She'd probably remember everything.

She'd probably remember the way he interrupted, without hesitation, to ask her in front of Alex and Madeline.

She'd probably remember the way everything stopped between the question and the answer, between two words, between "...tonight?" and "Yes." The way every nervous, shy, scared part of her melted away when she looked into his green eyes and spoke without a thought.

She'd probably remember "Then...it's a date," followed by that moment of shock she saw in his face before he smiled again and disappeared out the door.

She'd probably remember the way she completely forgot what she was saying, and how she was never able to get it back. The way Madeline just laughed when she turned back around and said, "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

She'd probably remember the glances between them for the last two hours of the workday, the way he'd just look up and smile for no apparent reason. The way he'd loosened his tie, rolled his sleeves to the elbows. The way his short, neat hair had gotten so mussed after he pushed his hand through it one too many times.

She'd probably remember walking out of the building with him, the backs of their hands brushing as they stayed in perfect step, close enough to hear each others' breath.

She'd probably remember the shy way they parted in the lot, when he leaned down and brushed gentle lips over hers, the way his eyes shone as they pulled apart, the way he waved slightly as she climbed into her car, the smile glued to her face.

She'd probably remember the fact that Scranton's best restaurant hadn't been all that great, and how they'd decided that two cheap ice cream truck chocolate cones would be just right to remedy that; the way he'd almost immediately dripped ice cream right down the front of his dark green sweater.

She'd probably remember standing on her front steps, wrapped in his arms, their mouths a perfect fit, hot and wet and justright.

She'd probably remember the walk up to her apartment, the kiss on her doorstep, his whispered concern, her husky promise.

She'd probably remember the way he oh-so-tenderly slipped her out of her gray silk dress, the way he'd loosened her ponytail and arranged her curls around her face. The moment their eyes met and she saw all the love and respect there.

She'd probably remember the way he felt when he moved inside her for the first time, claiming her finally, completely, wholly for himself.

But she knew she'd remember lying in his arms, his warm, soft skin against her own, his arms wrapped around her and playing with the ends of her hair.

It was then he said the words.

"I won't leave you again, Pam. I promise," he whispered against her temple.

That, she'd always remember.