Maybe it was the Christmas presents, when Karen and Jim wrapped their arms around one another. Maybe it was the day Karen had stood up and walked over and hugged Jim out of absolutely freakin' nowhere. Maybe it was night after sleepless night of crying and planning and dreaming and regret. Maybe it was the shock and shame of her breakup -- again -- with Roy. Whatever it was, Pam woke one morning ready for combat.

She didn't know what it was that Jim had loved in her last May. Maybe whatever it was, she didn't have it any more. But she'd sure as hell do her best to find out.

* * *

"Michael, can I ask a favor?"

"Pam, I cannot be the father of your child. Not while I'm with Jan," Michael giggled.

"The forecast calls for snow tomorrow," she said patiently. "They say it's going to be below freezing all day."

"So? Are you asking for a snow day? Because you know I can't say yes to that," he said, suddenly solemn.

"No, I just wanted to know if it was okay to wear pants to work," she said. "I know the company dress code discourages it--"

"Oh, forget the stupid dress code. Nobody sees you behind that counter, anyway. For all we know, you could be naked! Naked Pam!"

"Michael, I'd appreciate it if you didn't--"

"Oh, Pam, you know I'm just kidding. Nothing inappropriate. We couldn't see it anyway. Of course you can wear pants tomorrow."

"Thanks."

"Just make sure they're really tight!"

"I'm going back to my desk now, Michael."

"Naked Pam!"

* * *

Pam did, in fact, wear some well-fitted slacks to work the next day. Not jeans, which would have drawn a frown from Angela, but brown wool that hugged her hips. She wore a cream colored cashmere sweater over it which she unbuttoned one button lower than usual. Its soft wool tickled her. She wore low flats. She put her hair up and wore longer earrings. Her heart beat a little faster when she arrived late (snow plows had slowed traffic all morning) and found that Jim was already at his desk. And no one else was in, yet.

"Good morning, Jim," she said. She waited til he swiveled around to answer her, then stretched her arms up to hang up her coat. She knew (because she'd practiced it this morning), that standing on tiptoe pulled her pants tight across her bottom. She held the pose for a moment, adjusting the coat.

"Good mor--"

She turned around. Jim was staring at her, transfixed. His eyes were huge and dark, dilated as they had been that night in May. Pam met his look silently, and deliberately recalled the feeling of his mouth on hers, of his hands on her. She willed him to know she'd been thinking about that. Trust that connection, she thought. I don't have to say it. He'll get it.

And he did. She watched as his cheeks flushed, his gaze dropped away from hers, and he half-swivelled away from her, his hands combing through his hair. "Morning," he mumbled to her. He sounded hoarse. She smiled to herself. He remembered.

The snow kept several people at home that day, including Karen. Stanley and Oscar waged a silent war over the thermostat, until Dwight got into it by going down to the building maintenance office to complain about the heat. Jim shook his head at the mess and retreated, as she knew he would, to the kitchen. She picked up her mug and followed him.

He was putting the carafe back in the coffee machine. He glanced at her over the rim of his mug and said nothing when she came in.

"Any milk left?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Let me see..." She opened the refrigerator. Yes, the milk was where she'd left it -- on the bottom shelf. She bent over deliberately, taking her time about fetching it out. She straightened, turned around, and he was standing immediately behind her and they collided.

"Oops," he said, and caught her hand in his, saving the milk from a fall.

"Thanks," she said. She made no move, looking up at him. She dropped her eyes deliberately from his eyes to his mouth. Slowly, she ran her tongue along her bottom lip, then stepped to the side. "Excuse me."

He leaned against the counter, sipping, watching her pour milk into her coffee and stir it. He was in no hurry.

She leaned against the counter next to him, slowly stirring her coffee. "The snowplows made it to your place, I see."

"Yeah, but my downstairs neighbor and I had to shovel the driveway this morning," he said absently. His eyes were on her neck, where her earrings danced against it.

"Wanna go make a snowman?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "How old are you again, Beesly?"

She nudged him. "Come on, Jim. You're never too old to make snowmen."

"Where? In the parking lot?"

She shook her head and pointed upward, then laid her fingers on her lips.

"On the roof?" he said skeptically. "Nobody would see them."

"Yeah," she said. "And nobody would destroy them."

He took a long sip, looking at her. She could almost hear him thinking, What the hell? What is she doing? She hoped she hadn't spooked him.

"You can bring any accessories you want, but only from this office."

He set down his mug. "What time?" he said.

* * *

By four o'clock, everyone but Jim and Pam had left, hurrying home before more snow and darkness made driving difficult. She got to the roof ahead of him, shivering in her pink coat but determined to make this moment with him count. She felt edgy, excited. She tromped over to the edge of the roof and looked down; the parking lot was patterned in sworls and curliques from tires in snow. Snowflakes drifted down silently on her.

She gathered handfuls of snow and packed them into a ball, started rolling them in the foot-deep snow covering the roof. She wished she'd remembered to wear gloves that morning. She had not been able to find them.

The hatch banged open and he climbed up. She watched the easy, athletic way he moved, the way he closed the hatch firmly. As if he wanted to lock it. He straightened, and met her eyes.

"So," he said, and his breath made white clouds. He strode up to her, looked down on her. He was so tall. She liked that about him. "You started without me."

"Slowpoke. It'll be too dark to see if we wait any longer."

He scooped up a handful of snow. She liked watching him. She missed the casual way of a man using his body without thinking. He eyed her. "How many?"

"Four each?"

"Four?" He looked around. "I don't think we have that much snow."

She shrugged. "Especially after I use up all the snow because, you know, I don't talk, I actually make snowmen, Halpert!"

He grinned and fell to his knees in the snow, rolling the ball in the downy white bank. "Four it is, Pam."

The lights of the city were the only light left to them when they finished. Pam stepped back, eyeing her handiwork. Her fingers were numb but she was happy with her snowmen. Scrunching noises; he walked up behind her. She could feel how close he was, saw his breath frosting the air, but did not turn around.

"Nice," he said. "Is that ... Kevin?"

The fat little snowman was carrying an unsharpened pencil in each hand, one 'drumstick' resting on a flat round 'drum' made of snow.

"I thought I'd try my hand at portraiture," she said. She pointed at another one. "Guess who?"

A snowman lay face up in the snow, sprawled helplessly. Pam had placed an empty soda bottle next to one hand. A pile of paper confetti 'vomit' extended from the snowman's mouth.

"Um. Let me think..." Jim's voice behind her rumbled with that deep note he got only when he talked to her.

"A hint," she said breathlessly. "Think 'Christmas Party'. Year before last?"

"Todd Packer, passed out drunk? Oh, Pam, you are evil like a hobbit." He chuckled. He stepped around her, and his big body blocked the light breeze that had been dusting her cheeks with snow. "And these two -- Pam!" He turned to look at her with surprise and laughter in his eyes. "Oh, my God!"

The female snowman was lying on her back, with streamers of light yellow 'hair' fanned around her head. The male was on top of her, head thrown back. He was wearing glasses made of a pair of old scissors.

"Oh, my God! That's ... Dwight and Angela?" The laughter in his voice made her heart light. "That's genius! Where did you get the yellow hair?"

"Ramen noodles," she said. "From Kevin's desk."

"Oh, my God, that's so ... Pam, you've outdone yourself. I should have brought a camera."

She grinned. "Let's see what you've got."

He stepped back and she walked over to where three snowmen were grouped in front of a fourth. The three were all asleep, heads thrown back, mouths open, eyes closed (he'd used paper clips to make slits for eyes). The fourth snowman had his mouth open, talking, with hands made of forks, gesturing wildly. Pam squinted, then smiled. "Michael at a meeting."

"Yeah," Jim said. "Not anywhere near as original as yours."

She rubbed her hands together and blew on her fingertips. "Well, I had more time to think about it."

He glanced at her hands. "Here." He pulled off his gloves, put them in his overcoat pocket, and took her hands in his. "Why didn't you wear gloves, Pam?"

The heat of his hands warmed hers immediately. She looked up at him, so close. "Made it hard to, you know, sculpt the snow."

"Anything for art, huh?" he said, and his voice was low and dark. He grinned, and it was the same happy, intimate grin he'd given her that night when he'd kissed her.

"Yeah," she said, and her breath in the cold air turned into a cloud. She trembled a little. Was he trembling, too? His hands were so warm; was the rest of him that warm?

He rubbed her hands between his. "You type for a living," he said. "You should take better care of your hands. Here." He reached into his pocket and drew out his gloves. "Wear these."

A little disappointed, she pulled them on. Then giggled because they were ridiculously oversized for her.

He looked around. It was full dark now, but the moon and the streetlights gave enough illumination to see the white snowmen. "Too bad we didn't do this in the daylight," he said. "I could have taken a picture with my cell phone."

She shrugged. "It's okay. We'll remember them."

He looked at her, and his smile faded. "But they'll be gone tomorrow," he said softly.

"Yes," she said strongly. "But we will remember them."

"Yeah, we will."

Her eyes caught his and there was a long, long moment where they didn't speak, but she was so, so aware of his height, his big body right there, and his breath mingling with hers. A snowflake drifted down and landed on one of his eyelashes. Another landed on his eyebrow, another in his hair. Then more.

He pressed his lips together, stuck his hands in his overcoat pockets, and turned away. "It's starting up again. We'd better get going before we're snowed in."

"Yeah." She hid the disappointment in her voice.

He led her to the door of the roof, tugged it open for her. They climbed down into the light and warmth of the building. It was warm enough that Pam unbuttoned her coat. He held open the main door of the Dunder-Mifflin office for her. As she passed him, she looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back. The snowflakes were still in his hair. She brushed her hand over his hair, caught a snowflake, showed it to him. He shook his head, amused.

"You are a child, Pam Beesly."

She snorted and went for her purse.

In the elevator on the way down to the parking lot, he stood closer to her than he had in a long time. She pulled off the gloves and handed them to him. "Here you go."

"Keep them," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"I have another pair," he said, and looked away. There was a pink flush along one cheek.

"Thanks," she said again. "Any part of my wardrobe I can give you in exchange?"

His head whipped around and he stared at her. "What?"

She smiled sweetly at him, her heart pounding, determined not to let him see how nervous she felt. "Fair trade and all. You gave me your gloves, so I owe you. What item of clothing would be a fair exchange?"

His eyes dropped to her cleavage, and he closed his eyes. Joy surged in her. Good. He was thinking about her, sexually. Very good. She was thrilled and nervous at the same time. She felt heat creeping from her chest upward and knew she was blushing, but to hell with it.

"Jim. Hey?"

He opened his eyes, staring at her with an expression she had not seen -- fear?

She tugged at the knitted scarf around her neck, and it slid slowly into her hand. She held it out to him. "Fair trade?"

His fingers closed around it and he took it, eyes still on her face. "Yeah," he said, and his voice was hoarse. "Um. Thanks."

The elevator doors opened. "Oh," she said. "Well, good night."

"You, too," he said absently. He looked down at the scarf in his hand and frowned, as if he could not remember how it had got there.

Pam smiled and preceded him out the door into the parking lot. The snow was falling even more heavily now. She turned around and caught his sleeve as he came through the door.

"Hey."

He looked down at her, his hair dusted with snowflakes, his eyes dark. "Hey?"

She looked up at the snow, felt it dancing on her cheeks. "Snow like this, we'll have even more on the roof tomorrow."

He smiled. "Yeah."

"And, you know, those snowmen might like company."

"Yeah. They looked pretty lonely. " He was standing very close. And this time, his eyes dropped deliberately from her eyes, to her mouth, to her cleavage, and back up to her eyes. He didn't try to hide it. His eyes held a question, and a challenge.

He knew what she was doing. And he was challenging her back.

Oh, bring it, she thought.

"So," she said. "Snow angels tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," he said. "Four o'clock."

"Done," she said. And stood there, hand on his arm, so close she could see the pulse in his neck. His face was flushed, as it had been that night in May. The moment stretched out, humming. His eyes didn't leave her face.

Okay, I've got his attention, she thought. That's a start. She smiled, turned to go to her car, and didn't look back. She didn't have to. She could feel his gaze on her back.

She didn't know what it was that Jim had loved in her last May. Maybe whatever it was, she didn't have it any more. It didn't matter. She didn't have to go back; now she was going forward.

He'd catch up soon enough.