She looked around her as she waited, noticing a man sitting alone glancing through an art magazine she regularly read. His features, dark, caught her eye. He wore glasses, his dark hair was pulled back away from his forehead, and his eyes glimmered blue. Jumping as he looked up and caught her staring at him, she looked away; but not before she saw a smile cross his face. She waited, biting her lip, and stared at the shorter man in front of her. Forcing the pink from her cheeks to disappear, she counted the number of stripes on the man’s shirt before her eye caught something moving out of the left hand corner.
“There’s toilet paper on your shoe,” Pam spun around, catching the same man smiling at her. His British accent caught her ear as she instinctively looked down at her black shoes. His chuckle erupted in the space around them as she laughed, realizing there wasn’t anything on the floor.
“Is that a bad pick up line? I was just trying it out,” he winked at her as he joined her in line.
“You’d better come up with some new ones. That one was definitely terrible.” Pam’s voice sounded unfamiliar to herself.
“I’m Daniel,” he stuck his hand out. She shook it, smiling at him but remaining silent. “Are you going to tell me your name or shall I guess?” She felt her stomach leap inside of her, loving the smoothness of his elegant accent.
“Sorry,” she blushed, the two of them moving forward in the queue, “I’m Pam,” she reached out to shake his hand once more.
“Too late,” he laughed, sticking his own hand in his pocket.
“What’s good here?” She asked him, the smell of coffee beans momentarily thrust under her nose as someone walked by with a piping mug.
“Everything, and anything,” he replied, “but I suggest Abel’s House Blend,” he pointed to a sign on the wall showing that that blend was Always 1.99! and Pam nodded.
“I’m guessing you’re not from here?”
“I’m guessing you aren’t either,” she chortled.
“Oh you mean from America,” he smiled, nodding. Pam noticed the specks of grey above his earlobe and began to focus on them, loving how they richly mixed in with the dark textures of his hair. She wanted to paint him.
“You’re right about that. I’m from England…well, used to be anyway. I moved here years ago,” Pam listened and ordered her coffee when he paused, “and yourself?”
“I’m from a lot of places I guess…but mostly Pennsylvania,”
“Are you a drifter?” he grinned, grabbing her two sugars and placing them in her coffee.
He’s aggressive, Pam thought.
“Nope, not a drifter. I’m just here with a friend,” Daniel nodded, clearly listening as he poured the creamer in her coffee. She stepped back a moment, surprised as she watched him fix her coffee. He glanced up at her, the creases pulling back a smile from around his lips effortlessly.
“I’m sorry…” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize this was yours,” he handed her the almost empty sugar packet and stood back.
“You come here a lot, huh?” Pam smiled, using a small brown stirrer to mix the coffee.
“Yeah, are you sure you don’t want me to get you another one?” he pointed at the cup as she brought it to her lips, sipping it.
She shook her head, “This is actually just how I like my coffee,”
She nodded, and then brought her purse up around her shoulder. Pam glanced around, watching as people came and left. She glanced up to the clock, there was still another thirty minutes before she’d have to go meet Emma.
“Do you have a bit?” Dan asked, motioning his hand to the table. Pam watched him, not entirely sure what to make of him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something made her curious but full of uneasiness. She sighed, and pulled out the chair to the table as Dan joined her.
“I don’t mean to pry, but may I ask why you’ve found yourself in Stamford?” Pam rubbed her finger along the top of the mug, the excess coffee moistening her finger.
“My friend’s interviewing for a job here, and I came along for the ride,” she sipped again, “I’ve never been here.”
“That’s obvious,” Daniel chortled.
She raised her eyebrows at him, cocking her head to the side, “What makes you say that?” she was somewhat offended. She wasn’t sticking out, was she?
“You’re wearing that parka… in the middle of winter, near the ocean,” he smiled at her and then glanced down at the shiny maroon surface of the coffee table, “it’s obvious you’ve never been around cold weather.”
“It snows in Philly!” she defended her self, leaning back in the chair.
He laughed again, “Fair enough”
Her cell phone buzzed from her purse and Pam scrambled to grab the phone. Groaning, she began to pull items out of her bag, setting them on the table, trying to find the phone. She’d almost dumped the entire contents of her purse out before finally discovering the phone; she frowned.
“Miss someone important?” He asked, his eyes peeking out above his glasses.
“Just my Mom,” she set the phone down, and started to pack the contents back into her bag before Dan grabbed a slip of paper.
“Hey!” She went to pull it back, as he studied the scribbles she had on a napkin.
“What is all this?” he examined the drawings she’d doodled on a placemat from a restaurant.
“It’s nothing, just…just doodles,” she felt her cheeks burn as she slowly put her wallet and other items away.
“You kept it…it’s obviously more than doodles,” He raised an eyebrow at her, “You’re very good,” he ran his fingers down the line of the women’s face on the paper.
“I dunno,” Pam pulled a hand behind her ear, smoothing her hair.
“No really,” he nodded, his eyes fixated. “I, um, I work in an art gallery, and I’ve never seen a woman’s face drawn like this before. You’ve got talent,” he looked back up at Pam, “it’s so…sad.”
“She was,” Pam said quietly.
The two were quiet for a few moments, the occasional jingle of the bells signifying someone was coming into the coffee shop. Pam’s drawing stationary in Daniel’s hand; she’d focused her gaze on something on the wall.
“Tell me, Pam, are you an artist?” She was confused by his question.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think you’re an artist?” he asked again with the same intensity.
“Well... I don’t know. I paint sometimes and…” He waves his hand in the air as if pushing some imaginary substance away.
“What I mean to say is, is being an artist your passion, do you live for it? Eat, sleep, and breathe it?” Pam’s eyes widened, she wasn’t used to this type of confrontation.
“I should go,” Pam went to stand up, as he followed suit.
“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, trying to bring himself back down to this coffee shop. He’d momentarily left that place.
“No…no,” Pam swallowed, pursing her lips. “Really, I should get going, my friend-“she pointed to the doorway, signaling.
“Listen,” he stood up and handed her a card, “I didn’t mean to…what I mean to say is, I’ve got an art gallery down the street, and if you’re ever interested in just talking art sometime…”she studied him for a moment, watching his eyebrows release and fall into a soft expression. She didn’t even know this man, yet here she was actually contemplating seeing him again.
“I’d like that,” Pam smiled warmly.
His eyes widened in surprise, “Really?” he asked, and Pam nodded. Daniel grabbed a napkin and quickly scribbled down his name and address of his gallery. He handed her the note and grabbed his magazine, headed for the doors.
“Good to meet you Pam!” He hollered; the magazine rolled up under his arm.
“You too,” her voice barely above a whisper as she slipped Dan’s napkin into her coat pocket, nestled right next to the number bearing Jim Halpert’s name.
The last of the lockers slammed around Claire as she placed her science and history books in her backpack. She was pleased that it was finally Friday and she was looking forward to a weekend of lounging around. Her father had promised her two pajama-laden days filled with her favorite movies they’d watched a hundred times, at least. The two of them did a lot of this lately, these low key activities. But Claire loved it. Any time she got to spend with him she thrived on; he was the only one she had left.
“See you Monday, Claire!” Trevor, a fellow seventh grade boy, gave her a wave as she sheepishly smiled at him. He continued to bounce his basketball down the hallway as the sound echoed through her ears.
Claire moved toward the stairs and bounced down them, feeling for change in her pockets so she could get a snack out of the vending machines. Pulling the quarters out of her jacket pocket she pressed the black buttons dropping chips down into the drawer. There was still another then minutes until her father would be done with the interview so she climbed onto the bench outside the conference room, lifting one leg under the other and crunching on the cheesy chips that stained her small fingers.
Pam pulled the glass door of the middle school a bit too hard and it stubbed her in the toe.
“Damn it,” she cursed, her eyes tightening as she stood out in the cold a moment longer trying to let the pain pass. She glanced down at her watch, the meeting was running late, and she’d been waiting in the car for the last fifteen minutes. Pam at least figured it’d be warmer inside the school. She noticed a main office, with no one inside, and strolled past it, finding a door labeled “Conference Room.” She tried to remember if that’s where Emma had told her she’d be, but before she could even think too long she heard a familiar laugh coming from inside the room.
That’s Emma she thought to herself, and looked behind her to find an occupied bench. She smiled at the little girl and took the seat beside her, pulling her cell phone out of her purse for entertainment. She looked over at the girl, taking in her red sweater and dark jeans. Her light brown hair was pulled back into one French braid, and she was looking through some teen magazine. The girl was humming to herself, swinging her legs as she flipped through the magazine, stopping every once in a while to stare at some photo of a boy that was loved by the tween generation. Pam watched in fascination, loving the childlike qualities that were radiating off her.
“Whatcha got there?” Pam had never felt as though she was great with kids. Usually children shied away from her, or didn’t really speak more than a few words, but Pam had taken it upon herself to try and interact with them whenever she could, attempting to better her skills with kids.
The little girl looked up from her magazine, and set it down, “Just a magazine,” she looked over at Pam’s shoes,
“Hey, cute shoes,” she pointed. Pam looked down at her simple black flats and smiled.
“Thanks,” Pam pulled her pony tail to the side of her shoulder and bit her thumb nail briefly.
“I used to do that,” the girl nodded in Pam’s direction.
“Do what?” Pam brought her finger out of her mouth, and clasped her hands on top of her purse.
“Bite my nails,” she started, “but then my Mom bought me this stuff online that’s clear and you paint it over your finger nails and it makes them taste nasty if you put them in your mouth,” she scrunched up her face a moment, and then popped a chip inside. “You should try it,” she mumbled.
“I’ll remember to look for it, next time I’m online,” Pam smiled genuinely.
“I’m Claire,” she wiped off her hands on her jeans before sticking her right hand out for Pam to shake.
“Pam,” Pam shook her hand, and grinned.
“Your name’s pretty,” Claire placed the magazine inside her backpack and zipped it up, glancing over at the clock on the wall.
“Really? I’ve always thought it was boring,” Pam laughed.
“Old names are totally coming back into style. I’ve got this girl in my math class named Ingrid, isn’t that awesome?” Pam nodded, and noticed the dimples pulling at the sides of her face.
“So what are you waiting here for Claire?” Pam asked, crossing her legs, and stretching out. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be out here, might as well get comfortable.
“Oh, just my Dad. He’s on the school board committee, and he’s doing some interview or something,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “It’s really boring if you ask me.”
Pam laughed, “I can imagine so. I don’t know if I’d want to stick around after school for that either,” she shook her head, “What grade are you in?” Pam asked.
“Seventh, but it’s so easy. My Dad’s always saying he’s going to make me go into eight grade because I,” she brought her fingers up and did air quotes, ‘screw off’ during classes,” Pam’s eyes widened, Claire just laughed.
“My dad’s a goof,” Claire shook her head a smile on her lips. “Say, what are you here for?” Pam looked over at Claire,
“My friend’s in the job interview,” Pam pointed to the door.
“That’s cool, so she teaches art, huh?” she asked.
“Yep, we’re actually both from Philadelphia,” Pam replied.
“Oh, that’s cool, my Dad’s from Pennsylvania,”
Pam nodded. “It’s nice there, but a little boring”
Claire laughed, “Yeah sometimes we go back to visit family there, and there’s never anything to do.”
“Thank you so much for coming in today Emma,” Jim reached across the table and placed his hand in Emma’s, shaking it. She nodded, “I’m sorry I have to cut out of here early, my daughter has a doctor’s appointment and we’re going to be late as it is.”
“I completely understand,” Emma smiled at him from the opposite side of the table as he stood up and grabbed his coat and bag.
“Like I mentioned, we’ll give you a call sometime this weekend to let you know about the position,” Jim grinned, “and just as a side note…I like what you said about how you feel teachers should always be in check so that we don’t have students going without a good education,” Emma smiled back at him, and pulled her chair out a bit.
Jim walked to the door, giving the rest of the panel a small wave and cracking it, “Bye Emma,” he smiled and stepped out onto the linoleum floor, shutting the door behind him.
“Hey Dad!” Claire jumped up from the bench, grabbing her backpack, “I want you to meet my new friend Pam,” Jim glanced over, his eyes landing on the woman sitting on the bench.
“Oh my God.”
End Notes I hope you’re all still enjoying this! Sorry to leave you with a cliff hanger but it had to be done. I promised you they’d cross paths soon enough, and here it is. Look out for the rollercoaster that is about to begin in the next chapter. I’d love to hear what you thought of this, and thanks again for all of your kind reviews.
