"I’m sorry…What was the question?" I ask, blinking rapidly. The producer tells me to never mind, and then he and his trusty camera men are off to interrogate the next suspect (or are we victims? I can’t decide. As much as the cameras have disrupted our quaint little lives here at Dunder-Mifflin, I still sometimes wonder how I would’ve made it through some days over the last three years).

Even though they’ve all left, I stay put. I replay that…what, six seconds? Over and over and over…And then I stop thinking. And I’m just sitting here, smiling like some school girl. I take a moment to collect myself; I even pinch myself, just to be sure.

I slip out of the conference room and shut the door behind me as quietly as I can, drawing as little attention as possible. It’s a lost cause, though. Everyone knows. They have to know. Jim’s here, and Michael and Karen aren’t. Phyllis is smiling rather shyly at me, and I do my best to hide this goofy grin. Jim slips from behind my desk and hangs his coat on the rack just as my phone starts to ring.

I slowly walk over to my desk, hoping whoever’s on the other end of this call that couldn’t come at a worse time either gives up or my phone goes to voicemail.

Jim walks by me and flashes me his smug smile. I duck my head, feeling the redness and heat coloring my face. I peer up only long enough to see him raise his eyebrows and wink.

I break into a stride, realizing my phone’s still ringing. There’s a folded note taped to the corner of my computer screen, but after staring at it for a second, I decide it has to wait.

"Dunder-Mifflin; this is Pam." Michael. Is it wrong that I’m not at all shocked he didn’t get the job?

Is it even worse that I am shocked he got considered in the first place?

I’m suddenly reminded of how, if Jim wanted that job, he’d be in New York right now. I’m reminded of the enormous pay-raise he’s neglecting, the personal assistant, the hot-shot lifestyle he’ll never have in Scranton.

And I hope to God that the type of lifestyle he can get in Scranton is enough.

I’m ecstatic that he’s here…I went so long thinking we’ll never speak again, and then I find out I might never see him again, and now he’s here…Across the office from me. This dull, dimly-lit (and sometimes managed) office we call Dunder-Mifflin, Scranton.

He’s here. And I’m not thinking about why, because if I let myself think about that it’ll become less and less real. And I don’t want that. This is real. It has to be. It’s real…right? He’s not in New York, and he’s not with Karen.

I let myself worry about Karen for a minute, staring at my screen and the folded note. I take the note down and place it on the desk, still staring. I don’t want to be worried – not this much, anyway, - about Karen. I don’t know what happened, or how, or anything like that, so I can only hope for the best.

I hope (and I think it’s for the best) she stays in New York.

"Toby!" He draws the last syllable out. "What’s up?" They start talking about Corporate, and how Jim turned the job down. No, he doesn’t think Karen’s coming back. He doubts Michael got the job.

That doubt’s confirmed as I announce to the office that: "Michael’s on his way…As soon as he…" No, it’s not my place to tell them. "Uh, well, he’ll be here later, but we can leave at five."

They shrug it off, chalking it all up to, "Well, it’s Michael."

He peers over at me as I’m sitting at my desk. I have the note in my hand, still folded. I run my fingers over the edges and turn it over, tracing the creases.

Keeping my head down, I glance up at him. He’s holding his conversation with Toby and staring at me. And it’s not a blank stare. He’s not slouching. He’s not holding anything back, and he’s not faking anything. His hazel eyes are shining; he’s got a full-blown smile on his face. Even his ears, sticking out and suddenly more noticeable thanks to a haircut, don’t seem so droopy.

I lift up the note and wait for a reaction. He chuckles to himself and nods. Biting my lower lip, I make sure nobody’s watching. Amazingly, the cameras aren’t even in the room. They’re in the break room, watching Kevin scarf down a box of animal crackers…So I go for it. I slide a finger underneath the seal, and gently open it.

Dress casual. What kind of casual? Business casual, casual-casual? What if he was joking, and I end up way under-dressed? I rummage through the bottom dresser drawer where I keep my jeans (both pairs) and a couple of skirts I don’t wear to work. I change a few times: skirt, jeans that are too snug, jeans that are too loose, skirt, skirt, jeans that fit like a dream.

I finally decide that the first skirt I tried on is my best option. It’s not like I have to make a first impression, right? Better not think too much about it, or I’ll change my mind.

After the long shower and insane amount of time I spent working on my hair and applying make-up, I don’t have any time left to waste.

Time. Oooh, Pam; check the time!

I forget I have a clock in the bedroom, and run down the hallway into the living room. I glance at the clock.

6:13.

Well, while I’m here I might as well…Good, no car in the driveway.

I grunt in frustration as I trip over a sweater on the floor. No time to wonder how it got there, though. I scramble over to the closet, and spend too long searching for something I know I don’t own, and settle on a light pink cardigan over a cream colored tank top.

I’m standing in front of the mirror. I look myself up and down, side to side. The skirt is modest, and the more I stare, the less I like it. The sweater looks fine. Looks like me.

That’s what’s wrong. The skirt - it’s a blue jean skirt that stops right above my knees.

And it’s not me.

Jim would never expect to see me in something like this. Too bad, I suppose. I’m already wearing it.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, seeing his writing on the inside of my eyelids: "No turning back now."

I go over to the closet and get a pair of small white heels. Brand new. Short because heels always made Roy feel "inferior." Why do I even have these? Why would I even consider wearing them on a date with Jim? These were supposed to be for my wedding that I should never have agreed to in the first place.

I slip out of my body, not realizing what I’m doing. I’m sure that even if I could really control myself at this moment, I’d still be slipping those shoes back into the box and throwing it in the trash.

Sneakers. White sneakers. They’re fine.

They’ll have to be, it’s 6:47.

I look in the mirror one last time. I don’t recognize myself with my hair down and a jean skirt.

OK, now I’m worried. Is this the Pam he wants to see? What if he wants "secretary Pam," with my hair half-back and boring office clothes. What if he wants "Sunday-in-the-park Pam," and I should be in jeans and a t-shirt? Is this casual enough? Too casual? I wonder where we’re going. Maybe I’m way under-dressed and he told me to act casual to make a fool of me because he thinks that’s what I’ve been doing for the last five years…

Doorbell.

6:57.

Peer out the window. Halpert. I forgot that man makes his own schedules – and alters it at will.

"I uh…Just a second!" I yell, and it’s taking everything I have not to run to the door. "Jim—" I say as I’m opening the door, attempting to scold him for being early. Unfortunately, I notice what he’s wearing tonight and lose the other half of that sentence. Dark jeans and a pin-striped, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt’s untucked, and the tails hang a bit below his black blazer. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing.

But none of this makes it out, and I’m extremely saddened that it all stays bottled up. I’m not sure why. Those are things I’d never say to anyone, and yet, a part of me dies when I can’t say them to him.

Because he’s not just anyone. He’s Jim.

"Oh, damn; wrong house. I should, uh…" He turns to the side and sticks his thumb out, in the direction of his car.

"I, uh…You’re early." I manage.

I give myself a mental high-five just for being able to speak.

"No, really…I’m at the wrong house. I’m so sorry, Pam!" He turns and jogs towards the car.

I panic for a moment, and he knows that I’m panicking, even with his back turned towards me. Then I realize whose back I’m staring at.

I’m staring at the back of his head, like I have so many times before. And it doesn’t feel any different than any of the other times, because for a minute I’m not sure he’s going to face me until he’s in the drivers’ seat. He’s walking – no, he’s running away.

"Jim," I start. And I can’t finish. I see him reach into his car through the open window and pull out a bouquet of white carnations. There’s something red in the middle.

He walks back slowly and asks if I have a vase (but says it "vahz," with the slightest trace of his ego taking over).

"Yeah, in the kitchen." Great, now I’m doing the "turn to my side and point with my thumb" move.

He steps up and is about two inches in front of me. He holds the flowers out for me to take.

And I’m reaching out to him, like I have so many times before. And he pulls his hand back, just like he has so many times before.

This isn’t helping. My stomach is in knots. A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s hot out here."

"What, afraid you’ll melt, Halpert?" It’s insanely odd to be joking with him, especially here.

I’m stuck. I’m stuck in a staring contest, only he’s allowed to blink. I feel something tickle my arm. He’s brushing the flowers up and down my arm.

"I…Uh, do you want to come in?" I ask. "The vase," I pronounce it "vays," with extra emphasis, just to bug him, "…is on top of my fridge. Um, this way?"

While I’m arguing with myself, he’s showing himself to my kitchen. I hear him get the vase down and fill it with water.

God, I’m a mess. Shut up. Go to the kitchen. I shut the door and head into the kitchen, where he’s dropping something into the water, and then he inserts and centers the flowers just so. He slides a card underneath the vase and walks over to me, placing a hand on the small of my back.

"Open the card when you get home tonight, okay?"

And I’m speechless again. Shit. I smile and nod a little, because I seem to have control over nothing else.

"Chester’s sound okay?"

His hand is gliding up and down my back, starting at the top of the skirt and stopping at the clasp of my bra. His hand is moving so lightly that I barely feel it, but it’s more than enough to send shivers down my spine and make my knees weak. Chester’s, I remember.

"Chester’s?" I ask. What the hell is Chester’s?

"Yeah, you don’t like their stuff?" He looks puzzled.

"Oh, uh…No, not that. I’ve never been."

"Aaaand you’ve lived in Scranton how long?" He pokes me in the back.

There go my knees again. Stupid knees.

"Shut up." I smack his arm and can’t help but laugh at his pouty and hurt reaction. "Chester’s, it is."

He leads me back into the living room, his hand never leaving my back. I reach out to open the door, and he stops me by reaching an arm out to hold it shut.

He’s laughing at my futile attempts to get past him, push him out of the way and open the door. I’m fighting my way in front of him and once I manage to pull on his arm enough that his entire body shifts, the arm disappears.

And now both his arms are around my waist, picking me up with ease and I’m laughing and play-fighting and…

The dojo.

By the time he finally puts me down, we’re both blue in the face from laughter.

I’m leaning against the door now, trying to catch my breath. It turns out to be a wasted effort because about a second later, he’s kissing me – hard – and stealing any breath I had left.

"Jim," I start, half hoping he’ll shut me up through another kiss. If I want another kiss so bad, I should just take it. So…go ahead, Pam. Make a move.

But I can’t. I’m frozen, standing here with his arms on either side of me, my back pressing against the door. I’m gazing up into his incredible green eyes and I’m scared I’ll never come back to reality.

This is reality. I can’t believe I keep having to remind myself. This is reality. This is real.

Jim Halpert just kissed me. In my living room. Before our first date has even really begun.

Luckily, he seems at a loss for words, too.

That’s a stupid thought. Jim’s never at a loss for words; he just doesn’t know what to say sometimes.

He’s just staring down at me, smiling. Another staring contest, and again, he’s allowed to blink.

I’m starting to feel like the walls are coming down around me and a wave of claustrophobia crashes into me, even though I’ve never really been claustrophobic. I start to panic. I’m finally able to look away.

"Congratulations, Halpert. You’ve successfully ended my streak of first dates where I refuse to put out." I jab him in the arm, playfully.

"Oh, yeah? What was the previous record?" He laughs playfully, and I swear it’s about to drive me insane.

My knees get weak and I nearly buckle. He hasn’t laughed like that in forever, I hadn’t even known how much I missed it. Don’t let him see it. Don’t give him that power.

Why? Don’t I trust him?

Of course I do, it’s crazy not to trust someone you’re…

"One." I tell him, and I hope my face is showing him what my voice can’t. My voice is telling him how scared I am. How sorry I am. How he was right. I was so wrong. Everything was so wrong.

I’m hoping he doesn’t know that I know he’s thinking about that ‘one’ first date. My own thoughts don’t even make sense. But we both know who I meant. And even though we’re both here, right now, with each other, the thought crosses my mind.

There’s no place on this planet I’d rather be right now. His smile fades, and now he’s watching me. I think he’s waiting for me to do something. He clears his throat, and his face reddens. He looks away.

He’s not going to do anything. Step up, Pam.

I manage a little smile and turn around, backing into him. "If you please, I have a date I’m late for."

"Yes, ma’am." He places his hand once again on the small of my back and opens the door slowly, carefully, as though if he even were to bump me with it I might break and shatter into a million pieces. I think I like his hand there. It fits perfectly. His palm backs into a dimple over my left hip, his pinky into the like on the right side. He moves his thumb up and down as we make our way – our way – over to his car.

He steps around me to open the door on the passenger side and once I’m settled, he shuts the door for me.

I’m not questioning why he’s going around the back of the car to get in on his side. I take the time to reach into my purse and take out the yogurt lid with a note attached to the back. I hang it from its paper-clip chain in his rear-view mirror just as he’s unlocking his door.

"What’s that?" He reaches out for it, but I grasp his wrist and flash an unusually big smile at him.

"Check it later tonight." I instruct, and he smiles and says something about me being sneaky.

And I guess I am being sneaky. I keep sneaking peeks at him the whole drive over. We don’t say much, and the silence is suffocating and intoxicating all at the same time. I feel like if I don’t say anything I might choke on silence, but if I do, it’ll spoil the perfection of the moment. I’m thinking way too much.

I don’t want to have doubts. They’ve never done me good in the past. Why am I having them now? I wonder if, despite his eerily calm appearance, he’s also got butterflies in his stomach.

The ‘butterflies in the stomach’ cliché isn’t strong enough. Pterodactyls, maybe?

He knows. Jim always knew. He reaches over with his right hand, never taking his eyes off the road, and tears my left hand away from my right. I hadn’t even noticed how fidgety I’d been until he did that, and I no longer had anything to fidget with.

He knows. He takes my hand in his, our fingers intertwine in such a way one might say it looked posed. I’ve never seen such perfect hand-holding. We fit so well together.

And I keep sneaking peeks at him, like I have so many times before. He must feel my eyes on him, because every time I look, he smiles to himself, and moves his thumb, brushing the side of my hand.

The pterodactyls are gone, just like that. Is there anything he can’t do? His smile grows, as does mine. I feel my cheeks reddening, and hear him chuckle. He takes my hand, still gripped in his, and kisses it.

Our hands return to their rightful position, and we both keep our eyes on the road ahead. We ride in silence the rest of the way, and I’m perfectly okay with it.

With everything.

And I love it. I’m absolutely in love with this moment.

The restaurant is slowly filling up, but luckily, Jim manages to land us a little two-seater booth off to the side. Chester’s is a small family restaurant on the outskirts of Scranton, he tells me, so I’m guessing it’s safe to say the chances of running into anyone we know is slim. It’s small, alright. It’s certainly got the family-friendly feel to it, I guess, since I’m hearing lots of kids shrieking and laughing. Jim excuses himself, squeezing my hand before he gets up and heads to the restrooms, but not before pointing them out in case I should need to go before he gets back. He knows how I hate to ask for help.

Fortunately, I’m fine at the moment. I’m taking this opportunity to scan the restaurant…It’s nice. Lots of pretty young girls out front, waitressing. A handsome young man tending the bar on the other side of the restaurant. The walls are littered with local sports teams, mostly high-school and little-league. It’s pretty dark, and I think if it didn’t have such a nice layout, it’d be a lot less tolerable. Not that I can’t stand it…I think I might really like it, but I’m not committing to that – not until I know how the food is.

There are individual hanging lamps over each table and booth, giving off a soft yellow-orange glow that covers just the right area. Each cover has a different design on it, and it’s not something that’s pressed or printed on.

I’ve got to remember to check ours on the way out.

"This place makes a mean turkey BLT, if you’re going to chicken out and have a sandwich." Jim’s peering at me over the wall beside our booth, laughing.

"Chicken out? Are you challenging me, Halpert?"

"You catch on quick." He slides around and sits across from me, shooting me a sly smile. "You in?"

"Hmm…Nah. I’m not up for total embarrassment tonight, thanks." He makes a pouty face at me and whines like a puppy. I’m trying, and failing miserably, to hide my laughter behind my menu.

"Hi, y’all! Welcome to Chester’s. I’m Sandy, your waitress tonight. What can I get ya?" She’s sure…peppy. Platinum blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her bangs covering her forehead…Probably my height. Her assets are all but jumping out of her shirt. The way she’s looking at Jim, I’m scared if she were to escape that two-sizes-too-small shirt, the wonder twins might go straight for his face.

She’s smiling and telling Jim about the special tonight. She tells him he looks very handsome and continues to smile in his direction. Jim, however, never takes his eyes off of me, so she finally lets me order: a Chester Burger, medium-rare with fries and a Coke.

Jim also notices that I’ve apparently never seen this Sandy lady before, and that only seems to add to his mischievous smile.

"And for you, hon?" She turns to back to Jim. I’m seriously considering jumping over this table and taking her down. I think I could take her. I can see myself on top of her, Jim cheering me on. He’d hand me a knife, and I’d deflate both her airbags in one swift move. I hear Jim’s order and notice his expression.

"Same, but extra fries and…" He looks at me with a begging look in his eyes, and I simply shrug.

"I’ll drive, but if you end up plastered I’m leaving you here and keeping your car."

"Ouch...Well, that settles it. I’ll have a coke, too." He smiles up at her and I’m burning with jealousy, even though I know it’s the same smile he flashes at Kelly. This woman is oblivious to our seemingly obvious discomfort, and squeezes Jim’s shoulder on the way past our booth, flashing an angry look at me.

"She wants you." It always amazes me how he can say such ridiculous things and keep such a straight face.

"Oh, yeah. That’s why she couldn’t even look my direction."

He shakes his head and crosses his arms on the table. "You’re just too much for some of us to handle."

"That’s what she said," I laugh. I’m vowing to never let myself be glad to see Sandy again after this moment. She’s bringing our cokes and still glaring at me. The cokes are cool, they come in the old-fashioned glass bottles. I hand mine to Jim and ask him to open it for me, batting my eyes and biting my lower lip. She coughs.

"Oh...We didn’t realize you were still here." Jim tells her flatly, a questioning look in his eyes.

She walks away without saying anything, and I stupidly assume I’m free to have a conversation with my date.

My cheeks are burning with that thought. My date. I’m on a date with Jim Halpert. Officially. Tonight, he’s mine.

She steps back towards our table, and smiles at Jim, rambling about something or other. She stops to scowl at me some more and mentions she forgot to ask about an appetizer. Jim reaches his arm out and takes my hand, squeezing as he tells her we’re okay for now while staring in my eyes and smiling. I can tell he’s growing impatient, quickly, with her.

She makes the excuse that she needs to check the ketchup bottle on our table, but smacks my hand with it when she drags it back to her.

Jim releases my hand and sits back, arms folded, giving her an intense look. This girl is about to find out just how unpleasant Angry Jim can be. She says it’s fine, and slams it back down in place. He cocks his head and looks at her as though she were deformed. I have to raise a hand and cover my mouth to stifle my laughter because, for the first time in a long time, Angry Jim isn’t directed at me, and I know what she’s in for.

"Well, can I get y’all any appetizers?" She says with what’s got to be a completely fake Southern accent, smiling at him.

"Um, no, but I would like to ask you a question." She leans in and smiles at him. "Could you stop being a bitch to my date?" She steps back, obviously offended, and he starts to correct himself. "Oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-ohh, I didn’t mean to – hey, you know, if you want me to apologize to your boss or supervisor or whatever…I’m sorry, I know it must be hard for someone with your…talents…to get this sort of rejection, but I’m just not into blondes." He pats her shoulder and gives her a very forced sympathetic look.

He winks at me and she’s glaring again. I swear, I might strangle her. She turns to walk away and mumbles something under her breath. "Some people…" he says quietly.

He’s still smiling at me, watching me think.

I pick up my drink and try not to laugh hysterically as he smiles suggestively at me. Something about that smile is contagious.

I take a sip and wonder what’s on his mind. He’s smiling and staring at me, almost the way my father used to do before he told me I was nearly as beautiful as my mother.

"I know neither of us wants to talk about it, but it needs to be done. Everything needs to be said and I don’t think if we wait," I pause and take a deep breath. "If we wait, I don’t think either of us will be able to fully relax and just be ourselves. Be happy."

He thinks for a moment, and nods. "I’m happy, though. I mean, I’m feelin’ pretty good tonight.

"So am I," I tell him; "I just…I need to know as many things as I need to tell you. And believe me I know this is probably the worst time and place but I really can’t wait, I want a completely clean slate and a chance, and I feel like for that to happen…" I take a deep breath.

"For that to happen, we need to know…everything."

"Alright. Where do we start?"

"What’re you doing here, Jim? You realize you’re number two in Scranton? Scranton. And I really don’t want you to throw yourself in front of a train."

So he tells me. He tells me how great the interview went, and how he had felt after he turned it down. He tells me how Karen was just not right. "I mean, she was right for Corporate Jim. Jim-who-wanted-to-move-up-in-Dunder-Mifflin-Jim," and how he doesn’t want to be that Jim. And he tells me the ultimatum he was given: "New York, fancy dinners, never having to drive, and a big, spacious apartment with [Karen], or a one-horse town full of no-bodies going nowhere." And he tells me how, when he felt himself getting mad, he just walked away. "She had to know…If she…She knows now, anyway. I wanted to tell her that you guys…We’re not 'no-bodies.' It sounded too cliché, though. So…I just…told her goodbye."

His side takes about ten minutes. "Your turn," he prompts in between large gulps of his soda. "Why are you here?"

And I tell him. I tell him that, to understand why I’m here, he has to understand everything else. I’m spilling everything, I decide. How, yes, okay, I can say all I want that I cancelled my wedding because Jim Halpert opened my eyes to how wrong Roy was for me, but every time, it’s going to be a lie…or a half-truth, some would call it. And I tell him how I thought of calling and writing and…anything to bring some sort of smile to my face, but didn’t because I was scared he hated me, and it seemed selfish to do it just so I could smile.

And I suddenly feel very selfish…I never called, never e-mailed…That’s certainly not to say I didn’t try to get in touch with him. I was scared. I wasn’t scared he hated me…I was scared he’d reject me. And…After I rejected him, maybe I deserved that.

"Pam…?" He leans forward in his seat. He’s really registering everything I’m saying. I can’t read his face, and I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared. I wipe a stray tear from my cheek and finish. He needs to know. I need to admit it. Maybe if I say it out loud, it will feel…real.

"I kept thinking…‘If something happened to Jim, I’d find out through Michael or Jan or some random person who means nothing to me, or to him. Or worse, maybe that random person would’ve meant everything to him, everything I had the chance to mean.’ And I didn’t…I don’t want that. And then I’d scold myself for days, just telling myself that you left because I was stupid, and you weren’t stupid. You wouldn’t let anything happen to you. When I heard you were coming back, I didn’t know what to think other than, ‘He’s okay. We’ll be okay.’" I pause and take a sip of my soda. "But we weren’t. And now we’re here and I’m still not sure if we’re okay but if nothing else ever becomes of this I just want that. I just want us to be okay."

My side takes about ten minutes. Wow, I got through that without bawling.

He reaches up and wipes the lone tear from his cheek. I look down, hands in my lap. I feel better, having said and heard all of that, but I still can’t read his face.

And I’ve never been so scared.

"Maybe that was bad timing…" I look up, but he’s not there, and that sends my heart into my stomach.

He left. He disappeared again. I don't know why I do this to myself over and over, he's just going to keep running and I'll stupidly keep chasing...

"Pam."

He’s next to me. Kneeling. He pulls my face close to his and kisses me like he’ll never get to again. He smiles and goes back to his seat just as the food’s arriving.

Sandy saw us kiss.

"Well, I, for one, feel much better." He smiles.

I close my eyes and steady myself, standing with my back to the door. I’m not sure I trust myself to stand on my own just yet, so for now, I’m just gonna stay here. I close my eyes, and don’t open them until I realize I’ve been gnawing on my bottom lip so long it hurts.

I moan a little, half from pain and half because I know every single second of this evening is a second I'll never forget. And I find myself biting my lip again, only it hurts more this time because I’m smiling so hard it feels like my mouth’s going to jump right off my face.

I knock my head against the door, just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

I turn around and lock my door. I’m still smiling as I make my way to the kitchen and flip the lights on.

I reach for the envelope, but stop because I realize the flowers are pink (except for the one that was red to begin with).

I open the envelope and I’m a bit shocked when I see it’s just a letter, not a card. I wasn’t expecting a card, I mean. I just would’ve thought Jim Halpert – a man who took three years to muster up the courage to spill his love for me – would be a greeting-card man.

Wow. He’s used up a whole page.

I read it over, and over and over.

I trace my hand over his signature.

I reach into my purse and pull out my cell phone. I quickly type out a message and hit send.

I laugh to myself as I fill a glass with ice and water, slowly making my way back to the island in my kitchen where I stand for a good few minutes, leaning and staring at the flowers.

My phone startles me as it buzzes across the counter, and I think for a moment I might be going crazy.

It doesn’t shock me one bit that he’s turned an incredibly romantic night into an office joke. I’m glad, though. I don’t want things to get too serious. I like the pink. Pink’s not scary, it doesn’t mean love or danger or fire and heat. It’s just…Nice. Calm, relaxed, not scary.

Maybe. I reply. Jim, I love the pink. I mean…I love you, but… I erase the last four words. I remind myself that, per his letter, pink does not equate love. Besides, I’m not ready to admit that yet. I have, and I will, and I do love him. I just can’t say that yet. The message ends up looking like this:

Maybe. Jim, I like the pink. Soft and sweet and subtle. Nice, right?

I don’t know why I’m so scared that if I admit out loud, or at all, it’ll come back to bite me in the ass. I don’t care. I’m just scared. A good part of me is hoping he’s scared, too.

I take my phone and my water to my living room, and plop down on the couch where I’ve spent so many nights alone, waiting for the chance to even speak to him. And in the last four hours, I’ve spoken, laughed, kissed, hugged, held hands, and flirted with him. Him. Jim Halpert.

I feel the enormous grin growing on my face. I pick up my phone, glass of water, and pillow from the couch and head to my bedroom. For the first time since I’ve moved in here, I feel like maybe I can finally sleep there. Maybe I won’t wake up with rings under my eyes, and a sinking feeling in my chest and stomach.

Maybe one day, I’ll wake up with him next to me. There’ll be no more sinking feelings, and there’d be a good reason why – if at all – we have dark circles under our eyes. There’d be Jim, and I. Not us against the world, or anything, because I have a feeling the world might root more for the two of us than any other combination in our lives.

I turn on the lamp by my bed and lie down, snuggling under the covers. I stay sitting up, though, because though I’m here, in my bed and all, I don’t plan on sleeping just yet. I read his message again, and hit the reply button.

Fancy, new, bold Beesly. I close my eyes, clutching my phone to my chest, and picture his reaction.

My phone buzzes, and it kind of freaks me out. I’m still wearing a huge grin as I read and reply, though.

This relationship is going to be so full of arrogance and ego, I wonder to myself how on earth we could possibly find the time to love each other. We’ll find time, I assure myself.

I make sure to end the message with "goodnight," so he knows I’m serious. He replies, tells me that if I play my cards right, he just might let me pay for everything.

I set my phone on the night stand and pick up my water. I stare at the letter, now sitting beside my phone, as I take a sip. The cold water wakes me up a little, but I don’t regret it. It reminds me of Jim. It’s clear, crisp, obvious and wonderfully refreshing.

"Still wish I wasn’t out of tea…" I mumble to myself. How’d I let myself run out of tea?

Oh…I didn’t. It’s all at my desk. Damn it.

I place the water down, careful not to make any more ‘water rings’ than necessary. I pick up the letter and read it over once, twice, three more times before I’m finally able to fall asleep.

After a week or so, the flowers completely wilted and the petals had all but completely shriveled up and fallen off. Jim and I have anything but died, though. The shiny polish; the ‘new and exciting’ feeling wore off after a month or so.

I think I prefer it this way.

I discovered I actually really, really enjoy sleeping in my bed…I mean, the couch is nice and all, but nothing beats a full-size bed with a layer of feather bedding. Except maybe a king-size, according to Jim. He tends to toss and turn in his sleep, I’ve noticed. I don’t mind, because I guess I sleep pretty heavily…It’s just that some nights, I wake up to his arm draped across my forehead. I don’t mind. I’m able to just move his arm and go right back to sleep.

I also discovered that I like the left side of my bed, closest to the window. See, there’s a television in the corner of the room, now, and we can watch it from bed. I ended up moving the curtains down so the sunlight doesn’t glare on the screen, should we ever decide to waste time just watching TV. Of course, that takes away some of the curtain that used to keep the sun from peering through the blinds and into my room on the right side of my window. Now, most mornings, sunlight spills in through the blinds onto the bed, in my face. I don’t mind that, either, because most mornings, I wake up to a beautiful day, a beautiful picture Jim and I had taken while visiting his parents, and Jim. Even on the mornings I only wake up to sunlight and the picture (or just the picture – Scranton weather’s nowhere near always nice), I still wake up smiling.

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I don’t dread my job, anymore. I think Jim might be getting bored with his, but for now, we’re not going to push it. We’ve been able to keep things pretty under the radar, and for now, I think that’s the way to go.

That’s one argument I’ve won.

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Some mornings, I wake up to the smell of cinnamon, and even though they’re the store-bought, place-in-a-tray-and-bake cinnamon rolls, they’re still the best I’ve ever had. On some of those mornings, the sun shines and causes the ring on my left hand to sparkle, sometimes catching me in the eyes. I don’t mind. I kind of like it. I especially like how he got the size right on the first try, and how he knew to go about asking.

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And some Saturday mornings, when it’s cool out and everyone in Scranton’s still sleeping, we walk down to the park and walk the trails for about an hour, talking about everything. Jim has decided he doesn’t want to not know anything about me. I don’t think I mind.

We’ve been engaged nearly a month, now, and I know I don’t mind how it’ll only be another two months until we’re wed.