"Jim," I start, half hoping he’ll shut me up through another kiss. If I want another kiss so bad, I should just take it. So…go ahead, Pam. Make a move.

But I can’t. I’m frozen, standing here with his arms on either side of me, my back pressing against the door. I’m gazing up into his incredible green eyes and I’m scared I’ll never come back to reality.

This is reality. I can’t believe I keep having to remind myself. This is reality. This is real.

Jim Halpert just kissed me. In my living room. Before our first date has even really begun.

Luckily, he seems at a loss for words, too.

That’s a stupid thought. Jim’s never at a loss for words; he just doesn’t know what to say sometimes.

He’s just staring down at me, smiling. Another staring contest, and again, he’s allowed to blink.

I’m starting to feel like the walls are coming down around me and a wave of claustrophobia crashes into me, even though I’ve never really been claustrophobic. I start to panic. I’m finally able to look away.

"Congratulations, Halpert. You’ve successfully ended my streak of first dates where I refuse to put out." I jab him in the arm, playfully.

"Oh, yeah? What was the previous record?" He laughs playfully, and I swear it’s about to drive me insane.

My knees get weak and I nearly buckle. He hasn’t laughed like that in forever, I hadn’t even known how much I missed it. Don’t let him see it. Don’t give him that power.

Why? Don’t I trust him?

Of course I do, it’s crazy not to trust someone you’re…

"One." I tell him, and I hope my face is showing him what my voice can’t. My voice is telling him how scared I am. How sorry I am. How he was right. I was so wrong. Everything was so wrong.

I’m hoping he doesn’t know that I know he’s thinking about that ‘one’ first date. My own thoughts don’t even make sense. But we both know who I meant. And even though we’re both here, right now, with each other, the thought crosses my mind.

There’s no place on this planet I’d rather be right now. His smile fades, and now he’s watching me. I think he’s waiting for me to do something. He clears his throat, and his face reddens. He looks away.

He’s not going to do anything. Step up, Pam.

I manage a little smile and turn around, backing into him. "If you please, I have a date I’m late for."

"Yes, ma’am." He places his hand once again on the small of my back and opens the door slowly, carefully, as though if he even were to bump me with it I might break and shatter into a million pieces. I think I like his hand there. It fits perfectly. His palm backs into a dimple over my left hip, his pinky into the like on the right side. He moves his thumb up and down as we make our way – our way – over to his car.

He steps around me to open the door on the passenger side and once I’m settled, he shuts the door for me.

I’m not questioning why he’s going around the back of the car to get in on his side. I take the time to reach into my purse and take out the yogurt lid with a note attached to the back. I hang it from its paper-clip chain in his rear-view mirror just as he’s unlocking his door.

"What’s that?" He reaches out for it, but I grasp his wrist and flash an unusually big smile at him.

"Check it later tonight." I instruct, and he smiles and says something about me being sneaky.

And I guess I am being sneaky. I keep sneaking peeks at him the whole drive over. We don’t say much, and the silence is suffocating and intoxicating all at the same time. I feel like if I don’t say anything I might choke on silence, but if I do, it’ll spoil the perfection of the moment. I’m thinking way too much.

I don’t want to have doubts. They’ve never done me good in the past. Why am I having them now? I wonder if, despite his eerily calm appearance, he’s also got butterflies in his stomach.

The ‘butterflies in the stomach’ cliché isn’t strong enough. Pterodactyls, maybe?

He knows. Jim always knew. He reaches over with his right hand, never taking his eyes off the road, and tears my left hand away from my right. I hadn’t even noticed how fidgety I’d been until he did that, and I no longer had anything to fidget with.

He knows. He takes my hand in his, our fingers intertwine in such a way one might say it looked posed. I’ve never seen such perfect hand-holding. We fit so well together.

And I keep sneaking peeks at him, like I have so many times before. He must feel my eyes on him, because every time I look, he smiles to himself, and moves his thumb, brushing the side of my hand.

The pterodactyls are gone, just like that. Is there anything he can’t do? His smile grows, as does mine. I feel my cheeks reddening, and hear him chuckle. He takes my hand, still gripped in his, and kisses it.

Our hands return to their rightful position, and we both keep our eyes on the road ahead. We ride in silence the rest of the way, and I’m perfectly okay with it.

With everything.

And I love it. I’m absolutely in love with this moment.