She suspects something when it rains on her birthday.  One of those oppressive, bleak rains that are typical in April yet always seem to skirt that one day of the year.  Like the weather decided to cut her a break and let her have this day.  Except for this year.   She stares out the windows of the conference room, trailing one raindrop as it travels along the glass.  It’s just about to reach the corner when she feels a poke in her ribs and looks up to find him silently teasing her and directing her attention forward.  Michael’s giving a lecture on breast cancer, a first in a series after Kevin’s scare.  He says it’s fitting for “our ample bosomed birthday girl” and Pam kind of wants to die.  After an excruciating hour, she walks back to her desk in a fog and doesn’t realize that he’s following behind her.

“Distracted much?”

“It’s this rain, it’s freaking me out.  It never rains on my birthday.  So much for sunflowers,” she mumbles.

“Hmm?”  he says, popping a jellybean into the air and catching it in his mouth, a trick that earns him a small laugh.

“Just this thing I do every year.  I go buy sunflower seeds and plant them out in the front yard.  It’s fun watching them bloom; kind of a birthday present to myself, you know?  Anyway, not exactly a great day for it.”  She tries to sound upbeat despite the fact that she’s actually really disappointed.  He looks pretty troubled too, she notices, but he just crooks his mouth to the side and shrugs.

“Well, you know what they say: the sun’ll come out tomorrow.”

“Did you really just quote Annie?”  she asks in disbelief riddled with laughter.

He rolls his eyes and smiles before returning to the pile of work on his desk.  

She leaves a little early but can’t quite settle into a good mood.  Maybe it’s the rain or turning another year older or the fact that Jim left work even earlier than she did.  She knows she’s being childish, but it’s her birthday, damn it, and he shouldn't have left without walking her out or at least a little something to acknowledge the day.  But all thoughts of Jim cease when she sees them: a bright array of sunflowers planted in the usual spot, carefully shielded from the rain with a small umbrella.  She smiles because Roy remembered, actually remembered that this is what she does and took the initiative to do it himself.

He gets home an hour later and she’s ready to greet him at the door.

“Babe, the flowers…” she begins.

“Yeah, I noticed those.  Planted them early this year?”  She stares at him blankly as he kisses her on the cheek.  

“Pretty good timing for them to bloom today, huh?”  She draws back the curtains and looks at them again.  And when she realizes who the actual culprit is, she feels a bit dizzy.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.  “Great timing.”

When she blows out her candles that night, she makes a wish for Roy.  For just once to have better timing than her best friend.

She suspects something when she hears him use hushed tones on the phone.   She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, really, she just can’t help that she’s always had good hearing.  

“But I told you when this was a long time ago, you said you’d be there for all of them.  No, I know—I understand that’s important, but this is pretty important to me, too.”  He runs a hand over his face and she’s given up on subtle when it comes to listening in.

“Alright.  It’s fine, I’ll figure something out.  Yeah, bye.”  She turns her gaze back to her computer at the click of the phone and does her best to steer concentration away from his direction.  Even when she hears him roll out the desk chair, the squeak it makes when he gets up, and the shuffling of feet towards her desk.  She doesn’t look up till he leans on the counter, the familiarity doing nothing to settle her growing curiosity.

“So, funny story,” he says finally.  “My parents 30th wedding anniversary is coming up.  And all of us kids are throwing this big party for them, you know, a big hoopla for the big 3-0.  We all agreed to take dance lessons so we wouldn't embarrass our parents for once in our lives.”

She smiles because she knows it was probably his idea to do so.

“Anyway, Katy was supposed to take them with me and now…I don’t know, I guess she has some ‘passion party’?  Do you know what that is?”

She bites her lip to keep from laughing.  “Uhh, yeah, but I don’t think you want to.”

“Enough said.  So…” he straightens his tie before continuing.  “Would you mind going with me?  It’s the first one and I don’t want to get behind and—“

“Yes.”  It slips out before she has time to think about it and he looks stunned at her quick response.  

“Okay.  Cool, well, great, cool.”

“Cool,” she echoes and even though she feels a giggle bubbling in her stomach, she suppresses it.  That’s something Katy would do and maybe he wants this to be a little different.

Shaky hands drive her to the dance studio, a little hole-in-the wall place that looks more like a high school gym, minus the basketball hoops.  Through the people milling around drinking free punch, she spots him leaning against a wall like something out of a J. Crew catalog.  Then his eyes find hers and any coolness he had two seconds ago is replaced by a goofy smile.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs over to her.  “You made it.”

“You think I’d miss seeing you try to dance?”  she laughs it off as a joke, but even she can’t deny her excitement.   The instructor claps her hands, ordering everyone to find their partner and that they’ll be learning the waltz.

Pam’s eyes go wide.  “Waltz?” she hisses in a whisper.  “I thought you said this was the first one.”

He places a tentative hand on her hip while the other cups her hand gently in his own.  “It is.  Guess they don’t waste any time.”

The sound of violins sweeping through the room cues everyone to straighten their posture and prepare to begin.

“And one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two three,” the instructor yells out and the couples begin to fumble their way through the steps.  Pam braces herself for the same awkwardness, yet instead finds herself guided swiftly and easily across the floor.  She looks up to find confident, and slightly cocky eyes peering down at her.

“You really needed lessons, huh?” she asks skeptically.

He shrugs. “It comes naturally, what can I say?”

The laugh she’d tried to repress earlier comes without warning, gentle and without the squeak Pam so desperately tried to avoid.

Soon it’s as if she’s done ballroom dancing all her life, and she knows it’s in large part to how well Jim leads.

“What’s that smirk for, Beesly?”  he asks.

“I don’t know, maybe Packer was right about you.”  She pierces her tongue between her teeth and he rolls his eyes in mock indignation.

“What, a guy can’t know his way around a dance floor anymore?”

“I suppose, I guess I’m just surprised.  Keeping any other secrets from the public?”

The amusement on his face turns serious and his lips part.  But before he can speak, the music stops and the couples clap for the progress made.

Jim smiles again.  “Come on, I’ll show you how to foxtrot.”

She suspects something on Karaoke Night.  Poor Richard’s started hosting it every Friday to get people away from the unusual springtime heat, promising cold drinks and good entertainment.  That was all Michael needed to hear and another weekly camaraderie event was born.  Pam goes to spare Michael’s feelings and the excuse for her and Roy to go out on a Friday night.  Though one particular Friday, even a mandated company function wasn’t enough to drag him away from a loud sports bar, and so she goes alone.  She finds Jim chugging the last of what appears to be, from the collection of mugs on the table, his third beer and slips on to the seat beside him.

“Hard day?”

“Oh, you know, just happened to piss off my best friend at work.”

She rubs a hand across her forehead.  “Seriously Jim, don’t worry about it.”

“No no, hey, I screwed up.  That was…does Toby, like, always carry a notepad around when we vent?  I didn’t know he was going to write anything…”

“Just forget about it, okay?  Really.”  She hits the last word hard because all she wants to do is forget today and avoid this conversation at all costs.

“At least let me buy you a drink.  Hey,” he calls to the bartender.  “Another beer here and…” he gestures towards Pam, sighing as she takes off her cardigan.

“White wine, please.”

“Nice.  Classy.”

“Pam-e-la, I just met a girl named Pam-e-la!  Pam, they have show tunes in here!”  Michael waves the karaoke book in front of her wildly.  “You know what you guys should do?  ‘Summer Lovin’ from Grease.  Summer lovin’ had me a blast…” he sings in falsetto and Pam places a hand gently to her ear.

“No, I don’t think I’m going to sing.  Thanks though.”

“Boo, you whore!  ‘Mean Girls.’  How ‘bout you, Jimmy Jim Jim?”  He claps his hand enthusiastically on Jim’s back and he looks like he might be ill.

“Uhh yeah, you know, maybe I will.  Can I take a look?”  

Michael beams as he hands over the book and leaves to harass Ryan into singing Backstreet Boys.

“Any requests?”  Jim asks, his eyes never leaving the book.

“No, I’m uh, good, thanks.”

“Abba, Avril Lavigne, Beatles, Beach Boys…it’ll be tough to choose.”

She can see the beer start to fog his common sense and knows she’s in for a rough night.  

He flips through a few more pages before his finger lands decisively on the sheet of plastic.

“Wait, yes, we have a winner.  Be right back.”  There’s absolutely no line of people waiting to sing so Jim jogs right up to the DJ, whispers his request, and leaps onto the small stage, cradling the microphone.

“Yes, hello, is this thing—yes, you can hear me?”  He taps the hot mic loudly and sways with it back and forth.

“Umm, I’m Jim from Dunder-Mifflin.”  Michael lets out a loud whoop from the crowd followed by a “represent!”

“And uhh, I’m going to sing a song.  It is dedicated to a very good friend of mine, Miss Pam Beesly.  Aaaaaaand, I hope she likes it.  Here we go.”

A bad recording of guitars and saxophones echoes on the bar walls while Jim clutches the microphone, putting his mouth so close it looks like he might actually eat it.

“The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful stop me and steal my breath.”

His singing is terrible, he can’t find a key, and he’s rocking dramatically on his feet with eyes closed.  

“Tell me that we belong together.  Dress it up with the trappings of love.”

People look from him to her back to him again, the confusion on their faces never wavering.  

“I'll hang from your lips.  Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above.”

It’s been a humiliating day full of anger, resentment, bitterness.  But instead of those feelings being multiplied with his near-drunken serenade, she feels almost happy.  Not that she’s going to let him know that.

“Pam, Pam…I know you know the chorus, come on.  Iiiiii’ll be, you’re cryin’ shouldeeer.”

She just shakes her head and covers a small smile with her hand.  He finishes the song without her and is met with mild applause, though he still seems quite proud of himself as he struts back over to his seat.

“It’s gonna be tough to follow that one, right?”  he asks, taking another swig of beer.

“Oh yeah.  Out of curiosity, why exactly did you feel the need to dedicate a 90’s ballad to me?”

He frowns to the table and shrugs.  “I wanted to make you laugh.”

It sounds so heartbreakingly sincere that she wants to forget anything ever happened and go straight to the forgiveness part.  But she doesn’t; she decides to hold on to the grudge a little longer to spare herself the mental exhaustion of wondering why he complained in the first place.  Like she isn’t doing that already.

“Well, I laughed at you.  Does that count?”

He gives a twisted smirk.  “Close enough.”