She watched his face, waiting for a reaction, a sign, some insight into what he was thinking. His mouth twisted slightly into an embarrassed grin, somehow managing to be hopeful and hopeless all at once.

He reached out. She set the note on his palm and waited. His hand stayed outstretched, and he began to look confused. What was he doing?

“What?” she asked quietly.

“Where’s my sketch?”

Huh? “Uhm…not really sure what you mean. What sketch?”

“I got a sketch with all the other notes...I just thought…”

“Jim…I didn’t leave any sketches for you. I…oh, eff.”

“What?”

“Freaking Dwight...”