I was taking a break from studying from exams yesterday when this au came to me. It's meant to be a one-shot but as I was editing, i began to have a plot for this story. So that's why I'm publishing it separate from the Ballad.

Chapter 1

In this side of the country, changes were slow to come by. Things were constant. If someone had opened a shop in the corner street, it would still be there five, maybe ten years from now. The billboard would rust before a new advertisement took its place.

Where she was from, changes happened in a blink of an eye. Nothing was permanent. Shops changed owners, fashions gave way to another. Where she was from, it was never quiet. Cars and trains sped past, city lights never dimmed and parties went on till late night.

Here, it was different. She could hear the chatter of the school children when school let out, she could hear the birds chirping in the trees, the wind howling through the air and a single car driving down the street.

It was her therapist who found this town and suggested it to her. After weeks of mulling over it, she finally packed up her bags and leave, seeking temporary solace from her life. She found herself liking this town. It was good for her. After her ordeal, the quiet suited her. It calmed her mind.

Effie hummed quietly to herself as she dried her dishes. Outside, she could hear the truck pulling in the driveway. Wiping her hands clean, she hung the towel and went out to the hallway just as the doorbell rang.

With a smile, she opened the door only for it to falter.

"Oh," she said, startled.

She was expecting Peeta Mellark with her weekly delivery of groceries. Her eyes drifted to the calendar hanging by one of the walls. It was Friday, delivery day, which did not explain this stranger in front of her door.

"Lady," the man grumbled, clearly annoyed that she was blocking his path. "I'm carrying a shitload of things. You're gonna let me in or what? I can always just leave this here."

Effie blinked in surprise.

This man was rude, she frowned. She had met her neighbours and while they were wary of new comers, they were polite to her. Soon, after a few weeks, they began to warm up to her. It prompted Effie to host a small dinner and invite them to their house. Greasy Sae who wasn't her neighbor but someone she knew from when she had bought a take-out from her small restaurant had fondly declared her house peculiar – the paintings, the décor.

She stepped aside.

"The kitchen is down this hallway to the right," she directed to the man who wasn't Peeta.

He grunted an acknowledgement under his breath and made his way to the kitchen where he proceeded to dump the brown paper bags on the table. A lemon rolled out and he stooped to pick it up before stuffing it back in the bag.

Propping his hip on the kitchen counter, the man crossed his arms and waited. There was something about him that annoyed her. The nonchalant way he carried himself, his previous rudeness, the ease in which he was leaning against the counter as if her kitchen was his and the way his eyes tracked her as if he was learning all there was to learn about her.

Effie would not behave that way in someone's house and the fact that she was not given the same kind of thoughtfulness was grating on her nerves. Peeta had always been polite. He would sit when Effie invited him to, he would thank her when she paid him for the delivery and before leaving, he would always offer to help her put away her groceries which this man did not.

"Peeta usually help me to put my things away especially in the high shelves of – "

"Well," he smacked his lips, "I ain't Peeta."

"That much is clear. Your manners are lacking, if you don't mind me saying. Peeta is a very polite young man."

His eyes trailed over her, taking in everything he saw and she tilted her chin up in defiance. He smirked. She frowned. Most men would usually take a step back, afraid of ruffling her feathers and ruining their chance but not him.

"The boy never said you're a looker. You're always dressing like that in your own house or … were you tryin' to impress 'cause I gotta tell you not to bother. Peeta's got his eyes on someone else."

Effie gasped. She had never heard such brazen accusation thrown at her before.

"Who are you?" she demanded crossly.

"Name's Haymitch," he answered still with that smug half-grin on his face.

"You must be new to this job," she folded her arms across her chest. She really did not want to come off as pompous or arrogant but this man was too much. "Your behavior is appalling and I am a paying customer. I can very easily report your behavior today to your manager."

"What the hell did I do, sweetheart?"

"Do not call me that," she hissed. "How about you ogling me for starters, or making highly inappropriate insinuation about my intentions with your colleague."

Haymitch raised both hands up, palm outwards but he was chuckling which did nothing to calm her.

"Can't a man look? I mean nothin' by it. No need to be so fuckin' defensive. Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around," he said, making a circular motion with his index finger. "Gotta check if you got a pole up your ass or if this is just how you are."

Effie sputtered. "I will file a complaint, you can be sure that I will. Your superiors will hear about this."

"You do that, sweetheart."

"You are arrogant. Do you think that just because I am new in this town that I will not report you?"

"I don't doubt it. But like I said - if you want to report me then go ahead. Tell you what – filing a complain? Takes time, yeah? Go right ahead and call it in. You want my manager's number?"

"No need. I have your company's card."

She rifled through her purse to find the card Peeta had given her the first time he delivered her groceries. It had the number of the store and the owner reflected on it. She dialed the number, fuming. Her eyes flitted at him to gauge his reaction, her fingers drumming against the surface of the table top.

He was still smirking and it only infuriated her even more.

"I'm calling," she said, her voice a challenge. "You can apologise now and I will end this call. There is no need for your job to be -"

Somewhere in the house, a phone was ringing. Haymitch fished the phone out of his jeans' back pocket and slid the green icon to the right.

"You were sayin'?" he raised an eyebrow, speaking into the phone pressed against his ear.

The look of utter shock on her face, she figured, must be amusing to him because she was certain he was fighting off a laugh.

"That was your number on the card."

He rolled his eyes at her for stating the obvious.

"Yeah, and that's my name on the card," he finger tapped on the business card. "Should have paid attention when I said my name's Haymitch, yeah? You wouldn't have made this embarrassin' mistake."

"This is your shop?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Well, got your number now, sweetheart."

He waved his phone in front of her face and winked.

"And, pray tell, what are you going do with it? Because if you -"

"Nothing," he said simply. "I know not to pick up when I see this number callin'. Saves me the trouble. Effie, right?"

"Miss Trinket," she pursed her lips.

He chuckled. "I think I'll save your number as 'sweetheart'."

"I am not your – "

"Now, if you can pay me, I'll be on my way. There are other places I gotta go."

She pulled the bills from her purse in irritation and handed it to him. He pocketed the money in his jacket pocket. Effie saw the silver flash of a hip flask in one of the inner pockets. That would explain the faint smell of whiskey the clung to his clothes.

"You shouldn't be drinking and driving."

His eyes flashed.

"I'm saving this for later," he patted his jacket pocket.

She moved out of the kitchen towards the front door to show him out and she could feel his eyes lingering on her back, and later that night as she lay in bed, she would chide herself for being foolish, but she added a little sway to her hips.

"See you next Friday," he told her at the door.

"Won't Peeta be doing the delivery? I thought you being here is a one-time occasion. Is he alright?"

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asked. "Somethin' wrong with me?"

She stared at him, dark grey eyes boring into hers, at the corner of his lips curling upwards at the thought that he had her again, and at the fingers still curled on the handle of her door knob and the veins running up his hand.

She narrowed her eyes.

"I would prefer Peeta."

Tell me what you think. If you like it and want to read more!