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Story Notes:

Heavy on the fluff, some early angst, with plenty of smut to go around!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 

Author's Chapter Notes:


In a daze, she wandered out of the conference room. A never-ending barrage of questions tumbled over one another, vying for her thoroughly divided attention. Why is Jim in Scranton? Why isn't he in New York? Where's Karen? Did he get the job? Did he really just ask me to dinner? Did he really call it a date!?

In response to the crew's insistent, frankly intrusive attempts to gather Pam's thoughts on this new development, she'd been unable to do more than babble distractedly. Smiling like a loon, she'd glanced repeatedly at the door he'd left through, just as suddenly as he'd burst in. Taking pity, and realizing at any rate that none of the footage would be usable, they released her ahead of schedule.

Am I seriously… going on a date… with Jim!? What do I wear? Where do we meet? When do we meet? What time is it? Stumbling aimlessly across the floor, she bumped the corner of his desk with her hip and looked down. His messenger bag was gone, computer off. Hey, where is Jim?

Finally, a purpose. She clung to it gratefully. On legs rubbery with excitement, with uncertainty, she carefully made her way to reception. She intended to grab a dollar for the vending machine, in need of a pretext to look around. Instead, her attention was drawn to a strip of yellow cardstock beneath her keyboard. A thrill ran down her spine as she sank into her chair, surreptitiously glancing around the office. Seeing no cameras, she slid it out, revealing a rough, cartoonish sketch. Clearly, it had been drawn in a hurry. A speech bubble over its head left no doubt as to the identity of the figure.

Quack!

A small arrow in the lower right corner grabbed her attention. She flipped it over, heart pounding, and read the back.

Ducking the cameras

570-555-4546

Text me? -J

She stroked the hastily-drawn duck with her fingers for a moment before tucking the note carefully into her purse. She tried to school her expression, taking stock of the situation, hoping she didn't look as excited as she felt. Michael was shut in his office, blinds closed. The only potential obstacle was Dwight, typing diligently away. Nobody else was near enough to notice. Thinking quickly, she picked up her desk phone and pretended to dial an extension. "Michael, now that you're 'bach,' there's something we need to discuss." She allowed Dwight to overhear the beginning of her one-sided conversation before turning away to speak sotto voce. After a minute, she hung up, grabbed her purse and sweater, and walked purposefully toward the exit.

Dwight said nothing, merely saluting as she passed. Relieved, Pam returned the gesture solemnly, keeping her steps measured. Once the door closed behind her, she abandoned all pretenses. No time to waste! She thundered down the stairs, bolted out the front door, and flew into her car. Hands shaking, she dug her phone out of her purse.

Jim had just walked through his front door when he felt his pocket vibrate. With a grin, he pulled out his phone and flipped it open.

Pam: quack!

He laughed loudly, settling onto his couch. He was thankful he'd had the presence of mind to swing by a flower shop on the way home. If he'd arrived any later, they would have been closed.

Jim: I see you got my note

Pam: in my car, ducking them as we speak

Jim: sneaky, Beesly. I just got home. how'd you get past Dwight?

Pam: I may have implied that I was on a top secret mission for Michael.

Jim: this will be a highly covert operation. you, me, 6pm, at the rendezvous point. do you accept?

 

Such a dork, she thought fondly, giggling as she texted him back.

 

Pam: absolutely I do

Jim: hey so, where is the rendezvous point, anyway?

 

He knew where she lived, due to some casual stalking of the Dunder Mifflin employee directory. Wisely, he refrained from letting on.

 

Pam: oakmont park apts on laurel dr. #36. I still had your number, btw

 

He figured, but it had been awhile since they'd talked and he hadn't wanted to risk any more miscommunication. Better safe than sorry.

 

Jim: :) anywhere in particular you'd like to go? or I could surprise you

Pam: you surprised the hell out of me by asking

Jim: you surprised the hell out of me by saying yes

Pam: it's been a very surprising day all around

Jim: you can say that again

Pam: it's been a very surprising day all around

Jim: you can say that again. but I wish you wouldn't

Pam: :) maybe we should continue the surprise trend?

Jim: care to pick the genre and I'll surprise you from there? fancy, casual, coffee, or drinks

Pam: casual for sure. if that's ok with you?

Jim: sounds great. it's been a very long day. although things are starting to look up :)

Pam: tell me yours, I'll tell you mine? and I could not agree more :) :)

Jim: deal. I need the whole story behind the black paint job

Pam: it's a doozy. what happened with the interviews? Michael wouldn't talk about it when he came back today

Jim: doozy and a half

Pam: literally can't wait to hear about it!

Jim: likewise! see you at 6

Pam: heading home now. as a great man once said, it's a date :)

Jim: :)

 

He snapped into action. It was only 4:30, but he had a date to get ready for. With Pam. Holy shit. Please don't let me screw this up.

--

Pam tore through her apartment like a whirlwind. She had nothing to wear, she hated her face, her hair was a wreck, her place was a mess, and she only had an hour and fifteen minutes to get it all ready. With a determined look, she rolled up her sleeves. She organized the art corner in the living room, then began shoving trash into bags. She stuffed piles of dirty laundry into the bedroom closet. Quickly, she swiped some bleach wipes across the toilet and sink and sprayed some air freshener, closing the shower curtain with a rueful frown. She washed up, attacked her hair with the curling iron, swiped on some lip gloss, and called it good. Running into her bedroom, she glanced at the clock. 5:30. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Quickly, relief turned to consternation. She picked at her closet, bemoaning her wardrobe. The vast majority of her clothing was so… receptionist. And the rest was either too dressy or too casual. Picking through the dregs in the back of her bottom drawer, she was delighted to find the red top that she'd bought online at Kelly's behest. She had forgotten all about it. It had cap sleeves and a deep v-neck. Maybe it was on the border of too dressy, but she thought it could work with jeans. She slipped it on, then added a long silver necklace. She grinned, pleased with her reflection.

On her way to the living room, she checked the clock again. 5:45. She swung into the kitchen to grab her purse. With dismay, she noticed that she had overlooked the mess in the one room Jim was most likely to see. Moving fast, she shoved dishes into the dishwasher and pans into the stove. She quickly swept the floor and sprayed more air freshener. Good enough. It would have to be, she was nearly out of time.

She glanced at the clock. 5:55. Anxiously, she slipped on a pair of flats and grabbed her purse. She draped a red cardigan over her arm, in case the night turned cool. Feeling overwarm from exertion and nerves, she collapsed onto the couch to catch her breath.

--

As Jim pulled into the parking lot, he glanced at the clock. 5:55. He gripped the steering wheel tightly. If things didn't work out this time, he didn't know what the hell he was going to do. His life, his future, his happiness, everything was riding on tonight. At the same time, being ridiculously nervous was counterproductive to that goal. He tried a quick pep talk. RelaxHalpert. You look good. It's just dinner. It'll be fun. She wouldn't have said yes if she wasn't interested.

Not quite convinced, but knowing it would get worse the longer he waited, he took a deep breath. Stepping purposefully, he approached her door.

She heard a knock at 5:56. Still flushed, breathless with anticipation, she stood quickly and walked to the front door. While reaching for the knob, she tripped over her own feet and tumbled against it. "I'm okay. Just a sec!" she called through it as she regained her footing. Smooth, she cursed herself.

He couldn't hold back a smile. "Throwing yourself at me already?" he couldn't resist joking through the door.

"My natural grace in action. Is it working?" she asked, swinging the door open with a laugh.

For the briefest moment, Jim froze. Red-cheeked, open-mouthed, she was an absolute vision. Curly waves loosely framed her face. He appreciated the difference from her usual barrette. And he'd never seen that top before. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she echoed, clasping her hands in front of her. He looked amazing in a charcoal rugby shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. She was glad his shirt had a collar, it made her feel less overdressed. He had left the top 2 buttons open, revealing a tuft of chest hair. The sight left her a bit breathless.

He smiled, subtly clearing his throat. "Yes, it's working. I was on the fence about whether to give you these, but you earned it." He brought his hand from behind his back, revealing a bunch of daisies.

Whoa, flowers! "All part of my master plan," she quipped, accepting them with a shy smile. "Thank you, Jim. They're beautiful."

So are you. "You're welcome." Hard part's over. We're talking. This is happening. Finally happening. Thank god.

As he bestowed her with her favorite lopsided grin, she bit her lip. He hadn't looked at her that way in so long. Jesus, she'd missed it. Missed him. So much. "Come on in," she said softly, stepping back in invitation. As he stepped over the threshold, her gaze followed him wistfully. Between the light flirting through the door, the flowers, and the look on his face—holy god, he's gorgeous—this was definitely more than just a casual meal between friends. She wanted nothing more than for this to be a real date. But first, she needed to be sure they were both single. She cleared her throat, trying her hardest to summon the courage she'd felt after her firewalk at the beach. Even so, she stared determinedly at the flowers, unable to make eye contact. "Did you and Karen break up?"

He hesitated a moment, momentarily stunned by her directness. Not the first topic he would have chosen to discuss, but… "Yeah," he nodded. "This morning."

Heart galloping, weak with relief, her eyes flitted up to his. She briefly examined her feelings… joy, disbelief, nervousness, anticipation. Regret was nowhere to be found. The old Pam would have said I'm sorry. Would have lied.

He watched the complex interplay of emotions on her face, utterly captivated.

She chose honesty. "I'm so glad you're here, Jim," she told him earnestly.

His grin had faded, but returned with a vengeance at her words. Fancy new Beesly, he mused affectionately. Communication hadn't been a strength of theirs before. He couldn't help but admire the difference. "I'm glad you're here, too."

"Well, I do kinda live here." She smiled warmly, tongue between her teeth.

His eyes roamed her face. He'd been convinced that he would never see that adorable expression again. "And with only one kitchen," he joked, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. "I dunno how you do it, Beesly."

She giggled at the memory, feeling giddy at the nickname she'd all but given up on hearing again. Practically glowing with excitement, she brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply. "Did you know daisies were my favorite?" She couldn't remember ever telling him that.

"You may have mentioned it." She had. Once. Years ago.

Her eyes softened. "I'll be right back." She started down the hallway. "Drinks are in the fridge, help yourself."

"Thanks, I will." Pouring a glass of water, he looked around. Things seemed to be going well so far, he reflected optimistically. He was hopeful that he might yet make it through the night without making a fool of himself. Her apartment was small, he noted, but cozy. Very Pam. He could see an easel in the corner of the living room. On the canvas was a sketch of two hands reaching for the other, not quite touching. One larger, masculine. The other smaller, feminine. He held his hand up for a side-by-side comparison. Hmmm… yep. He didn't quite know what to make of it. Hearing her footsteps in the hallway, he dropped his hand into his pocket and took a drink.

She returned, carrying the flowers in a vase. He was pleased to see that she had pinned one over her ear. "Not too much, is it?" she asked as she set the vase down on the counter. "I hope I'm not overdressed. Tried to find some middle ground between receptionist and uh… hobo…" she trailed off, biting her lip. Shut up Pam, just shut up.

She's nervous too. Everything's gonna be okay. He so wanted to kiss her. He settled for answering reassuringly, "Not at all. Much more boho than hobo."

She adored his sincere smile. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she asked, "What the heck is a boho?"

"It's… a word," he admitted with a shrug. He'd seen it in Karen's magazine in the waiting room that morning, next to a glossy picture of a model with flowers in her hair. "Not even sure I used it right. All set?" he asked, placing his glass into the sink.

Eyes shining, she replied, "Yeah, I'm boho starving." They laughed together. She gestured him out the door, then shut and locked it behind them.

Chapter End Notes:



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