It had been sitting on his desk when he walked in. A red bandana folded to form a makeshift envelope, held together by two wooden clothespins along the top edge. His name, cursively written on a white label stuck to the front, the handwriting aching familiar. He opened it gingerly, finding a square piece of heavy cardstock decorated with the scene of summer: green trees, flowering bushes, and laundry hung out to dry along a rope knotted between the trees. In the middle of the colorful sketch was the invitation:

Your presence is requested on the roof - Today at Noon.

Come alone. Lunch will be provided.

And that was it. No explanation, no signature. Karen had been gone a week, so that left only one person to consider. The same person he would have immediately thought of even if Karen was still in his life. He looked up and noticed she wasn't in yet. She must have left it on his desk last night. He wondered what in the world she was up to, and for a moment wondered if he shouldn't just tell her he has other plans. A business meeting. A dental appointment. Anything to keep them from having to face each other with no buffers. He'd gotten good enough in dealing with her with others around, enough that it looked like they were friends again. But he still didn't trust himself to be with her alone. It was akin to flying too close to the sun, even now. And no matter how good, how exhilerating, it might feel as it happened, the freefall that was sure to follow would still hurt too much afterwards. Yes, an excuse to skip this was just what he needed.

Except noon arrived and there was no Pam. She didn't come into work that morning so the email he'd sent went unread. He was truly confused now. He had no choice but to head upstairs, not knowing who or what he'd find.

He knew he shouldn't have doubted her hand in this as soon as he stepped out onto the roof. He was amazed by the scene before him. She was sitting at a round stone patio table, the table and benches covered in mosaic-tiles. She sat there shaded by a large green striped sun umbrella, its pole appearing to sprout from the center of the table. She was not in her usual office outfit, but instead a black and white polka dot dress that showed more skin than he'd seen since last May. Her hair was pulled back into a full ponytail, and as he walked toward her he noticed a matching black and white ribbon in her hair.

What has she done? was all he could think, and with her smiling nervously at him, he was absolutely certain he had never seen her look so beautiful. His smile to her was automatic, and for a change, totally sincere. He sat down on one of the stone benches across from her, taking his eyes off her face long enough to notice that the table was formally set for two, and a pitcher of iced lemonade sat next to the umbrella post. “What is all this?” He finally asked.

“I know today means something to you and I just wanted to share in it a little bit,” she said, focusing herself on pouring them both a glass of lemonade.

Jim furrowed his brow as he sipped the lemonade, trying to think of what she could be talking about. “This is really good,” he said, tilting his glass toward her. “It tastes freshly made.”

“It is,” Pam said, looking down at her own glass. “You said that was the only kind your grandmother ever made.”

Suddenly Jim knew what this was all about, and he was speechless with the implications. “You remembered?” He finally choked out.

“Do you honestly think I would forget that?” Pam asked plainly, her voice warm. “It meant so much that you shared that with me.”

Jim's mind seemed to jump back into two places at once. His first thoughts were of that day. The last day of sixth grade had brought a showdown with a bully who had taunted him for months, and even if it was a defensive attack and he'd proudly held his own, Jim was terrified that his parents would punish him for fighting. So he ran instead to Grandma's house after school. She cleaned the blood off his face with her ever present red bandana, and changed his shirt into one she had drying out on the line in the back yard. She called his parents and said he was staying to eat dinner with her, and never once mentioned the reason for the change in plans. From that day forward it was always their secret.

Just their secret until the day a bit over two years ago when he found out his beloved Grandmother had died, and he spend the work afternoon sitting up on the roof grieving. Pam had spent most of the afternoon with him, not caring that the phones were directed to voicemail or that she had no real obligation to be with him. She held his hand while he just sat there quietly, and eventually he told her about that day, calling it his favorite childhood memory.

“And today's her birthday,” he mused. He took another drink from his glass. “Thank you,” he said as their eyes met. “I might have forgotten if you hadn't brought me up here. I've been too busy thinking about stupid things.”

“I'm not done,” she smiled. “I did say lunch would be provided.” She turned slightly and dragged the cooler closer. She presented two already made up plates of food, as well as small red cookie tin.

“I wonder if you can tell me what this all is.”

Jim looked at the plate and began to smile. “You did not make this.”

“Don't look so surprised. I can cook a little bit.” She laughed. “Well, I can mix things together, at least.” On the plate there was a chicken salad sandwich on oatmeal bread, and homemade macaroni salad.

“Did you remember her secret ingredient?” Jim asked.

“You mean the tarragon in the chicken salad?” Pam said. “I absolutely did, and I have a baggie of leftover tarragon in my fridge to prove it.”

Jim took a bite and nodded appreciatively. “This is perfect. It tastes just like I remember it.”

“Good,” she said softly.

When he finished the sandwich he pointed to the tin. “Are those what I think they are?”

Pam grinned and slid the tin over to him. “Depends what you think they are.”

He lifted up the lid. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he said, then laughed slightly. “Sorry. I just haven't had double stuft Oreos in ages.”

“They're all yours.”

He took four out of the tin and handed them to Pam. “No, we definitely have to share.” He stared at her for a moment, letting himself just relax into all the good feelings she'd managed to stir up with seemingly no effort at all. She smiled and took the cookies, and they each took turns displaying the correct way to eat an Oreo Double Stuft.

Jim quizzed her on the patio furniture and her absence that morning, and Pam explained how she'd been gifted the set from her mother's house, and had the guys from Vance Refridgeration get it up to the roof just today. “So between mixing up the food and moving stone furniture, I couldn't quite fit in work, too,” she grinned, her good humor infecting him with laughter as well.

“Now what are you going to do with them now that they're here?”

She shrugged. “I guess I'll start sneaking up here again to eat my lunch on nice days. I don't think I was up here once last summer.”

“Not even to get away from Michael?”

She shook her head. “No. It hurt to think about being up here alone.” Jim felt a pang of guilt at her honesty.

“I think it's time to start coming back up here,” she finally said, tidying up the table.

Jim stood up, helping her put everything away. “Sounds like a good idea, actually,” he replied, watching for her reaction.

She caught his gaze. “You're always welcome to join me.”

Jim nodded, not really trusting himself to say anything more. He knew this time together had marked a shift in their relationship, and while he knew it could only be a good thing, he was still to anxious to truly hope.

The lemonade finished and the food remains packed up, Jim and Pam grabbed their things to go back downstairs. As they walked toward the stairwell door, Jim hesistated. He didn't want to ruin the moment, but he had to know.

Why did you do this?” He found himself asking.

“Because you matter,” she replied, and continued walking.