The first time they meet

The first time Jim ever meets Pam, she’s wet.

Not just damp or soggy, but honest-to-g-d drenched from the pouring rain outside.

He watches as she trudges to the front desk, her sweater two shades darker than when she’d left her house, her hair matted uncomfortably to the back of her neck.

She wrings out her skirt, the water hitting the ground with a sickening splat. Her eyes close tightly at the noise.

He gets up and trots to her desk, extending his hand in greeting,

“Hi, I’m Jim. Halpert.”

“Pam Beesly,” she responds, “I’m the new receptionist.”

He nods and grins at her.

“The last one didn’t last very long.”

“So I’ve heard… Do you happen to know why? Michael seemed sketchy on the details.”

Jim nods, casting an apologetic smile at her. He motions to a man sitting at the desk next to where he’d been sitting.

Round-faced and bespectacled, Pam notices, he closely resembles an owl.

“What did he do?” her voice reaches a conspiratorial whisper.

He plays along.

“Convinced himself she was an ex-convict and looked into her records, interrogated her, and followed her home a few times.”

“Oh my… wow.”

“Yeah.”

She pauses for a moment, then grins mischievously at him.

“Watch this,” she raises her voice, “So yeah, my parole officer told me that working in a normative setting will help rehabilitate me and help me integrate into society. He said it might even cure me of my habit of killing people and then dumping a bucket of water on my head.”

She and Jim double over with laughter as Dwight’s head shoots over to her and he begins to hurriedly punch numbers on his phone.

“Nice work,” he says.

She winks back at him and an unfamiliar feeling surfaces in the pit of his stomach.

This is the start of something great.

Late-night meeting

It’s 9:32 on a Tuesday night and they’re still at the office, the two of them and Michael sitting around a conference table built for twelve. Pam is there to take down notes as Michael and Jim discuss cost increases, but naturally Michael dives into asking Jim about his sex life and Pam and Jim take to switching seats each time Michael gets up to go to the bathroom or get a cup of coffee.

Michael becomes flustered, but he never notices.

They eventually tire of that game and begin trying to make each other laugh from across the table, and at 10:27, her eyes stare intently at him as he tries hard not to look back at her.

Again, Michael notices nothing.

He finally gives in and snorts at the obscene gestures she makes at Michael every time he turns away from her.

Michael offers Jim a tissue and gets up, announcing he has to go make a call.

As soon as he’s gone, both Jim and Pam collapse on the table.

“One day, he’s going to try and have a conversation with someone, offend them, and get smacked.”

Jim shakes his head at her,

“He won’t even realize. He’ll just keep talking.”

They’re both quiet for a minute until Pam looks up seriously,

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

Her voice comes out deep, an obvious imitation of Michael’s,

“How many women have you had sex with?”

“Pam,” he interrupts, grinning.

“I mean, you’re a strapping young man…”

“Beesly…”

“You’ve got to have girls throwing themselves at you…”

He jumps up and dashes around the table, his fingers gripping at her sides.

They writhe with laughter for a moment until a flustered Michael returns, his breathing heavy.

“I just spoke to my mother. It seems her cat has gone into labor and I have to go help deliver the kittens. Can you two finish up here?”

Jim, his hands now behind his back, nods slowly as Pam coughs into her fist.

Michael rushes out and Pam and Jim proceed to work guiltily for a few moments before succumbing to temptation and turning on the TV.

They’ve accomplished more in the past ten minutes than they had in the prior sixty anyway.

Pam makes popcorn and Jim buys chocolate from the vending machine and soon, they’ve spread out a feast on the conference table.

They turn on the terrible Lifetime movie that’s playing at the moment and watch as Tracey Gold saves her son from droves of drug-peddling pimps in Afghanistan

Or that’s their interpretation of it, anyway.

She yawns and rests her head on his shoulder and he feels his heart beat in his ears.

“You make a great pillow, Halpert.”

He nods and feels his throat dry as they fall into a comfortable silence.

It’s fifteen minutes before he realizes she’s fallen asleep against him.

And in that moment, as her eyes flutter softly and her chest rises and falls gently with sleep, he tries to fight off the effect her beauty is having on him.

He’s fighting a losing battle.

Dunder-Mifflin Prom

She’s wearing a knee-length pink dress with sparkles on the hem that shimmer every time they catch the light. The bow tied behind her neck has a footlong trail of ribbon that falls gracefully down her back. Her hair is down, slightly more curled than usual, and her earrings peek through every time she pushes her hair behind her shoulder.

He approaches her slowly, taking in an inch of her beauty with each accompanying step and breath, wondering if he should even have these thoughts.

She is engaged, after all.

But something in him snaps and he stops fighting off his thoughts on how wonderful she is.

They are, after all, only thoughts.

He approaches her table and falters slightly as he hears her argue with Roy,

“C’mon, Roy.”

“No. I don’t dance.”

“One dance won’t kill you.”

“Who knows? It might.”

“Roy…”

“No, sorry, it’s not happening.”

She moans and storms away, and he watches as she situates herself at an empty table in the corner.

He gives her a few moments to compose herself before he comes to her side and offers his hand,

“Care to dance?”

She grins at him through watery eyes and nods, placing her much smaller hand in his.

He guides her to the dance floor and wraps his arms around her waist as she puts hers around his neck. Her head rests against his chest as they sway to the Beatles’ “In My Life.”

And in that moment, he notes, they are perfection.

Art show

When he shows up at the makeshift museum, she’s discussing her paintings with a group of old women.

Her brown curls are a stark contrast to their white, and she, even at her height, towers over them.

Her back is to him and she doesn’t know he’s there, so she continues to talk to the women.

“They’re called the ‘Forbidden Love’ series.”

The old women gasp in intrigue and prod her for more details,

“A love story, perhaps?”

“Of your own experience?”

“What’s the forbidden one look like, huh?”

Her cheeks turn scarlet and she begins to chew at her lip.

“Oh, uh…”

“Not telling? Come, dear, you can tell us.”

She falters again and the old women wink at her,

“Ok, well, we’re going to look around. But we’ll be back.”

The old women walk his way and Jim steps aside to let them by, trying desperately to ignore the glances they shoot his way and the way the smallest one licks her lips as she passes.

He shakes his head and glances at her before approaching her.

“Hey,” he greets.

She pulls her head out of her hands,

“Hey,” she grins, a hint of awkwardness evident.

“So, um, nice show.”

She grins back at him,

“Yet another with old women and judgmental critics… But I’m glad you’re here.”

He nods and turns away from her to look at the paintings. He takes in the pictures of the overflowing teapot, the origami dove, and… was that a ham and cheese sandwich?

The thought occurs to him as he remembers what she’d told the old women and he stutters,

“This… it’s fantastic. I’m proud of you.”

She grins shakily at him and he’s sure he returns the same smile.

She wraps her arms around his waist and whispers,

“Thank you.”

And he knows that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Rainy summer day

She’s staring out the window.

They’re sitting at a fancy, expensive Italian restaurant and she’s staring out the window.

He really doesn’t mind.

When she does this, he can watch the green in her eyes flicker in the candlelight from the table and rub his thumb over the soft skin of her outstretched hand.

But there’s something behind the look in her eyes and he’s curious.

“Pam?”

She blinks once, twice, and turns to him,

“Hmm?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She grins sleepily and nods out the window,

“It’s raining.”

He’s patient and prods her again,

“I see that.”

She sighs nostalgically and leans over to kiss him,

“I love the rain.”

“I know.”

She looks at him curiously,

“Did I ever tell you why?” He shakes his head and she shrugs her shoulders, “The best things happen when it rains.”

The check comes and he pays it hastily, hoping she’ll continue to elaborate.

He takes her hand and they saunter to the door.

“The day my sister was born, it was raining,” she continues without his asking, “My parents bought me a dog and it was raining.”

They’re rushing through the downpour outside at this point and she suddenly stops.

“Pam?” he asks, “Honey, it’s raining.”

A shy smile spreads across her face and she takes his hands in hers,

“It was raining the day I met you.”

He bends down and captures her lips in his, lowering his umbrella and letting the rain wash over them.

She’s perfect, he realizes, and this time, she’s forever.