Jim: You coming down?
Pam: Yeah, I'm just forwarding the phones.
Jim: You gonna wish me luck?
Pam: Yeah, you're gonna need it.
Jim: Whoa! Is that trash talk from Pam?
Pam: I'm just saying Roy is very competitive and he wants to take the waverunners to the lake this Saturday, so...
Jim: Well, I'm going to the outlet mall on Saturday. So if you want to save big on brand names and Roy has to work, which he will, because I'm also competitive, you should feel free to come along.
Pam: Um, I think I'm gonna be up at the lake.
Jim: I think I'll see you at the mall. Yeah.

Trash Talking and Toaster Ovens

She's been thinking about that damn toaster oven all day. When she looks at Roy all she can think about is their broken toaster oven. She doesn't want to think about what that means.

When she looks at Jim she could care less about toast. She wants to curl up on his couch after a long day at work or have him take her for a drive as the sun sets.

She flinches as she watches Roy's arm connect with Jim's mouth. Her hands are over her own mouth and she's half standing, wishing she could walk over and see if he's okay. As Jim shakes it off and they jog down the court, Roy doesn't meet her eyes and neither does Jim. Her heart lifts a little as Jim makes a basket, and she sees Angela glance over at her. After that she keeps her eyes focused on the ground and on their shoes so she doesn't accidentally meet Roy's gaze.

She likes the easiness, the playfulness between them.

She doesn't remember ever having that with Roy. In high school, she felt like she had to impress him, because why would he have been interested in the shy, artsy, sixteen-year-old in the corner of the cafeteria. Her black sweater clashed with the blue of his letterman's jacket. He ate two hamburgers at lunch on Friday; she picked at the bun because she hated the mealy taste of the cafeteria meat as it slid down her throat.

She likes the way she can tease him and he teases her back. How sometimes he does voices or impressions because he knows she needs to laugh or she'll burst from working in this bland, cubicle prison. He helps her with Solitaire, but not in a harsh, demanding, I'm-always-right way. He challenges her to timed Sudoku every morning at ten. Sometimes she does the Jumble on her break, but only because she wants him—she needs him—to walk over so she can smell his shampoo or his aftershave, she's not sure which and he'll help her solve the final riddle. Sometimes when she knows the answer, she'll wait until he figures it out, so his wrist will cross over hers to point out each letter and she can feel his warm skin press to hers.

As he changes, she waits by his desk. She touches her fingers to the arm of his chair. She's never sat here. It seems too intimate. She remembers the first time she walked in the office, how he was leaning back in his chair, just a little, and when he saw her, he tried to sit up too quickly, his knees bumping the desk. He had come over to introduce himself. He didn't remember her coming in for an interview. As he crossed to her, his hair had fallen over his forehead and she watched as he brushed it out of his face. When he made calls or while they ate their lunches together, her fingers itched to reach out and brush his hair across his forehead like she had seen him do that afternoon, but her hand never gets that far.

She'd told the cameras earlier that she didn't really care about going to the lake. Roy's brother would come and she would end up sitting on the dock alone as they raced. She really doesn't want to go and she's already invented a thousand reasons when Jim reappears in his work clothes, straightening his tie. Maybe she can go shopping for a new toaster oven.

"Hey," he says when he notices her at his desk.

"Hey. Good game."

"Oh," he blushes. "Thanks." But he's smiling.

"How's your lip? I can get you some ice if you want." She points to the kitchen, some place where they're not out in the middle of everyone.

"That would be great, actually. I have a feeling it's going to swell up tomorrow." She takes him into the kitchen and searches through the cabinets for a plastic bag. When she finds one, she turns towards him and is surprised how close he's standing to her, his back leaning on the corner of the fridge, where she needs to get the ice.

"Let me see," she says gently. He pulls down his bottom lip. The cut is small, right where his lip met teeth, thanks to Roy's elbow. She winces. "Does it hurt a lot?" She wants to apologize for Roy being so stupid, but she doesn't dare mention his name. His face would fall then, and she wants him to keep looking at her like he is right now.

"Not too bad. It's just going to be irritating, waiting for it to heal." He lets his hand fall and moves to the side to let her open the freezer. He's still close and her hip brushes against him as she reaches for the ice.

"Here you go," she hands him the ice in the bag, not able to pull her gaze away from him. He's watching her so intently and she wants to ask how he can possibly find her so captivating. She doesn't know how long she's felt like this, maybe only since this morning when her toaster oven broke, but she knows he's watched her like that for a long time.

It's raining the next morning and she sits up in bed, panicked for a minute that Jim will call, wondering if she can still go. Roy's already awake. He and his brother are going over to Darryl's instead to watch the game. She finds herself feeling relieved. She stands up from the kitchen table too quickly and is in the shower before she realizes she dodged Roy's kiss. Her heart seizes up for a second when she realizes she's really doing this. She has trouble breathing so she crouches and sits on the edge of the bathtub. Then she remembers this is nothing new, that not everything has to mean something. When she was still in college and Roy wasn't, she had thought about ending things with him. She was going to get her degree in art history and education and Roy was working in construction. She wanted to tell him, but that was the same night he asked her to move in.

She meets Jim at his place. He smiles widely when he opens the door. His lip looks okay, she thinks. "What are you looking at, Beesly? Do I have something on my face?" She likes that he's in a good mood; it's a nice change from the one-sided conversations she has with Roy that consist of him grunting as he watches football, or basketball, or bowling.

"Your mom's on your face." She widens her eyes at him. He laughs and grabs his umbrella. This is what its like to be funny, she thinks, even if it’s a stupid "your mom" joke. She likes being funny, she enjoys her sarcasm, her self-deprecating sense of humor that she had forgotten about until Jim came along.

"We ready? Let's go." It gives her chills to hear him refer to them like that. She's going somewhere with him. Alone. Not to an office party or out for drinks. He waits for her at the door, lets her walk under the umbrella with him to the car, even though she's wearing a rain jacket. He escorts her to the passenger side, waiting until she gets and shuts the door. She sighs as she settles down into the seat. She keeps stealing sidelong glances at Jim as they pull out of his neighborhood. She hopes he's as nervous as she is.

He's on his best behavior, she knows, because whenever she points out a store, he asks if she wants to check it out. As he sifts through the dress shirts, the ones they sell wrapped around crinkly paper, she asks if he really likes shopping. He cocks his head. "It's okay. I mean, I usually only go if I need something, but its fun sometimes, when you're buying a gift. That's my favorite."
She wants to ask what he gets his mother, his roommate, what he would pick out for her.

In another store, she watches as he tries to match ties with the shirts he bought. "Let me help you." She lays a hand on his arm, telling him to vary it a little with stripes or patterns.

"How do you know so much about this stuff?"

"Well, I'm a girl, if you haven't noticed." She replies, holding up a green tie with navy blue stripes. "And I watch What Not to Wear." He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. She likes the way the tie brings out his eyes and drapes it over his arm as a yes.

He teases her in the women's section as she moons over a pretty black and pink party dress. "But I don't have anywhere to wear it," she whines, flipping over the price tag. "And it's way too expensive."

"It can't hurt to try it on."

"What if I try it on and like it more?"

"Paaam," he rolls his eyes. "Come on. I'll try on this blue one if you try that one." He fingers the spaghetti strap of a pale blue dress, with a deep, revealing cut in the front and ridiculous slits on both sides of the dress. She dissolves into giggles at the thought of him trying to fit into the dress, all legs and arms.

"Okay, okay," she relents when she can breathe again. "I'm going."

He gives a little girly clap and goes into his Carson impression. "You're going to look like such a lamb."

"I don't think that's what he says." Her voice echoes in the dressing room and she can hear Jim collapse into a chair.

"Well, whatever."

Pam contorts her body as she tries to get the zipper up. "Ugh," she sighs, slumping onto the bench and looking backwards at the mirror.

"Something wrong?"

"Well, uh, the zipper's being uncooperative."

She can almost hear all the air rush out of him. "Oh." She glances in the mirror. She can almost tell how it would look without the zipper being fixed, but the back is gaping open and she can't tell if the fabric in the front would hang like that or not. There's a soft knock on the door and she swallows, seeing Jim's shoes on the other side. She pokes her head out.

"Hi." She blushes.

"Hey. So, this zipper..." He says it so nonchalantly and she almost wants to laugh at the innocent look on his face. She opens the door a little wider, letting him step inside. Suddenly the size of the dressing room has shrunk in half. She has to step around him to get in front of the mirror.

"It's probably caught on the fabric." Her back's to the mirror and she slowly turns around, dropping her head so she can't see him standing behind her.

"Yeah." His fingers brush across her skin as his other hand rests over her shoulder. He pulls the zipper down a little, then back up, successfully making it to the top. His hands don't move for a moment and she finally looks up.

The hand by her shoulder blade fingers one of her curls, his fingers trailing across the side of her neck. She sighs, her eyes flutter close as she tilts her head slightly, her neck exposed. His other hand has moved down to her hip and he steps toward her, his face angled down. He brushes back her hair and she can't tell if she's being quiet or still or if she's making inappropriate noises because all she can concentrate on is his breath on her neck, getting warmer and closer. His lips touch her neck tentatively, softly and she thinks her heart's exploded. She moves her hand to rest on top of his hand on her hip and laces her fingers through his. He kisses her skin softly again and then his breath is warm and hot on her ear and oh God, this is too much.

She turns into him at some point because her arms are around his neck and her fingers are in his soft, soft hair. "I can't breathe," she whispers and her voice sounds strange. He kisses her forehead and frowns down at her.

"Pam," he says sadly and it's only then that she realizes she's crying.

"No," she sniffles. "I wanted this to—it's not Roy. I just, I wasn't sure this would ever happen." He pulls her into a tight hug. She feels so safe with him. When he's around, she feels sure of herself. She knows who she is and knowing that can be scary, especially because she's lost that sense of herself in the past.

"So you really—you're sure about this?" He asks once she's calmed down.

"I really am."

"Because I understand if this is weird."

"Will it freak you out if I tell you the opposite?"

"No," he mumbles, his voice vibrating deep in his throat. She's not sure, but for a second she thinks there are tears in his eyes, but then he blinks and they're gone. He's looking at her like that again and she can't keep the smile from spreading across her face. He kisses her on the forehead again and presses his palm against hers. "I'll let you change." She turns as he leaves the dressing room and hugs herself as she looks across at the mirror. The girl there is smiling.

Later, she buys a red toaster oven, because she knows that's Jim's favorite color. She doesn't care about the warranty. As she's leaving his house, he catches her hand. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks and somehow it has a new meaning. She nods and he drops a kiss on her palm.

Roy comes in and she's sitting on the couch. "What's all this about?" he asks, seeing the boxes. She tells him she's leaving. She doesn't cry until she gets to the hotel. The phone in her room rings, making her jump. "Hey." His voice floats over the line. "Are you okay?"

"I am now," she answers.

The next morning at work there's a bouquet of flowers on her desk. The card isn't signed, but her fingers are shaky as she slides it back in the envelope. There's a bag in her chair. She opens it and lets out a little squeal when she sees the black and pink of the dress.

"Do you like it?" A voice asks behind her.

"I love it."