“Hey.”

The voice was soft, but Jim would have been no more capable of turning away from the sudden appearance of his childhood dog (Rex, King of All Dogs, a Yorkshire terrier who thought himself the size of a bloodhound) than he was from that voice, no matter how far away he’d been. As it was, he’d gotten three steps into the parking lot in the forty-degree drizzle outside when there she was. Pam, standing in the doorway of the office building, holding a much too large coat that it took him a surprisingly long beat to realize was his.

“I...uh, thought you might be cold.”

Cold? No, he wasn’t going to be cold, not if Pam Beesly was noticing when he forgot his jacket. But now that she mentioned it…yes, the decision to veer out into the parking lot had been somewhat rash. It had just suddenly become intolerable, sitting there in the office, looking over at her, not being with her, and he’d been hit with two choices: beat his head against his desk in frustration or get out of the building. So he’d gotten out.

But here she was, apparently ready to reel him back in. Or maybe not, because rather than waiting for him in the safety of the just-barely-ajar doors to their building she was striding out into the chill mist with him and waving the jacket.

“Did you…want this?”

Did she even realize what she was saying? Did he want that? He wanted everything and anything to do with her. The sight of his picture on her desk had been mesmerizing, heart-melting, wonderful, but neither of them had done anything about it. He, because he was scared shitless of what would happen if she turned him down. What would he do? What could he do? He needed this job, but he couldn’t exactly do it (to the extent he could do it anyway) if he was nursing a broken heart and staring at her like Rex had the time he’d accidentally run his paw over with his tricycle. She because…who knew? Possibly, probably, most likely because she was just not that into him.

But then again, here she was, standing in the cold holding out his coat to him and not wearing her own. And…oh, waiting for him to respond. He became aware of his hanging jaw and staring eyes and much less aware of the drizzle around him.

“…Thanks.” He took the coat, but didn’t put it on. He just held it and her gaze and the two of them stared at each other in the rain, until she took a deep breath.

“I…uh…didn’t want you to get cold.” She seemed abashed; it wasn’t cold enough to put that much red in her cheeks.

“Again…thanks.”

“Where are you going, anyway? Isn’t your car over there?” She gestured to the Batmobile, which was indeed in the exact opposite direction of where he’d gone.

“Yeah…uh…” He scratched the back of his head. “I just kind of needed to get out of there.”

“I know the feeling.” She leaned against what he was pretty sure was Michael’s car, seemingly unaffected by the rain and the wet. “So…now we’re out of there. What next?” She didn’t quite meet his eyes, but he had the sensation of something electric crackling in the air between them—static yet deadly, like the moment before a lightning strike. His immediate instinct was to say “I don’t know,” but somehow he felt like that would be wrong: the first step into quicksand, maybe, or like Wile E. Coyote off a cliff.

“What do you want to do?” That was better, but the danger was still tingling in his fingers.

“We could go…somewhere. Out.” She tossed it out offhand like it was nothing, but the moment he heard the words every nerve in his body was on edge. “Get a drink or something?” she continued, the words slipping softly into the wind so that he might not have heard them if he hadn’t been concentrating so hard on what she said.

Then it hit him like the ground at speed. This was Pam Beesly’s version of asking him out. She wanted to go, with him, for a drink, in the middle of the workday. Don’t screw this up. But somehow the realization, which should have been terrifying, was instead exhilarating, like how he imagined skydiving or doing the kinds of drugs Dwight probably thought he was already doing. His brain swung back into action after the extended vacation it had apparently been taking and his mouth was moving before he realized it.

“Sounds good.” He shrugged and flipped open the coat. “First, though, we’re going to get you out of the rain.” He gestured for her to put the coat on. “Then, assuming you’re amenable, we’re going to go on a date.”

“Is it raining? I hadn’t noticed.” Pam was beaming up at him as she slipped into the raincoat, her hands swallowed up by the long arms until she pushed the sleeves up with a delightfully workmanlike gesture.

“Four Weddings and a Funeral, Beesly? I expected better from you.” He took her arm and started walking towards the Batmobile.

“Excuse me, I just agreed to go on a date with you, do you think this is the right moment to be critiquing my choice of movie?”

“I’m glad you agreed. Otherwise this would be a kidnapping.” He opened the door and bowed her in, then came around to the driver’s side. “So, where to?”

“Hey, I came up with the idea of going somewhere, the where is your problem.” She was smiling, though.

“Fair enough. Cugino’s?”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Then it’s a date.” He put the car in gear and left Dunder Mifflin far behind.