6:45 a.m.
Pam has two swimsuits. The one she wears in public, a black one-piece, is durable enough to withstand hours of swimming and waterskiing, and covers everything well enough that Kenny and his friends never bothered ogling. It’s practical, if not particularly alluring.
The other, a brown two-piece patterned with tiny pink polka dots, is strictly a suntanning outfit. She’s never worn it outside the back yard; hasn’t worn it in two years, in fact. Last summer, in her tiny new apartment with its six-by-six foot balcony, she couldn’t muster up any interest in getting a tan.
She hangs it up on the back of her closet door and regards it thoughtfully, biting her thumb.
She doesn’t dare wear it. Kevin. Creed. Michael. No…no. It wouldn’t be worth the creepy leers and a full day’s running commentary about her boobs.
Jim …
Well. He doesn’t look at her anymore.
She shimmies into the two-piece despite her better judgment and piles her hair atop her head with one hand, squinting at her reflection with a critical eye as she twists from side to side in front of the mirror. She’s always been self-conscious of her body but the suit still fits beautifully, accentuating and concealing all the right places.
Maybe it’ll be worth suffering the others if Jim will just look at her again. Maybe.
7:58 a.m.
Karen’s at her desk, looping her bag over the back of her chair, when Pam comes out of the kitchen with her morning tea. The glance Pam casts at Jim’s desk to see if they’d come in together is immediate, involuntary, and does not go unnoticed by Karen. She offers Pam a terse nod and forced smile as greeting before turning to face her monitor.
Jim’s chair is empty, and Pam feels some of the air come back into her lungs.
She likes Karen. Truly. But every time Pam sees her walk in the door with her arm linked through Jim’s, the seemingly permanent band around her chest constricts a little more. Sometimes it gets so hard to breathe she has to pretend she forgot something in her car so she can go down to the parking lot for some air.
She used to go to the roof sometimes, but she hasn’t done that in a while. He never came looking for her.
She makes it back to her desk just as Jim’s walking in the door. For an instant, he meets her eyes and for a blink she thinks she sees him, her Jim, looking back at her, but it’s gone so quickly she’s sure she must have imagined it. In his place are the tight-lipped nod and averted eyes she’s become accustomed to as he walks over to Karen’s desk, ducking his head to murmur in her ear with the confidential, conspiratorial smile that used to be for her, only her.
That familiar ache settles in under her ribcage as Jim straightens up with a grin and makes his way back to his desk, casting only the briefest of glimpses in her direction as he hangs his jacket on his chair and sits down. The slant of his shoulders tells her he’s a little tired. She wonders if his muscles would feel as stiff under her fingers as they look from her desk. She wonders what he’s tense about.
“Hey Pam.”
She’s startled by the soft voice, and tears her gaze from the back of Jim’s neck to find Toby at her desk, wearing a sun hat and rare smile. “Hi, Toby.”
“Beach Day,” he smiles, holding up a bottle of Banana Boat. “I brought extra sunblock.”
She blanches. “Thanks, Toby! I forgot mine, and I’m wearing a two-piece.”
“Well, that’s…” Toby glances at the brown halter strap peeking out from under her pink t-shirt, then back to her face with an even wider smile. “It’s a nice day for it.”
“Definitely,” she agrees.
He takes a step back from the desk as Michael approaches, but he’s still smiling as he heads back to the annex. Pam is, too, until Michael starts speaking and her vision of a fun day playing volleyball on the beach crumbles into reality.
“You want me to write down people’s indefinable qualities,” she repeats.
He’s nodding like it’s just understood that she wouldn’t expect to relax and enjoy the day like everybody else. Of course she won’t mind taking notes and then typing it up in a way that is helpful. For close to five minutes after he leaves Pam sits motionless at her desk, thunderstruck that she hadn’t anticipated that Michael would find a way to ruin it.
She glances at Jim. The tilt of his head could be interpreted as very slightly angled in her direction—subtle, but she’s pretty sure he was listening. For a moment she thinks he’ll turn around, make one of his quippy remarks, and she thinks that even humorless sarcasm would be welcome. Anything. Anything at all. But his jaw tightens and his eyes remain firmly fixed on his monitor, and she sighs.
Not today, then.
Pam glances up to find Karen’s eyes on her, watching her watch Jim, and she quickly turns her gaze back to her desk, opening the bottom drawer to see if she has a spiral notebook.
Write down people’s indefinable qualities. Right.
Michael: will always find a way to ruin anything that might have been fun.
9:45 a.m.
She’s one of the last people to board the bus. Jim and Karen have their heads together in a seat near the center. The sound of their soft laughter intensifies the tightness in her chest and she squeezes her bag more closely to her shoulder as she looks past them to the back of the bus. Maybe she can sit with Dwight.
Her eyes first find Toby, sitting in the row behind Jim and Karen, and she breathes a sigh of relief. “Can I sit with you?” she asks.
“Sure.” He slides over to the window, gesturing for her to join him.
She smiles gratefully as she settles in beside him. “Thanks.” She adjusts her bag in her lap and crosses her ankles. She can just see the top of Jim’s hat.
“I wonder what Michael’s got planned,” he muses.
She holds up her spiral. “I have to take notes.”
“Take notes?” He frowns, confused. “On what?”
She looks at him gravely. “People’s indefinable qualities.”
He stares at her for a long moment before his eyes light up and he laughs, a surprisingly free, happy kind of laugh she’s never heard from him before. “Seriously?”
“Okay everybody!” Michael’s in the front of the bus, announcing the day’s “funtivities.” Pam smiles and shrugs; Toby rolls his eyes. She turns to a fresh page in her notebook and doodles a bucking donkey. She draws animals well, and has for years rendered Michael according to whatever barnyard creature he reminds her of that day. At various times he’s been a bleating lamb, a head-butting goat, a crowing rooster, and a barking dog.
“Did you get all that, Pam?” Michael peers over her shoulder at her notebook.
She looks up, bewildered. “Get what?”
“Just—everything I said, and everything they did – ugh, you’re just drawing pictures.” He makes an aggravated strangling gesture at her before heading to the back row as the bus lurches onto the highway.
Toby glances over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Democrat?”
Her smile is wry. “Sure.”
“You’re good,” he says warmly.
Compliments usually make her uncomfortable, but his feels sincere. She smiles without blushing. “Thanks.”
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it to your art show,” he says sadly. “You never told me how it went.”
She shrugs and glances down at her hands, blinking back the stinging memory of that long, long, lonely night. “Oh, well. You know,” she mutters.
“I love the painting you did of the office. I think it’s the only time I’ve ever seen our building and thought it was… worth looking at.” He smiles thoughtfully.
“Thanks,” she says again, more brightly. “You’re sweet.”
Toby looks at her warmly, still smiling as he turns to look out the window. She follows his gaze, watching the trees pass by in a green blur.
10:45 a.m.
The first “funtivity” calls for everyone to split into teams. She’s excited for less than a second before Michael quickly clarifies, “Not Pam,” and again, she’s taken aback at her own lack of foresight. Of course she can’t join in. She’ll never be more than the scorekeeper.
She finds a thin patch of grass on which to sit and flips open her notebook to a new page, tapping her pencil against her lips. What indefinable qualities were supposed to be revealed by carrying an egg in a spoon? Like most of her duties, it’s a ridiculous task, but Michael is weirdly persistent about this sort of thing; he’s really going to expect her to type up some sort of accounting of whatever he’s got planned for the day. She has to write something.
Watching Dwight scream “encouragement” at Ryan, she jots down, Dwight – equates tyranny with authority. Phyllis has already dropped her egg – needs to have a clear vision. Andy, pleading with Kelly not to remove her blindfold – respects the established rules.
All of that is easier to watch than Jim leading Karen past nonexistent obstacles with the grin on his face that says he’s having fun.
Jim - makes something out of nothing.
A shadow falls across the page. “Hey Pam.”
She shields her eyes with her hand as she squints up at Toby. His khakis are rolled halfway up his calves, flip-flops dangling over his index finger; he looks positively carefree. She smiles. “Hey, Toby.”
“Mind if I join you?” His eyes are hopeful.
“Sure.” She wiggles over a bit to share the tiny patch of grass, but he sits a couple of feet away and stares down at his feet, digging his toes into the sand. For a few minutes they watch the race, both of them chuckling as Ryan finally gets fed up and takes off his blindfold. She doesn’t hear what he says to Dwight, but he’s more annoyed than she’s ever seen him. Ryan, she begins, and after a moment’s thought adds, prefers less hands-on supervision.
She’s distracted when Karen squeals “Ass!” and splashes out of the water to throw her egg at Jim, grinning as she chases after him. He ducks and bolts sideways to escape, grinning too. As he passes Pam and Toby his glance lingers for an instant and his smile fades imperceptibly, but Karen’s hot on his heels and his laughter when she grabs him around the waist tightens the vise around Pam’s heart another notch. She fixes her gaze down at her notebook, doodling a sketch of Eeyore in the margin.
When she looks up, Toby’s watching her, concern in his sad eyes. “You okay?”
She nods and smiles darkly. “Sure. What’s more fun than a beautiful day at the beach, filled with sun, surf, and diligent note-taking?”
Toby smiles sympathetically.
“Pam, you’re missing things,” Michael calls.
11:35 a.m.
“You want me to cook eight hundred hot dogs,” she repeats.
“Yeah. They’re precooked, so, not a big deal, but it’ll be a nice touch,” Michael says blithely.
“When’s the contest.”
“Uh, about ten minutes? Thanks a lot, Pam!” He’s gone before she can explain that it will take ten minutes for the coals to get going. She wonders what would happen if she simply refused to do it. Maybe he’d fire her. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
“I’ll help,” Toby offers, deciding for her. “If we use both of these grills we can get them all done pretty fast.”
“That would be great, thanks.” She pulls out the paper plates and begins to cut open packages. “How about we start with a hundred. That’s still, what… how many of us are there? About ten hot dogs a person? I know I’m not having any. One, maybe.”
“Yeah, me neither. We won’t be allowed to win, anyway,” he sighs.
Right. She sees the defeat in his face and wonders if hers looks the same.
“Five dollars says Kevin wins,” Toby proposes, turning briefly from the grill to throw a smile over his shoulder.
“You’re on. Kevin’s the safe bet. I’ll say…Creed,” she counters.
“Ooh,” Toby snaps his fingers. “Forgot about Creed.”
“If only that were possible,” she muses.
Toby laughs, and she grins.
She ends up eating two hot dogs, surprised that she’s actually pretty hungry. She’s even more surprised when Andy wins the contest. Less so when Michael assigns her to clean up the mess. Toby’s quick to offer assistance once again, and she gladly accepts. She’s always liked Toby, but today she’s grateful for him.
“I have to admit, I would never have picked Andy,” she admits with a sigh.
“Double or nothing?” he suggests, tossing paper plates and plastic cups into a garbage bag.
“What’s the next contest?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then yeah.” She grins, carefully stacking the unused plates on top of the dozens of uncooked hot dogs still in the grocery bags. “How long do unrefrigerated hot dogs stay good?” she wonders.
“Hard to say. I think they’re made entirely of preservatives,” Toby remarks thoughtfully.
“I’m gonna go put this back on the bus, I’ll be right back.” She hefts the grocery bag against her chest and mounts the stairs into the bus. It’s deserted; the driver is outside, sprawled out in a lawn chair with his hat over his face. She moves to the back row and wedges the bag under the seat by the far window, out of the sun.
As she’s walking back to the front, Jim’s black hoodie lying in an untidy heap by the window catches her eye. Casting a quick glance outside, she sees Toby tying off the garbage bag, a faraway look on his face as he stares out at the lake. Everybody else has moved to the lounge chairs. Phyllis is chatting with Oscar, Stanley is working on a crossword puzzle. Angela and Dwight are nowhere to be seen. Jim’s talking animatedly to Kevin, waving his hands around and laughing. Karen’s sitting nearby, typing on her Blackberry.
Pam slips into the seat, ducking down to make herself invisible, and picks up Jim’s jacket. It’s warm from the sun, and his scent is strong and achingly familiar as she presses the soft cotton to her face. She closes her eyes and breathes it in, remembering.
1:25 p.m.
The sumo wrestling challenge is more interesting. The big inflated suits alone make it far more entertaining, and the sudden alarm on Jim’s face when Stanley rushes at him is so funny she’s laughing even before he trips and falls over his own feet in his haste to get away.
“Who knew Stanley was so ferocious,” Toby chuckles.
“I know, right?” Pam laughs. “Did you see his face?”
He’s nodding, smiling broadly. “Like a wild man!”
“Oh …” She bites her lip, decides not to correct him. “Okay, call the next one: Dwight or Andy?”
“Oh, definitely Dwight,” he nods immediately.
Privately she agrees but decides to play devil’s advocate for fun. “Definitely Dwight?”
Toby shakes his head. “It’s Dwight, Pam.”
She nods thoughtfully, pretending to mull it over. “That’s true…”
Her money’s on Dwight, too. Dwight is a strange and unique creature. Mostly harmless, but obtuse and overbearing enough to warrant the occasional payback. Like getting him to destroy his own cell phone (that part was her idea).
Still. Andy’s soft. Dwight butchers his own meat. It’s only a matter of time.
“Dwight wins! Pam, give Dwight a gold star!” Michael calls.
She doesn’t have a gold star, of course. Somehow she didn’t think to bring stickers. Silly me. She draws a pentagram next to Dwight’s name, absently penciling in contours and shading while the guys struggle out of their suits. Jim’s already out of his and is lounging in a folding chair next to Angela, looking bored. Pam doesn’t see Karen and for a few seconds she feels free to just look at him, wondering what he’s thinking.
Jim tugs on the bill of his hat, glancing over at Pam as he does, and for a brief moment, their eyes meet. For an instant she thinks she sees a glimpse of the old Jim as he gives her the beginning of a smile, but it fades almost immediately as his gaze flicks from her to Toby and back again.
She tries to smile, but manages only to twitch her lower lip a little. His eyes slide away again and he presses his lips together in a thin line as he glances up at Karen, who has reappeared by his shoulder.
Karen looks over at Pam and Toby, then back to Jim. She leans in close to say something and when he laughs, the sound of it sends Pam to her feet, brushing sand off her jeans. “I need to go water a bush,” she apologizes. “Hang on to my notebook?”
“You need a sheet of paper?” Toby offers with a grin.
She forces a chuckle. “No, I think I’m okay, but thank you.” She evaluates the area and strikes out toward the lake where the grass grows tall. It’s far enough that nobody can see her, or hear her quiet tears. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut to hold them in and succeeds, mostly.
3:45 p.m.
The light is changing and for a while she’s free to sketch a bit of the lake, trying to capture the still atmosphere of the late afternoon as everybody relaxes into silence before Michael’s next management “test.” She’s stripped off her shirt and is enjoying the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. For the first time that day, she feels reasonably content. Toby’s still sitting with her, her quiet companion, glancing over her shoulder periodically to comment on her drawing. He doesn’t force conversation, and for that she’s grateful.
Jim and Karen wander back into view. Pam definitely hasn’t been wondering where they went, or what they were doing. She’s actually impressed with herself for hardly giving them a second glance when, out of the corner of her eye, she feels Jim looking at her.
She lifts her hand to her face to shield her eyes and meets his gaze, her heart pounding faster. His eyes flicker down briefly over her halter top and bare stomach before returning to her face, and she looks at him steadily, her unsmiling expression a mirror of his own.
She cannot read him. He might be sad, he might be upset. He might be utterly indifferent. She decides it’s probably the latter.
Jim glances at Toby and back to her before Karen touches his arm to regain his attention. She glances over at Pam and offers a vague, fleeting smile, not waiting for Pam to reciprocate before she’s linking her arm through Jim’s and leading him over to the bus. Jim doesn’t look back.
Pam pulls her shirt back on. It’s getting chilly.
8:55 p.m.
Afternoon wears into evening. Michael has somehow neglected to plan anything for dinner, and by seven o’clock everyone is getting cranky. His offer to have Pam cook up more hot dogs is greeted with groans of “never mind.” By the time the leaping flames of the coal walk have burned down to hot cinders, it’s dark, and the mood is mutinous. Nobody’s going to walk on hot coals.
For a long time, her whole life, maybe, she’s been accustomed to not being seen. Her parents love her, but it’s her younger sister who gets most of the attention. Cancelling her wedding brought her more notice than she’d ever had from anyone, ever, but it was attention of the worst kind and she was immensely grateful when the storm passed and she was able to sink back into invisibility.
Jim used to see her. He doesn’t anymore. He hasn’t looked at her once since that moment on the beach, and as she stands with Toby at the edge of the coal walk, she wonders what it would be like to be seen. Not just by Jim but by everyone. Nobody sees her. She’s background noise, wallpaper. Glancing over at Toby’s hunched shoulders, his passive attempt to make himself invisible, she’s filled with horrified recognition.
That’s her. Invisible. Content to be invisible. Preferring to be invisible.
“I’m gonna do it,” she decides, putting one hand out over the coals. They’re hot, hotter than she expects. It’s dangerous. She will burn her feet, perhaps badly. She doesn’t care. She wants to feel alive, even if it’s painful.
Michael says no. Dismisses her as quickly and unthinkingly as he always has. She’s not surprised, but for the first time in a long time, she’s furious. It renders her speechless and her moment to be noticed is gone as quickly as it came. She watches Dwight turn the challenge into a circus act and decides that she’ll do it even if nobody sees her. She will know. She will see herself.
It does hurt, more than she imagined it would. But it also feels good. Cathartic. When she comes out on the other side, she feels like a different person. A braver, stronger, more honest person than she’s ever been. The person she wants to be, can be, will be.
She has some things to say, and this time, they’re going to listen. He’s going to listen.
9:54 p.m.
The bus is mostly silent on the way back to the office. Everybody seems exhausted, but Pam is exhilarated. She barely remembers everything she said, it all came out in such a rush; but she does recall the most important part. That she finally, finally told Jim the truth, that he was why she didn’t get married.
It’s too late, of course; he’s moved on. Too little, too late, and she’ll have to live with that regret for the rest of her life. But she spoke. She finally spoke up, and asked him to come back to her, and even if he won’t, even if he can’t, there was warmth in his embrace when he hugged her, and she knows now that he doesn’t hate her. And that’s something. It’s less than she hoped but more than she feared, and she’s happy. Almost.
She waits until everybody else has left the bus before she picks up her bag and steps off. Karen’s car is already disappearing around the corner. She hears Michael call, “Paaaam,” and cheerfully ignores him, waving goodbye to Toby as she heads to her car and tosses her bag into the passenger seat.
In her rear-view mirror, she sees that Jim is still there. He’s just sitting in his car, staring out the windshield. His car is running, the lights are on, but he’s not moving.
There’s a tap on her window and she looks up, startled, into Toby’s face. He’s holding her notebook, and she laughs as she unrolls the window. “You forgot this,” he says with a smile.
“Thanks.” She takes it from him and flings it into the back seat without a second glance.
He grins, his expression turning hopeful. “Do you want to go … get a drink, or something?”
“I don’t think so. I’m kind of tired.” She’s not, really, and maybe it’s ironic considering she just demanded everybody pay attention to her, but she wants to be alone. She wants to go home and soak her burned feet and drink a glass of wine and breathe. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, the suffocating tightness has relaxed its grip on her chest and she wants to fill her lungs with air and just be.
“Maybe another time,” she offers, and his fading smile perks back up at the edges as he nods. “Have a good night, then,” he says quietly. She’s surprised when he reaches down to squeeze her hand resting on the open window, but before she can react he’s walking back across the parking lot to his own car.
She waits until he gets in and drives away. Even Michael is gone. It’s just her and Jim, sitting in their respective cars, not leaving. She turns on the radio and waits.
Five minutes tick by, then six, then seven. He’s not leaving. She briefly considers getting out, asking him if he’s okay, but puts the car into reverse instead. At the top of the parking lot, she looks in her mirror and sees he’s finally backing out. He wanted to be last, then. She wonders why, and then decides it doesn’t matter. Turning left, she heads for home.
10:42 p.m.
She’s in her robe, wine in hand, having foregone the bath in favor of soaking her feet in tepid water mixed with vitamin E oil, when there’s a knock on her door. There’s only one person it could be, really, but she doesn’t let herself believe it’s him, not even when she opens the door and he’s standing there.
Neither of them speak. She stands aside to let him in, and he moves past her without quite meeting her eyes as she shuts the door behind him.
For months she’s fantasized about this moment, Jim showing up at her door, nothing between them but possibility and openness. But this feels all wrong. His hands are in his pockets and he’s staring at the floor, and her heart seizes up a little as she recognizes his tired, nervous expression as that of someone about to give bad news.
“Do you want to…?” She gestures to the living room.
He glances past her into her apartment, his gaze sweeping over her walls and furniture. He’s never been here before. She wonders how he found her, if he followed her, if that was why he waited so long to leave. She’s about to ask when he clears his throat.
She holds her breath.
“I just, I think you should know, I put my name in for consideration for the corporate job,” he says quietly, still looking past her, not taking his hands from his pockets.
She’s stunned speechless. It’s the last possible thing she expected him to say. He’s leaving. Again.
“I, uh…told everyone, at the, um …you were doing the coal walk,” he adds, apologetically.
She swallows hard over the sudden lump that’s lodged in her throat. “That’s…” She can’t finish. She can’t breathe. There’s not enough air in the room.
He meets her eyes. His are dark, unreadable.
Hers are stinging. She’s going to start crying any second, and she doesn’t want him to see her crumble. She licks her lips, steels her spine, crosses her arms over her chest. “Thank you,” she says, and means it. “For telling me this time.”
His eyes widen, his expression turning guilty. Then angry. Her heart starts racing when she recognizes the anger, but she forces herself to hold his gaze. For a few seconds she’s sure he’s going to spin on his heel and leave, but then the bitterness abruptly drains out of his face and he just looks tired and sad. “I’m sorry about that,” he says simply.
She nods. “It’s okay. I understand.”
He stares at her for a few seconds that feel like forever, and then he sighs and pulls off his cap, running his left hand through his hair and roughly rubbing his scalp before jamming it back on. “Look, I just…” He shakes his head. “New York, is, it’s a good…opportunity.”
His voice sounds false. She tilts her head a little, studying his face. “Of course.” She takes a deep breath, looks at him squarely. “If it’s what you want,” she says carefully.
He opens his mouth, closes it again. Swallows noisily. His eyes don’t leave her face.
His expression is one she hasn’t seen in a long, long time, and her heart beats faster, his silence offering courage to her battered hopes. “Is it?” she ventures.
“I—” He finally breaks her gaze, staring down at his shoes. “I’m not…” His eyes flick up to hers for an instant, then back down. His hands ball into fists in his pockets.
She can’t imagine the rest of that sentence.
His forehead is furrowed with confusion and pain. He’s moments from leaving, maybe forever this time, and she inches closer to him. She can’t let him go, not without— “Is it what you want?” she asks again, softly.
He won’t look at her, but he isn’t stepping back either. “You know what I want.” His voice is hoarse.
She takes another step closer, encouraged when he doesn’t retreat. She knows what she wants. “I do?”
“Yes,” he says roughly, finally meeting her eyes.
She inches closer still, holding his gaze. “It hasn’t…changed?”
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.
Her breath catches in her throat. His eyes are wide; he looks terrified. She’s so close now that her toes are bumping against his sneakers. He pulls in a sharp breath as she reaches for his wrists to gently tug his hands out of his pockets.
For a moment he’s stiff, resisting, and her heart stops for a beat until, slowly, he slides his hands up to hers. “Pam,” his voice quavers, uncertain. His whole frame has gone rigid, a bow drawn too tight.
She’s momentarily distracted by the warmth of his hands, the simple fact of touching his skin. His hands are trembling very slightly; she can feel his pulse racing under her thumb. She closes her hands around his and holds his gaze for a space of long seconds, willing him to see her, see into her the way he used to.
He lets out a long, wavering exhale as his fingers tighten around hers, and she can feel him uncoil a bit. She squeezes his left hand briefly before releasing it to reach up and grip the bill of his cap, pulling it off and dropping it on the floor. He has the worst case of hat-head she’s ever seen and she smiles a little, stroking his rough cheek with her thumb on her way to winding her fingers into his thick messy hair.
His eyes close immediately.
She slides her hand around to cradle the back of his head and feels him tense up, his breath coming faster. She lets go of his other hand and he drops it to her waist, pulling her a bit closer. Not close enough, though, and he’s still tense, uncertain. For a heart-stopping moment, as she’s drawing his face down to hers, she thinks he’s going to push her away and run out the door. But then his lips are millimeters from her own and she can feel his breath on her face and she pushes up to close the last tiny gap between them, mashing her lips ungracefully against his.
The angle is a little off and his nose presses into her cheek and for a second it’s so awkward and weird she thinks she might laugh. Then he tilts his head a bit, shifts his body to slip his arms around her waist, and suddenly it’s not awkward at all. She melts into him and feels him relaxing by increments. His hands slide up her back, pressing her closer.
She opens her mouth under his and he doesn’t hesitate. He tastes like Altoids and the idea that he ate a breath mint before he knocked on her door makes her moan.
His response is instantaneous; in a blink, the last of his uncertainty vanishes and he crushes her to him, his mouth warm and open, hungry, demanding. She gasps a little, trying to catch her breath, and he turns his head for the briefest possible moment that allows them both to breathe before he’s back, framing her face in his big hands as he kisses her, more softly now, deep, slow and lingering until she feels like she’s drowning. He wants me, still.
She needs to feel more of him and slides her hands out of his hair to run them down his back. His body is thin but hard and she can feel the tautness in his muscles, the tension that seems to be holding him together as he runs one hand down her shoulder and arm. Her robe is falling open and he pulls back a little to look at her, a tiny smile touching his lips as he catches a glimpse of her brown halter top. “Is that…?” he wonders, touching the strap at her neck with his index finger, following it down to where it disappears under the pink terrycloth.
She flushes. She’s still wearing her bathing suit underneath her robe and suddenly she feels silly, but the look on his face is anything but amused. He wants to see her. It’s enough to make her bold. She loosens the tie on her robe and lets it fall open a little.
His gaze sweeps down her body and up again, not quite making it to her face before sliding back down to her breasts and belly and thighs. “Jesus,” he whispers, and she feels like her whole body is blushing. She couldn’t be more self-conscious if she were fully naked but she forces her hands to stay still at her sides, to resist the very strong urge to cover herself again.
He seems to feel her shyness anyway, and finally brings his eyes back to her face as he slips a hand around her waist, under her robe, stroking her skin with his thumb as he bends to kiss her neck just below her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and the desire in his voice, deep and husky, sends a ripple of warmth all the way through her.
She thinks she should maybe say thank you but when she opens her mouth all that emerges is a soft moan. He nips at her skin and his hand is warm on her stomach and she’s abruptly transported back to the only other time he touched her there, when he picked her up at the dojo. The memory of her shame that day flares into a larger memory of Roy and things forbidden and this time her guilt has a new name, Karen.
She pulls back a little, lays her hand over his. He feels her sudden tension and draws back to look at her, his eyebrows drawn together in a slant that looks all too much like his expression when she pushed him away the year before. She keeps her hand over his as reassurance that his touch is welcome, needed, and licks her lips, forcing herself to voice the question. “Jim…what about…” She can’t quite say her name.
His worried eyes stare into hers for a long, bewildered moment before comprehension dawns and he sighs. “She told me to make up my mind once and for all,” he says quietly.
She rubs her fingers back and forth over the back of his hand. “And you’re here.”
He bites down on his lip, but a small smile escapes anyway. “Yeah.”
She can’t help smiling. She hopes it’s not too unseemly a grin, but it feels like it might be. “I’m really glad,” she says softly, and before he can answer, she wraps her arms around him and buries her face into his shirt. His chest inflates under her cheek as he pulls in a deep breath and presses a kiss into her hair.
For a minute she’s content to stand in his embrace, and then she’s smiling again as she realizes he’s in her apartment, for the first time, and hasn’t made it four steps past the entrance. She pulls back and looks up at him but the invitation to come in, stay awhile, dies on her lips at his expression.
His eyebrows are drawn together, worried, uncertain. “I should maybe go,” he says quietly, reluctantly.
“What? Why? Don’t,” she blurts, and immediately ducks her face down to hide behind her hair when she hears the edge of panic in her voice. The flush is already heating her cheeks when he tilts her chin up to make her look at him.
He’s wearing the biggest smile she’s seen on his face in months, and when he bends to kiss her again she grins against his lips and all the passion of the moment nearly dissolves into a torrent of giggling. But in the instant before that happens his tongue is in her mouth and his hands are under her robe and she’s pulling him back into the living room and they’re collapsing onto the sofa in a heap of tangled limbs.
Somehow, in all the times she’s imagined being with him--which are many--none of them included Jim stumbling over a footbath and Pam tripping on the edge of her robe to land in an ungainly heap on the couch with him half on top of her. He grins and she does laugh then, but it’s only a moment before he’s back kissing her and pulling the halter tie loose from around her neck and the mood is most definitely not going to be lost to their overeager clumsiness.
As he’s pulling the strings down and placing soft kisses to her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, time seems to slow and a lazy, warm feeling falls over her like a blanket. She’s looking down at the top of his head, one hand tangled in his thick hair, and it all feels somewhat unreal until his lips close over her nipple and the gorgeous shock of it sends her arching up under him. She feels him smile against her skin and when he looks up at her there’s an expression on his face she’s never seen before. Like he’s exactly where he wants to be.
She smiles, grips his hair a little harder. His eyelids flutter. “Jim,” she says, softly.
“Mmm.” He’s turned his attention to her other breast. His lips are warm and soft against her skin.
“Maybe we should…” She closes her eyes, momentarily losing her train of thought. “Go…” She gestures vaguely behind her, toward the bedroom.
His voice is muffled in the valley between her breasts. “Mmm, this is good.”
She opens her eyes and can’t help giggling. They’re half on, half off the couch; he’s got one foot on the floor, stepping on the end of her robe, which is hanging off her shoulder; he’s holding himself up on his elbows so he won’t crush her. She’s getting a cramp in her right leg, which is trapped between his and hanging off the edge of the sofa. “Honestly?” she grins.
In answer his tongue darts out to trace her nipple and she gasps, straining toward him, but that makes the cramp in her calf spasm and she jerks involuntarily, bumping her knee between his legs. Hard. “Ah!” he gasps, stopping to look up at her with startled eyes and a slight grimace.
“Sorry,” she pants, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just…” He frowns and sits up, rubbing his thigh. “My leg is falling asleep,” he admits, half-laughing, looking a little embarrassed but also slightly anxious, like he’s afraid she’s going to change her mind and call the whole thing off.
She has no intention of doing that, and sits up, shrugging the robe completely off and pushing it to the floor as she reaches for his hand. Her fingers are warm and strong around his. “Come on,” she says, flexing her calf to work out the kink as she slides out from under him and beckons for him to follow.
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
11:14 p.m.
Somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, her shyness gets the better of her and the fact that she’s standing in front of Jim in only a pair of boy-short bikini bottoms brings out all the self-consciousness she’d managed to ignore out on the sofa. She drops his hand and moves to the dresser to click off the lamp. A three-quarter moon shines silver through the window and she thinks about closing the blinds, but it’s too beautiful. She doesn’t want to shut it out.
She still has her back to him when Jim wraps his arms around her from behind and kisses her neck below her ear, sliding his hands up to cover her breasts. His palms are warm, his touch gentle. “Pam,” he murmurs, and the softness of his voice, the unasked question, is enough to bring her back to herself. She wants this, wants him. She puts her hands over his, leaning into him, pushing her bottom back into his pelvis.
His breath catches in his throat, his reaction immediately evident. “Pam, Jesus,” he growls, his open mouth hot on her neck as he bites and sucks at the soft skin near the curve of her shoulder. She sucks in a breath as her nipples go hard under his hands, and then he’s sliding one palm down over her stomach to pull her back sharply against him, letting her feel him even as he’s pinching her nipple just enough to almost hurt.
Her moan is involuntary and embarrassingly loud and it has an immediate and galvanizing effect on Jim. His hand snakes under her bikini bottoms and when his fingers find her, wet and hot and wanting him, his groan of sheer lust unsettles her enough that she has to reach back and grab his hip to hold herself steady. He’s kissing her jaw, wanting more, and gently pushes at her hip until she turns to face him. She opens her mouth for him and tugs up the hem of his shirt to run her hand over the soft hair on his belly. His stomach muscles jump under her fingers and she smiles against his mouth, reaching for the button on his jeans.
He’s quick to catch on, pushing off his shoes as she’s unzipping his fly and brushing his jeans off his hips. He’s wearing black boxer-briefs and she can’t quite suppress a smile that she’d guessed right, because of course she’s wondered. When she looks back up into his face, her smile clearly puzzles him and he’s staring at her, confused, until she draws him down for another kiss. As his eyes close she steals an instant to look at him, long lashes against flushed cheeks, lips red from kissing her. It’s intoxicating.
She nudges him toward the bed and as the back of his knees hit the mattress he sits abruptly, pulling her down with him until they’re lying side by side. His eyes are wide and full of moonlight as he strokes her side, just looking at her, letting her look at him. He’s all lean muscle and bone and long skinny legs, so different from Roy. His skin is warm and smooth under her fingertips as she traces a path from his side down to the sharp angle of his hipbone, pausing uncertainly for a brief, tentative moment before she slides her hand inside his briefs.
His eyes close and he lets out a low groan that immediately gets louder and deeper when she takes him in her hand and strokes him firmly. “Take these off,” she whispers, and he complies at once, pushing her hand away to shed his underwear in a series of awkward maneuvers that would make her laugh under any other circumstances. Finally he kicks them off the end of his foot and rolls on top of her, staring down at her with wild eyes full of lust and love.
“Are you sure?” His voice is husky, desperate with desire, but his eyes are Jim’s, cautious and questioning, ready to stop even now if it’s what she wants.
She nods, reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes. She’s wanted to do that for years. “Please, Jim. I love you.”
The look on his face then is one she’ll carry with her to her grave. He closes his eyes and buries his face in her neck as he slides into her, and as she wraps her legs around him all she can think is finally.
12:18 a.m.
“Why didn’t you ever call me?” he asks in a low, haunted voice, twining his fingers through hers.
They’re on their left sides, facing the window. The moon has moved out of view, and the room is now lit by the golden glow of the streetlamp on the corner. The blankets are all at the end of the bed but she’s got the sheet pulled up to her chest, and his arm around her waist, his legs tangled up with hers, is enough to keep her warm.
Her heart pounds faster. She’s asked herself that same question often enough, and for a few minutes she traces his cuticle with her thumbnail as she thinks about how to answer. “I was scared,” she says finally.
He presses his lips to her shoulder. “Scared of what?”
So many things. “That you hated me,” she whispers.
“Pam,” he says softly. “Come on.”
“You left. You just left.”
“You said no. Twice,” he adds. There’s an edge of bitterness to his voice, a wound not yet healed. But his hand is warm in hers, and he’s not pulling away. He just needs answers. She wishes she had something better to offer.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’ve been such a coward.”
His arm tightens around her as he kisses the nape of her neck. “You walked through fire,” he counters, smiling against her skin. “Pretty brave.”
“Pretty stupid,” she laughs softly.
“I love you,” he says abruptly.
She turns her head to look at him. His expression is nothing like the first time he said it, the year before, when the hopefulness and fear in his eyes had broken her heart even as she lied to him. His face is calm and open and honest; he’s simply stating a fact.
She rolls carefully to face him. His arms wind around her to hold her close, and she presses a kiss to his chest, over his heart. “Jim,” she sighs.
He squeezes her gently. She knows he wasn’t looking for a reply, but she gives him one anyway, whispering I love you against his skin as he winds his fingers into her hair.
7:56 a.m.
Somehow she’s early to work the next day. They barely slept, and they’re up early as Jim has to go home to change, but it’s only after fifteen minutes of lingering kisses that she’s able to push him out the door with the promise of later and his pledge to take her to a proper dinner after work. “It’s a date,” she nods, and the grin he gives her makes her heart beat double-time for the next twenty minutes.
She’s first into the office, making coffee and humming softly under her breath when Toby comes into the kitchen, yawning. He covers his mouth quickly when he sees her and smiles from behind his hand. “Hey Pam.”
She beams at him. “Hi Toby. Coffee should be ready in…” she closes the lid and hits the start button, “…about five minutes.”
He’s yawning again. “Good, good. Thanks.”
“Late night?” she wonders, scrutinizing his bloodshot eyes as she gestures for him to join her at the table.
“Couldn’t sleep.” He sits down heavily across from her. “How are your feet?” he asks, peering down at her Keds and then back at her face with a smile.
“Burned,” she says cheerfully. “Better, though.”
“Good, good,” he says again. He drums his fingers on the table for a moment, staring blankly at the coffeepot as it gurgles through the brew cycle, then lifts his eyes to hers. “You’re okay then?”
She can’t stop smiling. “Never better.”
His eyes linger on hers, questioning, a touch puzzled by her palpable happiness. “So,” he ventures, smiling uncertainly. “Would you maybe—”
They both look up as the door opens, and Toby’s smile fades as Jim walks in. “Hey,” he greets through a yawn. “You start the coffee, Beesly?”
“Yep. Don’t take it before it’s done, you know that waters it down for everybody else,” she admonishes. He freezes in place with his coffee mug an inch from the pot, glancing at her over his shoulder with wide eyes.
She rolls her eyes at him, don’t even bother denying it, and he cocks an innocent eyebrow in return, setting his cup down and taking an exaggeratedly large step back from the counter with his hands in the air. Her smile widens to a grin and ends in a laugh as he leans back against the refrigerator with his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth curving in a chastised pout.
She’s still grinning when she looks back at Toby. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
-
Story Notes:
The idea for this story came from two thoughts: what motivated Pam to wear a two-piece on Beach Day, and what might have happened if Toby wasn't left behind.
My everlasting thanks to my fantastic betas, Blanca and Talkative, for helping me through this. It was Talkative who convinced me not to abandon this idea. She was instrumental in helping me through all the issues that made me set it aside--without her, this would still be in the files of Unfinished Ideas on my computer. And Blanca's just the best editor a girl could ask for, full of great ideas that made this a more well-rounded story.
Oh, and blame them for the smut. All their idea. Really. ;)
My everlasting thanks to my fantastic betas, Blanca and Talkative, for helping me through this. It was Talkative who convinced me not to abandon this idea. She was instrumental in helping me through all the issues that made me set it aside--without her, this would still be in the files of Unfinished Ideas on my computer. And Blanca's just the best editor a girl could ask for, full of great ideas that made this a more well-rounded story.
Oh, and blame them for the smut. All their idea. Really. ;)
Author's Chapter Notes:
I own nothing related to the Office except that "Bears Beets Battlestar Galactica" shirt I bought the other day. To reiterate: not my characters; just having fun.
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Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which has a most vehement flame.
--Song of Solomon 8:6
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Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which has a most vehement flame.
--Song of Solomon 8:6
Chapter End Notes:
I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is deeply appreciated. And, as always, thanks for reading!
callisto is the author of 22 other stories.
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