Things moved remarkably quickly in the next week, at least from Jim’s outside perspective. One day he was showing Pam his third-grade teacher’s spare apartment, the next she was bringing in his third-grade yearbook, flashing a glimpse of it across the office, and then arranging to make sure he was in a meeting with Michael for the next two hours watching her leaf through it through the blinds while Michael droned on and on about corporate responsibility (re-themed ala Michael as Corporate Responsibili-Tea, which seemed mostly to involve dunking the reporting forms in hot water for some reason. He could already tell that wasn’t going to last beyond the first time something got sent wet to New York, so he filtered it all out and focused on trying to see what Pam was getting out of the yearbook). When he got out she was on break, and by the time she got back he was out on a sales call (he assumed; maybe she never came back).

The next day he asked her about the yearbook and she smiled up at him blankly. “What yearbook?”

He popped a jellybean in his mouth and considered his next move. “Do you and Mrs. Wilson think I don’t recognize the Isaac Tripp Elementary school logo?” He popped another. “Go Gray Wolves Go.”

“Did you say Isaac Tripp?” Dwight’s voice cutting across the conversation made him realize in that moment that he had made a tactical error. “That fool!”

“Why is that, Dwight?” Pam took immediate advantage of the interruption.

“Wyoming!” Dwight was agitated, Jim could tell, which he had to admit was intriguing. “What kind of fool settles in the Wyoming Valley before the Lackawanna?” He stood up abruptly. “Lackawanna County deserved better!”

Jim leaned over to Pam. “Isn’t…this the Wyoming Valley?”

“Apparently not,” she whispered back. “I think that’s technically just west of here?”

“Like Tunkhannock?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know, Dwight.” He raised his voice. “I always wanted to live in Tunkhannock or Meshoppen. I think Isaac Tripp had the right idea.”

“You idiot, Jim.” Dwight spat. “That’s Wyoming County.”

“What’s the difference?” Pam asked innocently.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t they name the county for the valley?” Jim echoed.

“You…you…” Dwight sputtered, then stormed out of the front doors of the office muttering something about “local knowledge” and “deliberate ignorance.” Jim and Pam burst out into laughter.

“Nicely done, Halpert,” she said, grinning up at him.

“Thank you kindly, Beesly. The same to you.” He mock-bowed and they burst into laughter again.

It wasn’t until he was back at his desk that he realized that he hadn’t gotten an answer about the yearbook. She kept on ducking him for the rest of the day: a party planning committee meeting (“Halloween” having been vetoed by Angela, they were currently planning a “Pumpkin Spice” celebration at Kelly’s very enthusiastic suggestion), another Michael meeting (“Corporate refused my idea of waterproof paper for the Responsibili-Tea” turned into three hours of brainstorming how to stop the paper from bleeding and then how to convince corporate to accept sodden paper, which transitioned seamlessly into grief counseling as Michael finally came to realize that wasn’t happening), and finally a real meeting with representatives of the University of Scranton psych department about their new paper order, which involved hustling them into a conference room and making absolutely damn sure Michael never knew they were there until after, lest he should come on too strong. Pam was always at her desk when he came by but somehow always busy; he actually started to wonder at one point if she’d somehow downloaded a version of FreeCell that looked like an Excel sheet so she could pretend to be working. If she hadn’t, they should find one, he reflected, but it was still disappointing that she wasn’t available. She was doing what he thought of as a week’s copying in a day, and he found himself resenting her efficiency even as it pushed him to his own most productive day in weeks (Michael-sobbing included).

But it was all made worth it when as they were leaving for the night—silently agreeing to walk out together—and he glanced down at her desk and noticed something that hadn’t been there the day before: a small picture of a towheaded little boy with a very familiar smile.