"It's all in here," he says, tapping his temple, as if it's his brain that actually knows how to do this. He really should be tapping his stomach, because that's where the knowledge about this is. "Relax," he insists, digging out some of the butter so he can add a bit of a glossy final sheen and extra sweetness.

Sweet, just like the smell of Peyton's shampoo or Helen's soap. The cascade of pining catches him off guard and he wonders if he just missed that about Peeta when he'd been here.