Oh, the waitress was busy and I just had to get my tab.”
He pulls out the stool next to me and sits down. Flustered, I can only look at him wondering what exactly is happening. He can’t mean that he wants my company. At that moment the bartender walks up and Peeta orders the Nightlock IPA they have on tap, turns to me and says, “What was it that you were drinking?”
“Uh, it’s the Victor’s Lager,” I say, accepting the fact that I’ll be staying for another drink and taking a seat on the stool I had been standing near. “And a water, please,” because I know this has to be my last one if I want to make it home in one piece.
“I was really glad to see you walk in to my class, Katniss,” Peeta says looking at me.
I look down and clasp the end of my braid. I’m not sure what to say, so I tell him it was more fun than I thought it would be. “Madge was right. This time. Don’t tell her I said that, though, or I won’t be able to get out of anything she tries to drag me to anymore. Not that this was horrible, I mean, I really did like it more than I thought I would.” Luckily our beers are delivered then and I grab mine to take a sip and stop the words from continuing to tumble out of my mouth. Smooth talking, I think, berating myself. I never was good at saying something.
“’It wasn’t horrible’ – can I quote you on that on my website?” he asks laughing. The mirth in his eyes is genuine and I can see that he isn’t making fun of me, which puts me at ease. “Well, I’m glad you came, for whatever the reason. It’ll be nice to catch up with you. Tell me more about the parks.”
I launch into a description of what I do and the conservation efforts they’re trying in the local parks. I ask him more about the bakery and his father, who was always nice to me and would slip me a cookie when I’d visit with my dad. We end up chatting for another hour before we realize the time.
“I really hate to say this,” Peeta begins, “but I need to head out. The bakery opens pretty early and I’m on opening shift tomorrow. Would you like to do something again this weekend, maybe get dinner? I don’t have any classes until next week, so any time you’re available would be great.” His expression is sincere and I believe that he isn’t just making the offer to soften the blow of him leaving.
I chew on my lip as I consider what to say. All the old worries come back to my mind – do I have time, do I want to make time – as I ponder the range of possibilities. “Ok,” I say. “I’ll allow it.”
“Great,” he echoes, a smile spreading across his face.
Our tabs paid and glasses drained, he stands and I hop down from my stool. I stumble a bit, so much for being graceful, I think, and Peeta’s hands are there to steady me. I can feel the heat from his skin seep into mine through the fabric of my shirt at the small of my back and his strong hand that grasps mine. Again, I feel the fire race through me. “Thanks,” I say sheepishly. “I’m usually not so clumsy.”
“No problem, I’m happy to help” He’s standing so close to me that I can smell the paint on him, but also the smell of whatever he made at the bakery earlier that day. “Let me walk you out. I’m going that way, anyway,” he adds as if he know I’d argue with him. I’ve never been afraid to go anywhere on my own, but I’m beginning to see the appeal of having company.
We step out of the brewery together and I motion to where my car is parked. We’ve begun talking about what the next day holds for each of us at work and I’m feeling more comfortable with him than with anyone I’ve ever dated before. Not that this is a date, far from it. And not that I wish it were a date. Not really.
“This is me,” I say motioning to my car. “It was nice to see you today, Peeta. A nice surprise.”
“For me, too, Katniss.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but then his expression changes. “I’ll call you about dinner.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I’m beginning to feel fidgety standing here at the end of this non-date. It feels more familiar than just two people, friends even, meeting at a bar. “I’ll talk to you soon.” I push the button on my key fob to unlock the door and Peeta opens it for me. I slide in and he closes the door. Stepping back as I turn the car on, he puts his hands in his pockets and ducks his head. When my lights come on and I begin to pull away, his right hand comes up and he waves. I wave back quickly and then make my way to my apartment.
On the drive home, my feelings have vacillated between joy at the dinner invitation and despair at thinking I’m reading too much into this. By the time I’ve reached my apartment, I’ve almost talked myself out of going out with him, convinced that he only asked to be nice. He always was nice.
As I walk into my apartment, I drop my purse onto the table. I pull my phone out to put on the charger before I fall asleep and I see the green message light winking at me. Wondering who would call me this late, I swipe my finger over the screen of my phone to unlock it and see that I have a message from Peeta and remember that I sent him that picture of Madge and me holding our paintings.
Peeta: I had a great time tonight and I can’t wait to have dinner with you. How’s tomorrow?
My stomach swoops as I read and I can only think: He really wants to see me. Real.