Pam yawned as she sat at her desk Saturday morning. The outcome of the basketball game meant that the entire office had to come in. No Waverunner for her--and no outlet mall either.

The rest of the office was trickling in slowly, Stanley plodding in last, scowling at the clock. “I am not amused to be coming here on a Saturday,” he said in his usual slow cadence.

“Well, Stanley, neither is anyone else,” Michael said as he exited his office, leaning against the doorjamb. “It certainly wasn’t my idea.”

“That’s not entirely true, Michael,” Dwight spoke up. “If I recall, you were the one who placed the bet on the outcome of the game, not knowing for certain what it might be. In fact—“

“No, no,” Michael put up a protesting hand. “It wasn’t me. I knew we were going to win. I thought we would win. In fact, I was on my A-game. If anything…” Michael cast a glance around the room, taking in all the sullen faces, looking for an appropriate scapegoat. “If it was anyone’s fault…”

Pam winced in preparation, already feeling sorry for whoever Michael might blame for his own mistakes.

“It was Jim’s fault!” Michael blurted out.

Pam barely bit back a gasp. This could not end well.

“Wait, what?” Jim looked up from his computer screen where he was playing Minesweeper. “What’s my fault?”

Michael pointed an accusing finger. “He did it! It was his playing. We were doing just fine until he got a nose bleed. Like a little girl.” Michael announced the last bit like a jeer. “Hey Jim, you play like a girl! I knew I shouldn’t have let you cover Roy. I should have just covered him myself.” Michael was starting to get more and more worked up now.

Jim sat still at his desk with no expression on his face, a bit shell-shocked at the flurry of accusations. “Look, Michael…”

“No, Jim, you look! If you hadn’t lost us the game, then we wouldn’t have to work this Saturday. The warehouse guys would be working here instead.”

Pam could see the tips of his ears start to redden, a sure sign that he was reaching some sort of limit to his dose of Michael. She hastened to intervene before something catastrophic happened. What might happen, she had no idea, but she didn’t relish finding out. “Uh, Michael, sausage and egg sandwich?” She whipped out hers from the bag that she brought in, hoping to deflect his attention.

“You—what?” Michael whipped his head around so fast that Pam thought he might get whiplash. “With cheese?”
“Of course with cheese.”

“Yum, give me.” He extended a hand, fingers already making little grabby motions like a greedy child.
She handed him the sandwich, watching with satisfaction as he promptly opened it, stuffing nearly half of it in his mouth as he turned around and headed back into his office.

“Pam,” he swallowed loudly, mouth still half full of sausage, “hold all my calls while I eat. Breakfast, you know, is the most important meal of the day.”

“Sure,” she nodded, sighing with relief. Crisis averted. Glancing back at Jim, she couldn’t help but notice his still downturned face. “Hey,” she murmured to him quietly as she passed by his desk, “you know he didn’t mean any of that, right?” She put a soft hand on his shoulder. “You were great.” And when he finally smiled, she felt better.

Pam laughed at Dwight’s overdramatic proclamation that these fake diseases had destroyed the office’s chance for a better health care plan, but stopped short when she caught sight of Jim’s stricken face. Of course. Leave it to him to believe Dwight and feel guilty over their prank.

“Hey,” she whispered to him as she passed by his desk, contriving yet another excuse to leave the phones. “Some speech Dwight made, yeah?” She wanted him to realize that it was still all a big joke, that Dwight was just being Dwight with his crazy notions.

Jim gave a short nod, seemingly engrossed in inputting numbers in his spreadsheet.

Pam tried again, “Hey, how about taking a break soon? I’ll spring for the grape soda.”

“No, can’t. I need to finish up these expense reports.” Jim’s face looked a bit shuttered and Pam couldn’t get a read on him, but expense reports? That seemed like a bunch of bull to her.

Pam gave up and walked back to her desk, drumming her fingers on the edge of the counter while she idly pulled up Solitaire, her mind not really into the game. She felt bad that Jim felt bad; she was annoyed that Dwight managed to ruffle Jim’s feather, that Jim was so nice that he fell for Dwight’s guilt trip.

She pulled up her instant messaging program. “Halpert,” she sent. “It was a harmless prank.” She waited for the ping of a reply, fingers drumming even faster on the counter.

Finally, “What if we end up with a crappy healthcare plan because of it though? You know Stanley has high blood pressure.”

“Dwight can’t actually control the healthcare plan. You know that, right?”

“Angela has all her cats to think about.”

She snorted in laughter, lifting her eyes to meet his across the room. She quickly typed, “You know that the employee healthcare plan doesn’t include cats, right?”

His reply: “Who knows, maybe the one we would’ve gotten might’ve covered them.”

“Yeah and maybe it would’ve included insurance for Dwight’s bobbleheads too.”

She watched him crack a smile from the corner of her eye. When he straightened up, tapped closed his spreadsheet and stretched across his desk to reach Dwight’s pencil cup, casually emptying it across the floor, she knew he was feeling much better.

She knew something was wrong from the meeting in the morning. The empty seat next to Jim, the seat she might’ve been sitting in a few months ago, remained conspicuously empty as Karen purposefully strode past him and sat at the back of the conference room. Pam watched as Jim’s shoulders slumped a bit as Karen walked past. Then she watched as he collected himself again and made a wry face at the camera, hiding his true feelings. But she had seen it already. She knew all his little quirks.

After the meeting, in the break room, she greeted him, “Hey. You okay?” She walked towards the coffee machine.

“Yeah,” he answered, holding his Styrofoam cup between his hands, looking down.

Pam looked at him, “You sure?” She fidgeted with the coins in her hand, waiting for his reply.

“Yeah. Yes,” Jim brought the cup to his lips again, but didn’t take a sip. “I’m just in this, you know, stupid fight with Karen.”

“Oh,” Pam said. She knew it might have to do with Karen, but she wasn’t sure she could handle it. She pressed forward anyway, “You wanna talk about it?””

“Really?” Jim’s voice betrayed his surprise. But he dutifully launched into a version of the story as she sat down next to him, finishing up with, “So, I dunno, we’ve been dating, what, a month, right? Same street? Might be a little close. Might be a little much.”

“Hmm,” Pam murmured noncommittally, rolling her cup in her hand.

“Hmm what?” Jim looked at her across the table.

“How far away does she live now? Like 10 minutes?”

“Yeah I guess.”

“Honestly, I think you should go easy on her,” Pam took a deep breath, staring at her coffee cup so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye, afraid of what he might see in her face, then looking quickly at him.

“Hey, thanks a lot,” Jim said after a pause.

“Don’t worry about it. I mean, it’s better than Michael playing a conch shell, which is what I was doing.” Even though she hated that he looked so tired, so glum, she felt a little tingle of happiness that they were talking again. It was annoying that they had not actually talked since he got back from Stamford, limiting themselves to superficial conversations instead. This was the first time that she and Jim had talked, really talked, in weeks, and she didn’t want this moment to end. “Also, Michael went to Jamaica with Jan,” she said, seeking a return to normalcy.

“Yeah, how have we not talked about that yet? What happened there, kidnapping?” Jim said. Pam laughed at his words, glad that they had fallen back into their old habits.

When they were in the warehouse doing inventory, Pam could tell when he handed Karen the rental form, seeing the release of tension in his shoulders when she hugged him. Seeing that, she was happy for him, of course.
Later she would cry by herself—wishing that she could go back to when she was the one who could make him happy so easily—until Dwight came.

“Dammit, where—“Jim ran to the dresser and rummaged through yet another drawer, throwing clothes to the ground in his haste. “Where’s that shirt that I like?”

“Going to have to be a little more specific than that.” Pam sat on the bed and watched Jim shuffle around the room frantically.

“The shirt with the stripes… you know?”

“Did you check the closet?”

“The closet!” Jim ran to the closet, almost tripping over the clothes on the ground. He pulled a striped polo from a hanger, “I got it!” He thrust his arms in the shirt and pulled it over his head, smoothing it down. “So, how do I look?”

“Fine girl-Jim,” Pam teased. “Do you want me to braid your hair too?”

“Oh shut up, Beesley.” Jim threw a shirt at her head. Pam ducked and laughed.

Standing up from the bed, Pam said, “Seriously Jim, we’re going to be late. We really need to get a move on.”

“Yeah… I’m ready. I am. Really. Let’s go.” Jim spared one more quick glance at the mirror.

Pam let out a soft sigh of relief. Finally.

As they got downstairs, Jim couldn’t help but ask, “What am I gonna talk to him about? I haven’t… man. I just… Mr. Maguire’s a huge client, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in all different directions. “And I’m on this stupid probation thing because of Ryan and even Toby is against me and I don’t even know why…”

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re going to make it. You’re a great salesman; don’t worry.” Pam knew he was really freaking out about this sale, not just trying to be difficult. Pam put her hands on his shoulder and stared into his eyes.

“Relax.

Jim kissed her lightly on the lips. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you to calm me down. I just never thought I’d have to try at this job, you know?”

“I know sweetie. But you’ll do great; I just know it. Besides, you’re bringing Andy and this guy hates Cornell. How could you not get the sale?”

Jim laughed at that and Pam felt a little thrill of happiness at the sound.

They had just gotten to car when Jim clapped one hand on his head, “Oh, hat!” and ran back inside.

Pam sighed affectionately and got into the car, patiently waiting for him. Yep, he was going to close it.

In his head, Jim practiced the words that he was going to say to her. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he felt in his pocket the hard square of the ring box. “Pam, will you marry me,” he repeated to himself over and over. “Will you… Marry me. Be my wife. Beesley, let’s stop playing games and get married already.”

Rubbing the velvet of the ring box with his thumb, he was seized with a sudden fit of anxiety. What if she didn’t like it? What if it was too big? What if it didn’t fit her delicate hand?

A few weeks ago he had planned everything to go perfectly at Toby’s going away party. The night air was warm and sweet. The fireworks lit up the sky, illuminating the curves of Pam’s face. Then, too, he had felt the velvet of the box, nearly thumbing it open as he turned to her and said, “Hey.” But Andy had chosen that moment to stand up on stage, grab the mic, and propose to Angela. Angela. And that had ruined the night for him. He swallowed his disappointment and put the ring back in his pocket, putting his dreams on hold, again.

But now he was going to do it. He couldn’t wait any longer. He was definitely going to ask her to marry him. The windshield wipers squeaked against the glass. Jim was headed to that little rest stop and he was going to go all out, down on one knee and everything.

And Pam, well, she didn’t have a clue.