Peeta's father, Aric, greets us with a small nod as we step into the bakery. It's warm and cosy, though rather dusty, and I want to reach out and grab every pastry from the glass shelves. I've never in my life ever gotten to taste one of them. Mr Mellark must sense my craving, because he pulls a few desserts off the rack and sets them on a plate. He beckons Peeta's brother to take over the shop, and grunts for us to follow him upstairs.
After ascending a wooden ladder worn smooth from many climbers, I find myself in a quaint living room. Then I look to the left and see a small kitchen. On my right is a sagging bed with a homemade quilt, and three bunks built into the wooden frame of the house.
I thought that the Mellarks, being a merchant-class family, would have a beautiful large apartment, but apparently, they're about as poor as the rest of us in terms of living space. We sit on the couch, and I notice that one bunk (presumably Peeta's) is made up nicely and is covered in flowers and cards offering sympathies.
My attention turns to Mr Mellark, who has brought over some tea and arranged the pastries. They are a perfect golden brown, and filled with cherries, with sugar bits glistening on top. I can't help myself, my hand creeps out and grabs one. It's delicious. This is not something you can catch in the woods! Thinking this reminds me of the morning of the Reaping, when I stuck an arrow through a loaf of bread to make Katniss laugh. I would do anything to hear her laugh right now.
Surprisingly, Aric breaks the silence, which is strange because I've only heard him say about ten words in my entire life.
"Have you come to say that you are sorry? As if it is your fault? It's not. Don't."
It's what Prim said, but more concise. My mother bows her head. I swallow my strudel.
"No, Mr Mellark. I mean, I feel sorry, but not like that. I really hope that Katniss and Peeta will come home together," I say.
Aric peers over his wire-rimmed glasses at me.
"You are...?" he trails off. I'm not exactly a regular customer at the bakery.
"Gale Hawthorne. Hazelle's son."
Aric know my mother fairly well. He nods. "Katniss's boyfriend?"
I choke on the last bite. "No, we're just friends," I cough, with a look at my mother.
"Well. I am sorry for the loss of your, er... friend."
Aric takes a long sip of his tea. My mother still does not speak.
"No, Mr Mellark, don't be. We haven't lost them yet, and maybe they will come home to us. You and the Everdeen's can't lose hope. They are your family members and they are coming home until proven otherwise. Agreed?"
I'm shocked at how thoroughly I said this. Madge must be rubbing off on me.
Aric looks down and sniffs.
"Agreed."