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Something's definitely going on.

Jim’s been acting wild all week. Even on an ordinary day he’s a bundle of nervous energy, constantly in motion, hands flapping as he talks, leg jiggling under his desk; but whatever’s been on his mind these last few days has amplified it tenfold. He can hardly sit still; his normally massive appetite has dwindled to practically nothing; he’s made twice as many sales in one week as he did all of last month. I’m ready to set out sugar-free candy and switch his coffee to decaf.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my suspicions about what’s going on, but he hasn’t said another word about marriage since our pseudo-lighthearted conversation last month at my desk, and for the sake of my sanity, I have to assume it’s something else. I can’t be getting all choked up every time he clears his throat or gives me one of those earnest gazes that stop my heart. And it’s not like he’s done anything specific. But it’s out there, now. And it’s just…he’s acting weird.

It started on Sunday night when he surprised me while I was pulling laundry out of the dryer, sweeping me up in one fluid motion and taking me to the bedroom, where he tossed me down on the bed and stared down at me with a wickedly lascivious grin like something out of a bad romance novel.

Is there such a thing as a good romance novel?

The thought so tickled me that I started to giggle but then his eyes got dark and he was on top of me and all the humor in the situation disappeared as we made love on top of a pile of bath towels I hadn’t put away yet.

Granted, that wasn’t extremely unusual behavior. That sort of thing had fallen off a bit since we first got together, but there was still plenty of surprising and spontaneous passion. Always a good thing.

Monday he had a sales call in Pittston and called me eight times from the road with such riveting commentary as “I just saw a herd of deer!” and “What movie was that where Frances McDormand was a record producer?”

(Laurel Canyon. He wouldn’t hang up until I looked it up on IMDb.)

Normally I’d have welcomed the interruptions but, strangely enough, it was a little busy in the office that day and I’d planned on using my free time to finish a project for my Advanced Drawing class that night. I was a little snippy on his last call, and then immediately guilt-ridden when he murmured, “Oh, okay, sorry, didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just see you later then,” and quietly hung up.

I called him back and asked him to pick me up a chai latte. The smile in his voice when he asked if I wanted a muffin, too, was well worth it.

Tuesday he disappeared right before lunch, which kind of pissed me off because we were supposed to go out and I hadn’t brought anything. Also, he drove, so I couldn’t go anywhere. I was angrily scraping nickels and dimes from the bottom of my purse to buy something, anything, from the vending machines when he reappeared with two huge brown bags that smelled deliciously of the new Indian place all the way over in Moosic. He’d brought enough for anybody that wanted it, and in five minutes we were spread out in the conference room with Dwight, Kevin, Phyllis, Creed, and Kelly.

“You know, half the fun of going out to lunch is the going out part,” I pointed out.

“I know, but this is still good, right?” He smiled winningly and reached over to tear off a piece of my naan, dunking it in my meatball curry sauce. After driving all that way he hadn’t even made a plate for himself; he was just picking things off mine. “You said you loved this place but it’s too far away unless it’s takeout. And this way, everybody gets lunch,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “Win-win.”

“Win,” I added automatically, regarding him curiously. “But not everybody likes Indian.”

“Well, you can’t please all the people all the time.” He ducked his head down and gave me a quick kiss. He tasted like curry. Yum.

Wednesday I stopped off for a drink with some people from class and called Jim to tell him I’d be late, so I was just going to go home afterward. He said “Okay,” in the soft voice that means but I’m disappointed and in the end I couldn’t stand the thought of my bed without him, so I let myself into his apartment around eleven and was shocked to find he wasn’t there. His car was still out front and there were lights on in the living room and the bedroom, but no Jim.

I sat down on the couch, baffled and more than a little concerned, and pulled out my phone to call him. A second later I about jumped out of my skin when his phone started ringing from where it was charging on the kitchen counter.

Where did he go without his phone? I contemplated going through his call list before deciding that was a fairly high-level invasion of privacy. Still, something felt off about the whole situation. Jim’s nothing if not dependable, predictable. Where the hell is he? He doesn’t really live within walking distance of anything but the tiny little strip mall a mile away, and even if he’d gone for a nightcap at the dingy dive bar down there he wouldn’t have gone without his phone. Would he?

Maybe he’s got a whole secret life I don’t know anything about. A night job. Another girlfriend?… there’s that cute blonde girl downstairs who smiles at him all the time. Right in front of me, too.

Oh please. I'm with him practically every second of the day. And besides...that's ridiculous.
Right?
Okay, I'm officially insane.

Maybe something happened to his parents, or his brother or sister.

Yeah, and he rushed out without his car or his phone and didn’t let you know. Get a grip, Beesly.

Still, I was about two seconds from opening up his phone and scrolling through every call and text he’d ever made or received when the door opened. He was flushed and sweaty and his grey Penn State t-shirt was soaked through in huge patches over his chest and back. “Hey!” A delighted grin lit his face. “What are you doing here?” He kicked off his running shoes in the entrance and came over to hug me but stopped at the last second, plucking at his sweaty shirt and bending at the waist to kiss me without touching me. “I thought you were staying home tonight.”

He’d never gone running at night before. At least, not that I was aware.

I had a sudden, sickening vision of him downstairs with that blonde whore (really Pam? When did you become Angela?) and for a second I actually teared up at the thought, absurd as it was. He noticed immediately, of course, because that’s what he does, notices things, and his eyebrows drew together in concern and uncertainty. “Pam…?”

I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my face into his damp chest, breathing him in. “I am home,” I sighed.

On Thursday, Michael called a meeting to discuss “productivity in the workplace” and promptly tore into Dwight, of all people, for wasting time. Apparently he’d seen Dwight playing Second Life and decided it was an unforgivable offense to play computer games on company time. (As opposed to playing solitaire, or online shopping, or crossword puzzles, or Sudoku, or knitting, or reading…)

“Not to mention it’s preprost--preprosterorous,” he added scornfully. “Like anybody can really fly.”

Jim lifted his hand.

“Yes, Jim, what is it?” Michael snapped.

“You’re absolutely right, we shouldn’t indulge our personal hobbies on company time,” he agreed solemnly.

All eyes in the room swung toward him in shock. Jim, champion of productivity? Dwight’s eyes narrowed and he shot Jim a death glare.

“Buuuut,” Jim drawled, “I believe what we do on our lunch hour and during our break times is our own business, isn’t it?”

“Well…yes…but—” Michael pressed his lips together, flustered.

“I seriously doubt a salesman of Dwight’s, um…caliber…would ever consider playing games unless he were on such a break. Would you, Dwight?” Jim glanced over at him, lifting his eyebrows questioningly.

Dwight’s a freak, but he’s not an idiot. “Absolutely not,” he asserted strongly. “Jim is correct. I only play Second Life when I am on an officially sanctioned break period.”

Michael huffed, irritated. “I know you were not on your lunch. I saw you eating in the break room with Angela.”

Really? How did that one get past me? Are they back together? I caught Jim’s eye and his brows drew together just slightly.

“You did not see me eating with Angela,” Dwight said flatly, his expression stony. “And I never said it was on my lunch. It was during my afternoon break.”

“You were—you know what? Just forget it. Whatever. Just...just don’t play stupid computer games on company time. If it’s your lunch or your break or whatever, then do what you want.” Michael waved a hand dismissively. “Back to your desks.” He stormed out of the conference room and into his office, shutting the door.

Jim got more than a few strange glances as everyone filed out. Dwight hung back as well, ignoring Angela’s pursed lips and drawn eyebrows as she passed by. When it was just the three of us, Dwight gave me a pointed glance of please leave now, which I pretended not to comprehend, and then turned to Jim. “I would like to…thank… you,” he said formally. Despite his polite tone there was the slightest grimace on his face, as though it pained him to use the word.

Jim shrugged. “As long as we get our work done, what do they care how we spend our downtime?”

Dwight looked like he wanted to say something else, but just gave a curt nod and left the room.

“So you’re Dwight’s friend now?” I whispered. “His…champion?” I grinned.

He shrugged again, but a tiny smile played at the corners of his lips. “I guess.”

I reached over and laid the back of my hand on his forehead. “Hmm. You don’t feel feverish.”

He stretched his arms over his head as he stood up. “It wasn’t just about Dwight, Pam,” he chided. “The leisure time of everyone in the office was threatened. I had to do something.”

“You defended Dwight!”

He smiled. “Is that so bad?”

What the hell?!

Friday, when we went to the movies, I was both horrified and relieved when he bought an extra-large popcorn, M&Ms, Milk Duds, and a bag of Skittles to go with his Mountain Dew. With all that sugar I’d be peeling him off the walls later…or…well, extra energy can be put to many uses. On the other hand, he’d hardly eaten anything all week, so I was glad to see his appetite return, even if it was junk food.

In the end, though, we barely touched any of it. The movie was ridiculous (not really sure what I was expecting out of Hellboy II, but whatever), but there were too many people around for us to really do a proper MST 3000 on it, so about twenty minutes in we just started making out. We were in the back row, so we probably only offended a dozen or so of our fellow patrons. Not that either of us cared. We hadn’t done anything like that since the first week we were dating, when Spiderman 3 turned out to be such a disappointment and the salty taste of popcorn on Jim’s tongue had been infinitely more fascinating.

Afterward, we went back to my place and then walked over for drinks at Fado’s, the dark little Irish pub near my apartment, where we got completely trashed on three pitchers of Guinness. That’s about two too many for me and Jim ended up drinking most of it. I couldn’t say why we drank so much; neither of us really likes to get drunk. We were just talking and laughing and having a good time playing darts, and then before we knew it they were announcing last call.

I was pretty buzzed, but Jim could hardly walk. He was giggling uncontrollably about… something …weaving and staggering into me at intervals until he stopped suddenly and said, “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—” and promptly threw up into the bushes along the sidewalk.

“Nasty!” I laughed, grabbing him by the belt loops of his jeans to hold him up as he retched an extraordinary amount of black Guinness and bits of popcorn into the unfortunate foliage. But it soon became less funny as he started to slump dangerously and I realized he was passing out. “Hey, stay on your feet! Jim!”

Too late. His eyes closed and he went down on his knees despite my best efforts to keep him upright, and I fell with him, still giggling a little but starting to feel the gravity (har har) of the situation. Jim’s a big guy, six-three and all lean muscle, and there was no way I was going to be able to carry him, or even drag him.

Desperate times, desperate measures. I still had him by the belt loops, which was probably the only thing keeping him from curling into a fetal position. With my right hand I tugged backward sharply to pull his torso upright, and with my left, I slapped him hard across the cheek.

His eyes sprang open and he stared at me in bewildered hurt. “Whas tha for?”

“Sorry, sweetie, but you gotta walk, okay? We’re almost there.” I smiled encouragingly and would have kissed his poor confused face if he hadn’t just vomited everywhere. At least he’d managed to keep it off his clothes. “C’mon, Halpert, get up. Upsy-daisy.” I yanked on his belt loops, willing him to find his feet.

“Upsy-daisy!” he echoed in a slurring singsong, lurching to his feet and leaning on me so heavily I nearly toppled over. I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him a few steps until he got his feet under him and managed to stagger along mostly under his own power. Luckily we were only a couple of blocks from home, or we probably would’ve been arrested for public drunkenness. Jim stumbled on ahead of me to the bedroom and fell, face-first and already snoring, on top of the comforter while I locked up.

Ugh. My hair and clothes reeked of beer and the bar; I had to jump in the shower. It was invigorating and seemed to wash off enough of my buzz to just leave me feeling pleasantly amorous and thinking it might be fun to reanimate my unconscious boyfriend.

Don’t forget to make him brush his teeth first.

Jim was still asleep on his stomach when I came back and started digging into my dresser for pajamas. I hadn’t been home much this week; I needed to do laundry. And I didn’t have anything sexy at all; my favorite little black-teddy number was over at Jim’s. The best I could find was a tank top and a pair of Jim’s boxers which, he’ll be the first to admit, he loves to see me wear.

Not that it was going to matter. Jim was sprawled diagonally across the bed, snoring lightly. I rubbed his shoulder and murmured his name but got only a muffled grunt in response.

Crap. Guess I’m sleeping on the couch.

Wow. I’d never seen him this drunk. It was kind of funny, except I couldn’t help worrying that he would be puking on my comforter later. I set about pulling off his shoes and reached under him to unbutton his jeans, half expecting him to grab my hand and crack a joke about my indecent intentions; but no, he was totally gone. Still, it took me a few minutes to slide his jeans down off his impossibly long legs, and the t-shirt was looking to be more and more an unmanageable task so I decided to just leave it.

I kept a quilt my grandmother made me folded at the end of the bed, and I tugged it out from under his legs to drape it over him. He groaned and mumbled something and buried his face into his pillow.

Well, if there’s one thing I learned from years with Roy, it’s that seducing a drunk man is a waste of time and energy. Too bad, I sighed. Still, Jim’s so cute when he’s drunk. He gets all knee-slapping and giggly and finds everything just hilarious and it’s completely adorable.

I hardly ever went drinking with Roy. When he got drunk he would get more talkative than usual but it often became argumentative and was occasionally a little scary. Not that I’d ever tell Jim that. After a while, Roy’s nights out with Kenny became a good excuse to stay home and take a nice long uninterrupted bath.

I looked down at Jim’s sleeping form and smiled. Yeah, definitely made the right decision.

I picked up his jeans and folded them in half to drape them over the back of my desk chair, sighing in irritation when keys and change spilled out onto the floor. I picked everything up and reached into his right front pocket to put it all back and that was when I felt it.

Something small, square, and covered in velvet.

I pulled it out with trembling fingers and just stared at it. A little black jewelry box.

No doubt whatsoever about what’s inside.

Oh. My. God.

Was he going to propose tonight? At Fado’s? No way. That would not be “kicking my ass.” Although…it would have been a surprise, yeah. Is that why he got so drunk? Liquid courage? But he didn’t seem nervous or jumpy or weird tonight at all, just happy and animated. And if I know Jim he’s gonna be a sweating, stammering mess when he does it.

What, so he’s just, like, walking around with it?

No, that would be stupid. What if he lost it?

So…maybe it’s just earrings or something. Yeah.

So if it’s not a ring I can look at it, right?

Right.

Except my birthday was last month.

It’s not earrings.

I have to see it. I bet it’s gorgeous.

With what I felt to be an act of supreme self-sacrifice, I pushed the box back into his pocket without looking inside. Carefully folded the jeans and laid them on the chair. Curled up next to him for a minute and kissed the nape of his neck where the hair curled softly.

I wonder why he hasn’t asked yet? When he got it? What he’s planning?

Maybe this is all just an elaborate prank. I was probably supposed to find it and look at it. It’s probably something from a Cracker Jack box.

Halpert, you evil genius. But I'm not gonna bite.

I am so gonna marry this man.

Just as soon as he gets around to asking.




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He’s just messing with me now.

We were in the conference room suffering through yet another of Michael’s brainstorming events when he did it again. Gave me that look and began in that slow, serious voice, “You know what would energize me? If you…Pamela Morgan Beesly…”

“Don’t. Don’t. If you propose to me in a Michael meeting I will say no,” I hissed.

“Well it’s too late, because I am proposing…that you get me a cup of coffee,” he said wickedly. “Which will… energize me greatly…” he gave a nod to the dry-erase board where Michael had written the theme of the meeting in big block letters, “…make me the happiest man in the world.”

“You…” I shook my head, pinching his arm, but I couldn’t help grinning. Do you hear me, Halpert? I’m going to say yes. Just ask already.

His eyes danced.

I hate this man.

********

Jim told me later that he felt like it was his fault, and I assured him it wasn’t really, but the truth is that if he hadn’t been needling Andy maybe it wouldn’t have happened. It was Jim who threw out “urban” as a possible “energizing” theme and when Michael seized upon “urban” he naturally (?!) looked to Stanley. “Come on Stanley, put your game away, join the group…”

“No.”

For a few seconds the escalating war of wills between Michael’s relentless prodding and Stanley’s disdain for all conference-room meetings was amusing; it had all happened so many times before. But then Stanley bellowed “Did I stutter?” and the blunt rudeness of his tone was enough to shock even the most jaded among us.

The silence that followed was like a living, breathing thing.

Michael stammered something about needing a drink of water and left the conference room.

Nobody moved a muscle…except Stanley, who went back to his crossword as though nothing had happened.

Five minutes passed. Michael emerged from the kitchen and went straight to his office, shutting the door.

Another minute ticked by. At last Jim stood up. “Um, meeting adjourned, I guess,” he said uneasily.

We all went back to our desks. Jim gave me a look of what was that?

I shrugged, staring at Michael’s closed door. The very air seemed heavier. Nobody had ever disrespected him so openly. Part of me was almost glad—I mean, he really can be so rude and oblivious, and I felt a little vindicated from all those mean remarks he’d made about my glasses. It’s not nice when somebody hurts your feelings, is it? But as offensive and thoughtless as he’d ever been, I didn’t have it in me to call him on it so openly.

For one thing, he’s the boss. But he’s also Michael… generally harmless and well-meaning, if not always (ever) tactful.

Kevin’s remark about all his girlfriends having glasses and his “librarian” fantasy was the last straw. I decided just to do without them. Even though I’m sort of blind. What does a receptionist need with clarity and depth perception anyway?

I should’ve kept them on.

A bad day was about to get worse.

********

Ryan breezed in shortly after lunch, but instead of ignoring me as he usually did he paused at my desk. “Hey Pam,” he greeted, smiling in a way I’d call friendly if it were anybody else.

“Hey Ryan.” I shifted my gaze back to my computer. “Michael’s in his office.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m not here to see him.” He gave me a cryptic smile. “Will you dial Toby and ask him to meet me in the conference room, please?”

Jim glanced at me questioningly as Ryan brushed past him.

I shrugged. Weird things going on in here today.

********

Not long after he called out to Jim to come into the conference room, Ryan was leaving. Again he paused at my desk, leaning in. “Big plans this weekend, Beesly?”

Beesly? I bristled. Who do you think you are? “Yep.” I glanced up at him for the briefest possible moment that could be considered polite acknowledgement of his existence before turning back to my computer.

He dug through the jellybeans, picking out orange and green ones. “Oh yeah? What are you up to?” he persisted, lifting a skeptical eyebrow.

“Jim and I are going down to Allentown for his nephew’s birthday.”

“Exciting.” He smirked.

Jerk. “Should be great,” I agreed, pretending not to notice his tone. “Jon and Kathy are really fun, and his nephew is so cute.”

“Thought you didn’t like kids.” He popped a jellybean in his mouth, rolling the rest of them around in his palm. There was something unnerving in his eyes. Predatory, almost.

What is he doing?

“I don’t not like kids. They just used to make me nervous. But I don’t know what it is. Jim’s family is different. Nicky’s just adorable and he really likes me.”

“Hmm.” He made a blatant visual sweep of me, up and down. “Well, you have fun then, Pam.” He plucked another jellybean out of his palm and tapped his fingertips on my desk. “See you later.”

If this is what going corporate does to you, thank God Jim turned it down.

Then again, Ryan was never exactly a warm kind of guy.

He’d picked every single green and orange jellybean out of the dish. Jim’s favorites. I wonder if he knew that?

********

Jim emerged from the conference room about ten minutes later and went straight to his desk, glancing at me briefly with a kind of blank, stunned expression. “Hey,” I called softly. “What happened, what did Ryan want?”

“Oh, we were just talking about…bureaucratic stuff." He smiled tightly.

“Oh, ‘cause you’re so important,” I teased.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, but averted his eyes immediately, focusing on his monitor and reaching for the mouse.

I peered at him thoughtfully.

Something’s wrong.

********

Every single accusation Stanley roared at Michael about his idiocy, his immaturity, his ridiculousness, was completely true and yet I know I wasn’t the only one cringing to hear it all spilled out like that. And when Michael finally snapped and shouted for us all to get out, nobody hesitated for an instant. I set the phones to voicemail and squinted to see where I’d put my glasses. I thought I’d left them right by the keyboard, but…

“Let’s go,” Jim said quietly, grabbing his coat off the rack. Half the office had already filed past.

“I can’t find my glasses,” I said desperately.

His voice was low, urgent. “Okay, you know what, why don’t you take my hand, and leave them, and let’s get out of here.” He reached out for me, clasping his hand around mine in a tight, protective grasp.

“Okay.” I yanked my purse strap up on my shoulder as he led us out of the suite and down the hall. Before we reached the elevator, he turned abruptly and pushed open the doorway to the stairs, ushering me in first with a hand on my back. “Come on.”

I grabbed the railing and found the top step, descending cautiously. “Jim, what’s going on?” I found myself whispering even though we were alone in the stairwell.

“Well, it’s starting to look like he might actually try to fire Stanley now.” He was using his joking/ deflecting voice but something was really wrong. A knot of fear lodged in my throat.

“No, I mean with you. What happened with Ryan?” I clutched onto his offered arm and let him guide me as we hurried down the stairs.

“Not here,” he said quietly.

Oh my God. It’s bad. What happened? Michael’s finally getting fired, isn’t he?

Normally I’d never let it go at that; I’d prod until he gave me something, just a hint. But there was something in his voice that told me to just go with him and not ask questions until we were in a safe place. He hustled me to the car and opened my door for me before sliding in behind the wheel and kicking on the engine like we couldn’t escape fast enough.

I waited until we pulled out of the parking lot before trying again. “What’s going on?” I asked softly, a little afraid of the answer.

He pressed his lips together, staring straight ahead. Tell me, I prayed, because Jim always gets so quiet when he’s upset and it can sometimes be nigh-impossible to get him to tell me what he’s thinking. I’m done letting things go unsaid, though. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask again, and again until he told me, when he finally spoke.

“Ryan wants me fired.”

“What?” I gasped. Okay, that had not been on the list of possible scenarios I had imagined.

“I was given a ‘formal warning’ regarding my job performance.”

“Are you serious?”

“Do I not sound serious, Pam?” he snapped. Then, immediately, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said automatically. “So…what is it he says you’re not doing? Your numbers are better than anybody but Dwight, and—”

“Officially it’s because I spend too much time goofing off and apparently it’s well known that I don’t take my job seriously. ” He smiled sardonically. “But of course it’s really because I talked to Wallace about the website and Ryan thinks I’m trying to undermine him or something.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but…you know Dwight filed a zillion complaints against me over the years?”

“Oh, no…”

“Yeah.” He pulled into my parking lot and shut off the engine, glancing over at me for the first time since we’d gotten in the car. “Toby never bothered to send any of them to corporate, but he informed me today that he can no longer ‘protect’ me with his ‘friendship.’ He did give me some advice, though. Suggested I stop hanging around reception with you.”

Oh, my God.

“So…Toby’s in love with you,” Jim’s voice, last week, echoed in my memory. No, no, I’d insisted. It was an accident, or maybe just a little crush…he didn’t mean to fondle me right in front of Jim that night, he just…

That devious little snake.

I liked him. I actually felt bad for him.

In an instant, I was furious. "Ryan can’t fire you,” I said.

“Yes, he can.” A muscle in his jaw clenched and relaxed, over and over as he stared down at his knees.

“Jim—”

He slammed his palm on the steering wheel and I jumped. He so rarely gets really angry. He looked up at me with glimmering eyes and an expression of panic and frustration that tore at my heart. “I have plans, Pam! This isn’t…fuck, this is not what I need right now,” he choked, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

I have plans.

“Jim, listen,” I said strongly. “He can’t just fire you. Same way Michael can’t just fire Stanley even if he wants to. There are…procedures. Verbal warnings, written warnings…there’s a whole trail of paperwork, everything has to be documented.”

He turned his head to look at me with one eye. “You don’t think a box of complaints from Dwight qualifies?”

“No,” I insisted. “A complaint is not a warning. Toby might even get in trouble for never filing them in the first place.”

“Hmph,” he grunted skeptically. But he was listening.

“Ryan knows all this too. He’s just…trying to scare you. Was it just a verbal or did he make you sign anything?”

“No. Nothing written," he said slowly, his tone a little less dismal.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I bumped his shoulder with mine. “So, you’ve had your first verbal warning for being a slacker. Not bad, considering.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Et tu, Brute?”

I wanted so badly to tease him, make him smile, anything to lighten his heart. Because even if he did somehow get fired, he wasn’t alone. He knew that...right? “We both know this isn’t where you want to spend your life, so…why do you care what anyone thinks now? You never did before.”

“I don’t appreciate that arrogant little twerp threatening me,” he said darkly. “Just because I haven’t …figured it all out yet doesn’t mean I can lose my job…not right now,” he mumbled this last kind of under his breath.

Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask…but I couldn’t help myself. “What…plans…?” I ventured.

He jerked up and stared at me with an expression akin to horror. “Pam…don’t. Please.”

“Jim,” I said softly. “What are you waiting for? Just…just ask me.”

He pressed his lips together in a tight line. “Here. Now. In the car. When I’ve just basically been threatened with unemployment. You cannot be serious.”

I reached over and took the hand he kept clenching into a fist, slipping my fingers between his. “I don’t know who you think I am, that I need fireworks and clowns and ponies or skywriting or whatever it is you’ve got…planned. But I’m a pretty simple girl, Halpert. Just ask me.”

Success! He’d cracked a smile somewhere around clowns and ponies. He glanced down at our hands, pulled in a deep breath, let it out in a long sigh. “Pam…?” His voice was husky, hesitant.

Holy crap. I actually talked him into it. Oh my God…

“…I am absolutely not going to propose to you in the car, in front of your apartment,” he finished. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”

I let out a frustrated squeak and smacked his arm. “I hate you!”

“I know.” He leaned over the gearshift and kissed me, palming my cheek in his big hand. “I have a plan, Beesly, and it is considerably more sophisticated than…this,” he gestured to our surroundings, and suddenly grinned. “Clowns and ponies?”

“Nicky’s birthday party?” I asked hopefully.

“Maybe.” He smiled. “I’m not telling you. Them’s the rules.”

“Since when do you ever pay attention to rules,” I grumbled.

“I guess I better start.” He sighed. “Pam, would you marry me even if I was unemployed?”

“Maybe,” I replied archly. “You do not get to ask hypothetical questions about marriage. Them’s the rules.”

“That’s not really hypothetical though. What if it happens?” He wasn’t joking anymore.

“Then I’ll divorce you and take you for everything you’ve got. Which I guess would be the Saab,” I said dryly. “Fine, all in your own time, whatever…can we go inside now so I can put in my contacts and, like, see you?”

In an instant, he released my hand and got out, darting around to my side to get my door, even though I’ve told him dozens of times that I don’t need such chivalry. (He just kept doing it until I apparently got conditioned to expect it and stopped protesting.) He took my hand as I climbed out, and then wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me tight as we walked up to my door. “You said divorce,” he said happily.

I tilted my head up and quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering how he was interpreting that as a good thing.

“We’d have to be married to get divorced,” he pointed out patiently.

“You’re going to have to ask for us to get married,” I retorted. “Besides, who knows, maybe my patience is wearing thin. I wonder if anybody else around here would marry me. Hey, Mr. Langley!” I called to my elderly downstairs neighbor, who was smoking out on his porch.

“Hello Pam, Jim,” he nodded with a smile. He’s been fond of us ever since we gave him a ride to and from the dealership when his car broke down last November.

“Mr. Langley, would you marry a girl like me?” I asked gaily.

“In a heartbeat, sweetie, if I was about forty years younger,” he winked one leathery eyelid. “This tall fella hasn’t asked you yet? What are you waiting for, boy?” he demanded.

“I have a plan!” Jim exclaimed.

“I’d get on it if I were you,” Mr. Langley nodded sagely.

“Oh my God,” Jim sighed. “Nobody appreciates romance anymore.”


----------

---------




He thinks he’s so clever. But I’ve got him figured out.

I know what day he’s planning it. Of course! I don’t know how I didn’t think of it sooner. He thinks I don’t remember, or that it didn’t mean to me what it did to him…but he’s wrong, on both counts. I remember, and it changed everything.

May 27th. The day we met.

That’s when he’s gonna do it.

Yeah…pretty sure.

********

Jim was early on his first day, which was really the only reason, initially, that I bothered to talk to him at all. I’d learned by then not to put too much effort into getting to know the new hires until at least a solid month had passed; Scranton had by far the worst employee retention rate in all of Dunder-Mifflin. The sales people were hardest of all to hang on to, for which I fix the blame firmly on Dwight rather than Michael. There was a good reason the desk next to Dwight’s was always empty.

But this new guy seemed promising. He was young, and therefore possibly more open to the weirdness that is Dunder-Mifflin. Very tall, a little thin, a lot of thick brown hair falling in his eyes. He smiled at me kind of shyly as he hung up his coat and introduced himself. “Jim Halpert, I’m the new sales rep?”

“Hi, I’m Pam Beesly.” I reached up over my counter to shake his hand. “You’re early, Jim Halpert. Nobody else gets here till at least eight.”

“Yeah, um…didn’t want to be late,” he said uneasily, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

“Want some coffee? I was about to go start some. I can show you around.” I gestured toward the break room with my chin as I finished logging on to my computer.

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.” He smiled again and this time it made it all the way to his eyes. Nice green eyes that seemed very kind.

Cute, I decided. He had a great smile, infectious and ingratiating. Straight white teeth.

Well, good for him. A friendly smile is a salesperson’s best asset, Phyllis says.

He left his bag beside my desk and followed me to the kitchen, standing back with his hands in his pockets as I rinsed out the pot and started making a fresh batch. “So what did you think of Michael’s interview…process?” I asked casually.

He let out a kind of barking laugh but managed to turn it into a cough. “It was, um…interesting,” he said cautiously.

“Did he ask you a bunch of inappropriate personal questions?” I shuddered a little with the memory of some of my interview questions, half of which were certainly illegal to ask. How old was I. Was I married. Was I planning on getting “knocked up” anytime soon. Who did I think was hotter: Tyra Banks or Naomi Campbell?

“Well, he did seem disappointed that I’m not Jewish,” Jim said thoughtfully.

I frowned. “Why would he think you were Jewish?”

He tapped the side of his rather large nose with a smile and a shrug and I laughed aloud. Oh, God. Only Michael.

“Yeah.” He scratched his chin. “You think I should tell him my ancestors are Polish?”

I grinned. “At your own peril.” I pulled my mug out of the cabinet and a cup from the styrofoam stack on top of the microwave. “Cream and sugar?”

“Oh, you don’t have to…okay, yes, one of each, please.” He gave me a grateful smile as I fixed his coffee alongside mine and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

“You are going to need it.” I blew on my coffee and took a small sip. “I suggest you bring your own mug. Those cups seem to disappear as fast as we can order them.” My instincts said Creed had something to do with that, but maybe it was best not to inundate the new guy with too much detail right up front. All in good time.

I took him on a quick tour of the office: break room, kitchen, annex, accounting. By then Dwight had arrived and was busily sharpening what looked to be an entire box of pencils. “Are you ready?” I whispered as we headed back to my desk.

“Hmm?” He lifted his eyebrows, peering at me from over his coffee as he picked up his messenger bag. “For what?”

“You need to remember this moment,” I said solemnly, “because you will never be able to return to the time before you met your desk-mate, Dwight.”

His eyes widened and became very round but he clearly thought I was joking. Poor thing…

By eleven o’clock, when Dwight took him on his first sales call, Jim had made incredulous eye contact with me at least a dozen times, and his expression of help me! as they left had me grinning for an hour.

********

So that was the moment, he told me years later, that he knew he liked me. I know that for me, there were many, many instances where I looked at him twice and thought Wow, he’s really great. The one I told him about, though—when he warned me about my expired yogurt—was only one of many such moments. But it wasn’t the first time I realized I was attracted to him.

We’re not supposed to have secrets. But there are some things that are best left unsaid.

I knew Jim liked me as more than just a friend from the very first—from our first lunch date, in fact, less than five hours after we met. What Jim doesn’t know—what I can never, never tell him—is that I lied to him about Roy that day.

The truth is, we weren’t really engaged.

********

When they returned from their call to Brinderman Contractors over in Dunmore at twelve-thirty, Dwight appeared triumphant and satisfied and Jim looked sort of shell-shocked. “How’d he do?” I asked, winking at Jim as I handed Dwight his stack of messages.

“He has potential…if he follows the guidelines I have suggested. And stops smiling so much.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

Dwight smirked derisively. “You know nothing of psychology, Pamela. Which is why you will never be accepted to the sales team.”

“Yeah that’s a shame,” I muttered.

Dwight hung up his coat and went to his desk but Jim was just standing there staring at me. “Are you okay?” I whispered. He nodded but he looked so freaked out I couldn’t keep from grinning. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He gave his head a sharp shake like snap out of it. “Hey have you had lunch yet? I’d really love to talk to someone, um, normal? for a while.”

“That sounds great,” I agreed immediately. “There’s this great pizza place down the street, let’s get out of here.” I needed the escape, too. Michael was in rare form today; Jan was coming by this afternoon and I’d been in his office half the morning trying to help him decide if the blue tie or the red one was more “authoritative.”

“Oh good.” He smiled (yes he does smile a lot) and tapped his fingers on my counter. “Um, just let me hit the restroom and we’ll go?”

“Hurry up.” That got a full-fledged grin from him.

I decided I really liked making him smile.

He offered to drive if I’d navigate, and surprised me by coming around to open my door. That was the first time I thought Wow, he’s really sweet. But when I looked up into his face to tease him for being old-fashioned the words died in my throat.

He was watching me, and he tilted his head to give me that smile, the first of so many of those smiles; his eyes were this brilliant green in the sun and his hair had fallen in his eyes and his expression was so…well, for a second I saw him, really saw him, and he took my breath away.

I can’t tell Jim this, that I was attracted to him too. That it wasn’t something that grew over time as a result of friendship and proximity; it was immediate and visceral and a little bit terrifying.

I was with Roy. I’d been with Roy since high school; I was practically married. I mean he hadn’t gotten me a ring yet but we had talked about marriage in terms of when for a long time. Roy and I had lived together for three years, been together for almost seven; it was inevitable.

And here was this sweet, funny, not-unattractive man taking me to lunch and I hadn’t even told him that I had a boyfriend. That I was, for all intents and purposes, engaged.

Oh my God what am I doing?

As Jim walked around to get in the driver’s seat I laced my hands together tightly and thought about how I had to be very careful not to give him the wrong idea.

But I couldn’t find a way to tell him I was taken. We shared a calzone and joked about Michael and Dwight, and he talked with his hands in a way I found absolutely fascinating, and I liked him so much, just immediately. The shyness that made it so hard for me to talk to most people simply did not exist around him. He made me laugh in a way I hadn’t in years, it seemed, if ever. He listened to everything I said with rapt attention, laughed at even my lamest jokes, asked me questions, told me stories about his brother and sister and his crazy college roommate who was now renting a house with him. It was only at the very end of the hour, when he got quiet and started to look nervous and hopeful, that I realized what he was about to do and in a panic I blurted out something about Roy, “my fiancé.”

I’ll never forget the look on his face then, surprise and dismayed disbelief, maybe even a hint of anger. Certainly some of the light dimmed in his eyes, and when he glanced at my bare ring finger and his eyebrows drew together in confusion I heard myself lying again, saying it was getting sized at the jeweler’s. “Oh,” he said finally, softly. “That’s, um, that’s…great. Congratulations.”

“We should probably be getting back. You know, if you’re not quitting,” I joked, desperate to lighten the mood and get my new friend back. Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry. Can’t we just…?

He smiled weakly. “On my first day?”

“The last three sales reps the temp agency sent us didn’t make it past lunch,” I said solemnly. “Are you up to the task?”

“Well.” He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “I guess it would be cruel to make you walk back, so… okay, let’s go. But you have to promise me something,” he added, tossing a twenty on the table and waving me off when I started to pull out my wallet. “If I need someone to save me from Dwight, I’ll expect you to be there.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “It’ll depend on the situation, I imagine. But you have to promise. He will drive me insane if I don’t have an ally.” He regarded me sternly. “Will you be that ally, Beesly?”

Nobody had ever called me by my last name before. I instantly decided I liked it.

“I will,” I replied solemnly, and held up my hand. “Pinky swear?”

He hooked his pinky with mine and grinned.

An alliance was born.

********

For the next month I pressured Roy with not-so-subtle hints until he conceded that since we were definitely getting married it was time for him to get me a ring. And when he did surprise me with it, on a Sunday afternoon barbecue at his parents’, my heart felt utterly full and I was genuinely content with the life that was spread out before me. Cookouts and weekends at the lake and holiday dinners with family. It was all I’d ever wanted. That, and maybe to finish my art degree. But that could wait until we were married.

Kelly squealed when I showed it to her and Angela gave one of her rare approving nods and Phyllis said she was so happy for me and Michael made some remark I’ve since purged out of my memory. In truth, I was as grateful to have physical proof of my engagement as I was happy that we were finally getting married. It was a relief to not have to feel like a liar.

Jim smiled and offered another congratulations and seemed genuinely happy for me. And I started to think I’d imagined the look in his eyes that day, that I was just flattering myself that he’d find a girl like me attractive.

********

In the month since Ryan’s little reprimand, Jim’s been like a different person at work. He’s a natural salesman anyway; what Dwight achieves through tenacity and his own weirdly compelling brand of forcefulness, Jim achieves with a smile and the impression of authentic integrity that surrounds him. He’s always had respectable numbers without putting forth much effort, but to see him really motivated was like getting a glimpse of an entirely different man.

It was kind of hot. And it made me wonder how different he might be if he had a job he was really passionate about.

I knew why he was so concerned about keeping his job; he’d admitted as much when he asked me if I’d marry him even if he were unemployed. I was a little sorry I hadn’t just answered yes yes yes it doesn’t matter we’ll get through it but for one, that’s cheating—he doesn’t get my answer until he really asks, even if he already knows what the answer will be—and also I know how very traditional he is at heart. He wants to get married in a church and buy me a house with a terrace off the bedroom like I’ve dreamed of, and he wants us to have a family and for me not to have to work so I can stay home with the kids (“if you want to…”), and I know that ultimately if he has those things he doesn’t care what he does to pay for them. We’ve talked about being married and what kind of life we want, and we’ve agreed on all of that. We want the same things, we’re best friends, and I love him so much it’s a little overwhelming. I feel protective toward him in a way I never did with Roy.

I want him to be happy, and I know that eventually he’ll need more to make him happy than just seeing me happy. And I want to encourage him to indulge his dreams—to let himself have dreams—without making him think I want to change him, or that he isn’t good enough for me. He can sell paper forever, or take over Michael’s job, or move up to corporate, and if that’s what he wants I’ll be with him, and do everything I can to make him happy in the rest of his life. But I’ve seen him when he’s genuinely excited and enthusiastic and if he could do something professionally to channel that energy, I think he’d really be something to behold.

Still, he’s sometimes such a boy and that’s part of his appeal. “Let’s go to Vermont,” he suggested over lunch the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend. “Get away for a couple days.”

I beamed. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.” He dunked a carrot stick in my side of ranch. “When do we ever do anything just the two of us?”

“Every night of the week?” I said dryly.

He rolled his eyes at me. “You know what I mean. Every time we go anywhere overnight it’s family or something.”

“You forgot the beet farm.”

“Only after weeks of therapy. Come on, it’ll be fun.” He grinned and nodded and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

He’s completely impossible to resist when he makes those faces, not that I wanted to resist anyway. I couldn’t help thinking that the 27th, our first-meeting anniversary, is unfortunately on the Tuesday after the long weekend. Close enough. Still a good plan, Halpert. “Well, I was planning on painting my bedroom,” I said thoughtfully.

Jim looked me in the eye and said very deliberately, “Oh, I wouldn’t bother with that.”

The look on his face, in his eyes…I shivered. “No?” I meant it to be cool, disinterested, but my vocal cords betrayed me and it came out a squeak.

He held my gaze for a long moment before he smiled and his expression became mischievous. “Nah, it’s nice the way it is. I like the yellow.”

Maybe I’ll say no just to teach him a lesson. It’s not nice to torture your girlfriend.


---------

------------





“I thought we were taking 84,” I said suspiciously as he pulled onto I-81 northbound.

“This way is faster. Why don’t you pick out some music?” he suggested, reaching behind me for the CD wallet he kept on the floor behind the passenger seat.

Hmm. What’s he up to? And letting me pick the music? Not too subtle, Halpert. Obvious diversionary tactic.

Still, I’ll work with him. He’s got something up his sleeve and the anticipation is eating me alive. I can’t help it; I’m getting impatient. It’s killing me to think he’s got that ring, just sitting there… waiting… but it’s more than that. There are practical considerations too. My lease is up at the end of June and I have to make a decision about where I’m going to live.

I really, really don’t want to sign another lease. Jim’s apartment is bigger, and has newer appliances, and a nice roomy bedroom closet. And a long counter in the bathroom. And Jim.

And I don’t want to wait anymore.

********

I always fall asleep on road trips. Jim teases me that I’m a lousy road companion but I think he secretly likes having control of the radio, so he always offers to drive.

This trip was no different; I zonked out somewhere around track seven of the Jehro CD I’d picked out, but when I woke up I was startled and disoriented to see a sign for Cayuga Lake. That’s wrong. Where are we? We were no longer on the highway but some narrow little back road winding through pine trees and little cabins.

“Welcome back,” he said, smiling over at me.

I cleared my throat. “Jim…I know my geography is a little sketchy, but I’m pretty sure Cayuga Lake is not in Vermont.”

“You are absolutely correct.” His grin was huge and self-satisfied.

“So you wanna tell me where we are?”

“We are just outside Ithaca, New York.” He pulled off onto a dirt driveway, turned off the engine, and pulled out the keys.

“Isn’t Cornell in Ithaca? Did you bring us to some sort of Andy alumni thing? Because I have to tell you right now, I have no intention of sitting through any type of acapella production or theater revival or—”

“Pam,” he interrupted gently. “This is my family’s summer cabin. It is unfortunately close to Cornell, but there’s not really anything I can do about that. And I have no idea what Andy is doing this weekend. Now are you gonna help me unload the car or not?” He cocked a challenging eyebrow at me and slipped out of the car before I could answer, disappearing behind the open trunk.

I sat dumbfounded for a few seconds, staring up at a quaint little brown cottage with white shuttered windows tucked in among the pines. A wraparound deck ran the length of the outer perimeter, and a flight of stairs led down to a little private dock. Flecks of golden sunlight glittered on the lake below.

Wow.

Jim had pulled our bags out of the trunk and set them on the ground by the time I made it over to help him. “How come you never told me about this place?” I asked faintly.

He shrugged in a very poor attempt at nonchalance; he was loving every second of my reaction. “Just thought it would be a nice surprise,” he said casually. “Are you surprised?”

“Uh, yeah.” I picked up my suitcase. “I have a few…hundred…questions though.”

“Go.” He picked up his suitcase and shut the trunk, gesturing for me to go ahead to the door.

“Okay…let’s start with why did you tell me we were going to Vermont?” I’d overpacked in a seriously Kelly fashion for this little trip…hiking clothes and boots, swimsuit and cover up and sandals and shorts, jeans and sweater for the cool night, fancy he’s-gonna-propose-to-me-tonight sundress with strappy heels… I needed two hands to heave my bag up the short flight of steps to the door.

“Again, that would be part of the ‘surprise’ theme I was going for.” He put his suitcase down on the porch and thumbed through his keys until he found an old and slightly battered-looking brass one. “Doesn’t Vermont sound more romantic than New York?” he asked, twisting the key in the lock and putting his shoulder to the door. “Sticks a little,” he grunted.

“I dunno, ‘my family has an awesome cottage in the Finger Lakes’ sounds pretty good too.”

He waved my hand away when I went to pick up my bag and then let out an oof of surprise. “Holy cow, Beesly, what’d you pack, cinder blocks?”

“And sandbags.”

He grinned. “Always prepared, aren’t you.” He pushed the door shut with his hip and set both our bags down in the entrance. “I haven’t been up here in a couple years. My folks mostly rent it out to vacationers but we all try to make it for fourth of July or Labor Day when we can.”

“I still can’t believe I’ve never heard you mention this place.” It came out vaguely accusing when really I was just a little taken aback at the idea that there were still things I didn’t know about him. About his family, his history. We talked so much…how had he never told me about summers at the lake?

“To be honest I always kind of hated coming up here when I was a kid. There wasn’t much to do, no phone, or TV… ‘we come up here to enjoy nature,’ ” he intoned in a dead-on imitation of his mother’s Boston accent.

“Not a nature lover, Halpert?” I walked over to the windows and started opening up the shutters to let the light in.

The place was amazing. Hardwood floors, windows everywhere, big stone fireplace, kitchen with all the appliances, antique white soaker tub in the bathroom, two bedrooms—one with a queen-sized bed, the other with two twins—a cabinet in the living room stocked full of games and books. “How can you have possibly hated this place?” I exclaimed, finishing my self-guided tour in the master bedroom, where he’d brought our bags.

Jim gave me a strange, sad little smile and flung himself down on the bed, patting the space next to him for me to join him. “It wasn’t the place so much, it was just…believe it or not,” he said in a low voice as I kicked off my shoes and settled myself in by his side, “I was not always this ultra-cool specimen you have come to know.”

“Say it ain’t so,” I breathed, reaching over to link my fingers through his.

“I know, I know. Hard to believe considering my current awesomeness. But,” he went on confidentially, “did I ever tell you that I was five foot two until I was fourteen years old?”

“I do not believe that.”

“It’s true. I grew eight inches that summer. And then it didn’t stop till…God, I think I was twenty. Anyway, suffice it to say, when I was a kid here, there was this family that rented the place next door, and they had these four huge boys, and they, uh, liked to pick on me. A lot.”

“Oh, Jim,” I murmured, turning to look at his profile and seeing, just for a second, a small goofy kid used for target practice by bullies.

He was staring at the ceiling, his expression somewhere between bitter and nostalgic. “Yeah. There were the three separate incidents where I got tossed into poison ivy. And the one near-drowning experience in the lake. So yeah, I didn’t really like coming here. Mostly I’d just read. I must’ve read five or six dozen books in this place.”

“Jon didn’t stick up for you?”

He shrugged. “He wasn’t really ever around. He always had girlfriends, from the time he was like eleven. I hung out with Amy a lot. Can’t you just see how cool I was, playing Sorry! with my little sister?” He turned his head to grin at me but there was still a sadness in his eyes that made me ache.

I wish I’d known you when we were kids, I thought for the thousandth time.

“So why are we here in the Cottage of Bad Memories, Halpert?” I asked lightly.

He was quiet for a long time as he ran his thumb over the edge of my hand, back and forth, back and forth. “Thought it might be a good time to make some better ones,” he said finally.

I lifted myself up on my elbow to look down at him and felt a flood of that fierce protectiveness course through me at the darkness in his eyes. His gaze flicked over my face, questioning, uncertain, until I bent to kiss him and he reached up to tangle a hand in my hair.

I climbed up on top of him and grinned down at him. He loves it when I take the initiative, and I love how sexy and powerful and irresistible he makes me feel. “Better ones, you say?” I whispered.

He smiled up at me, running his hands up and down my sides. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

********

So went Saturday. There still wasn’t a phone but his dad had installed cable TV at some point and we spent the evening watching some crappy Lifetime movie (the best kind to mock) until Jim clicked it off and we built a huge fire, curling up together on the couch under one of the many quilts stocked in the cabinet.

We polished off two bottles of wine and talked until nearly three in the morning. I pulled bad memories out of him like poison from a wound, and he seemed surprised that he could laugh about his tortured summers at the lake now; he kept glancing over at me with an expression of wonder and I felt inordinately proud to be the one to bring lightness into his memories. I did that. I made him smile. Us being together is making this a whole new place.

I’m part of his memories now.

********

Sunday we slept until noon. I made us breakfast, we went back to bed for a while, took a long leisurely bath together, and then walked down to the dock around three.

I’m not generally afraid of water. Roy and I went to the lake at least five or six times a summer, even if it was usually him and Kenny hogging the WaveRunners and me on the beach with a book. But those tiny little canoes never seemed particularly safe to me and the water today appeared a little choppy for my comfort level. Jim spent half an hour trying to talk me into going out, patiently rebutting my protests and reassuring me of his rowing abilities until he finally gave up and threw up his hands. “Hey, it’s fine, we can just hang out on the beach, get some sun,” he conceded, and it was the utter lack of irritation or impatience in his tone that convinced me.

Roy would’ve gotten angry and told me I was being “stupid” or “a baby,” which would only make me more stubborn.

Stop doing that, comparing them. Jim’s not Roy. He would never bully you into doing anything you don’t want to… and suddenly I understood why he was that way, why he hated bullies so much.

“No, you’re right. Let’s do it,” I said.

Jim frowned a little at my sudden reversal. “It’s not a big deal, Pam. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No, I want to. I trust you,” I added.

That was the right thing to say; he gave me a smile of such warmth and affection and love I felt it like a beam of sunlight in my heart.

I will never, ever get tired of making him smile.

********

Sunday night Jim told me to put my “glad rags” on and he’d take me to dinner in Ithaca. My hands trembled so much as I applied my makeup that I had to redo my eyeliner three times, but the look on his face when I emerged in my knee-length, sleeveless yellow sundress and three-inch matching heels was well worth it.

He was so handsome that night in his crisp blue dress shirt and black blazer and the black pants that fit him so perfectly; he was even wearing cologne, which he almost never did, and I was absolutely certain that this was the night. Everything was perfect. We were alone and in this impossibly beautiful, romantic place; we had two days of intimacy and shared secrets fresh in our memories; we couldn’t have asked for a more ideal situation. I was braced and ready to have my ass kicked.

The wine was good, dinner was amazing, dessert was decadently delicious, and by the time it was over and he was helping me into my fancy ivory-lace cardigan, I was thoroughly pissed and having a hard time not showing it. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he was waiting for.

He’s never going to ask me. It must not have been a ring after all. He’s just Roy all over again, happy with where we are, never going to want more…

And I knew that wasn’t true but I wanted to cry. What’s wrong with me? What is it about me that screams “do not marry this girl?”

“Are you okay?” he asked on the ride back, his frown genuinely concerned.

I couldn’t keep the tinge of bitterness out of my voice. “Fine.” Oh crap. Here come the questions.

“ ‘Fine?’ ” he echoed, smiling a little. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I clamped my teeth down on my tongue before the poisonous, irrational thoughts could spill out. At least Roy asked me. What are you waiting for? Why are you playing with me?

Don’t you want to marry me?

Tears stung my eyes and I looked out the window so he wouldn’t see them.

“Pam?” His voice was soft, hesitant. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” But my voice quavered and I reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.

He reached over to put his hand on my knee and God help me, I flinched. He pulled back immediately, sucking in a sharp breath.

We didn’t say another word on the way back.

I jumped out of the car before he could come open my door and started toward the cottage, desperate to get inside so I could hide in the bathroom until the threat of tears subsided. Fuck this, I thought angrily, and fuck him, I’ll just sign a new lease, and I’m never getting dressed up again, he’s gonna have to ask me in my sweats with a fucking mud mask on during a rerun of House if he ever—

“Pam.” He grabbed my arm before I made it to the steps. “Pam, wait.”

His grip was surprisingly strong and I stumbled a little and would have fallen in my stupid high heels if he hadn’t caught my other elbow to steady me. I glared at his chest. “What.”

“I know you’re mad at me,” he said quietly.

I shook my head no. Yes. You're an ass. Why are you doing this to me?

He touched my chin, tilting my head up until I had to look at him, and I felt the stupid tears pooling in my eyes and blinked furiously to stave them off. Still, he saw, and bent to kiss the corners of my eyelids, slipping one arm around my waist to pull me against him. For a second I stayed stiff with resistance but it was hard when he smelled so good and he looked at me with that pure, tender love in his eyes that begged me not to be angry. “Yes, you are,” he murmured, “and I know why.”

I just stared up at him, unwilling to speak, afraid of what I might say.

“I love you more than anything in the world,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

I managed to nod because yes, I did know that…at least I thought I did.

He lowered his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “Do you love me?” he whispered.

I nodded again, just barely so it wouldn’t whack his forehead. “Yes.” More than anything, and I just don’t understand what--

He ducked down to kiss me, wrapping both arms around me in an embrace so tight it hurt. Then he released me with a smile but kept one arm around my waist as we went up the stairs. “Yikes, I think I forgot to lock the door,” he murmured, giving it a hard shove until it gave with a soft thwack.

I gasped.

Oh, my God.

The living room and kitchen glowed with the light of at least a hundred tealight candles scattered across every surface. Rose petals were strewn all over the floor; bouquets of red and pink and yellow roses filled the windowsills and tables and countertops.

I whirled around—how?—and he was already on his knee, looking up at me without a trace of humor in his dark, wide eyes. In fact he looked vulnerable and a little bit terrified, but he reached out for my hand and said softly, “Pam…?”

I slipped my palm into his and stared down at him, thunderstruck, tears of a different variety already threatening to spill over. The little box I’d seen a month ago was open in his other hand, and it was gorgeous, simple and gorgeous just as I knew it would be, a white-gold band with a marquise-cut diamond solitaire. Not huge, not small. Just perfect.

Ask now please ask now before I lose it…

“Pam, I have loved you for a…a really long time, and…you’re my best friend,” he whispered; he was getting choked up and he hurried on quickly. “You’re my inspiration, and I can’t imagine my life without you, and if you’ll have me I’ll do anything, anything to make you as happy as you make me, and…will you? Marry me?”

I nodded and nodded and then realized I hadn’t said it. “Yes…yes!”

There were tears in his eyes and his hands were trembling as he slipped the ring on my finger. I cradled his face between my palms and kissed him hard, unable to quell the tears now, but he was crying too so it didn’t matter. “How did you do this?” I demanded, tugging him to his feet and wrapping my arms around him.

“Got the neighbor to come in and set it up while we were out.” He grinned down at me. I’d never seen such joy in his face. God, he’s beautiful.

“What neighbor? How? You haven’t been out of my sight for five minutes,” I protested.

“Well,” he began, placing a kiss on my nose and disentangling himself to take off his jacket and toss it over the back of the recliner. “A few years ago, the neighbors with the evil sons sold their place to these friends of my parents. Paul and Ellen Ferguson. Anyway they’ve known me since…forever… and were only too glad to do me this little favor.”

“Wow,” I murmured, staring down at my ring and the way it glinted in the candlelight.

“We’re having lunch with them tomorrow before we head back. If that’s okay.” He smiled apologetically. “They want to meet you.”

“Of course.”

“Kicked, Beesly?” he teased, pulling me close again.

“Kicked,” I agreed.

“You were so pissed,” he grinned. “I was almost afraid to do it.”

I smacked his arm. “You’re lucky you did. I swear to God I’d have said no if you made me wait any longer.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” His eyes glimmered with amusement and a brand of confidence I’d never seen before.

I smiled. “Yeah…you’re right.”



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