“OK, what about that one?”

It was, by now, a familiar scene. Pam, sitting at his kitchen table, going over apartments. They had somehow not yet found one; neither of them knew quite why, but somehow every apartment in the Scranton area that met their fairly reasonable requirements (no other roommates; space for Pam to paint [Jim’s insistence]; a large enough living room for Jim’s Xbox and Playstation setup [Pam’s insistence]; a kitchen they could both be in at once [mutual insistence]; affordable) was either already rented by the time they contacted the landlord, in serious disrepair, or at least forty minutes from Dunder Mifflin.

Which was impressive considering that nothing in the Scranton-Wilkes Barre area was forty minutes from anything else.

Jim and Pam (and frequently Karen, hauled in as an objective mediator to make sure they were seeing what they thought they were seeing: was that bathroom really covered in mold? Were those actual scratches at human height on the locked door in the attic? Was that hole in the wainscoting seriously large enough for Jim’s head?) had hauled themselves from Amelia Ave to Winfield St, from Adams Ct to Webster St, and they’d been disappointed every time. By now Karen and Mark (who had become fast friends) were starting to drop heavy hints to Jim about how maybe some people were a little too picky about where they lived, and Izzy’s mom had apparently talked to Pam about how it would be nice to maybe sometimes be able to visit her daughter overnight on her fold-out couch.

And anyway, while Pam was over most nights, it wasn’t the same as living together.

“What about it?”

“Well, what do you think is wrong with it? It’s a whole house but it’s in our price range.” Pam pointed at her screen. “Missing every fourth wall? Landlord with creepy doll collection prominently displayed in the house and not subject to negotiation? Mandatory violent masked orgies every third Thursday of the month with the neighbors?”

“How violent are we talking?” Jim leaned over and scanned the website. “Because once a month…”

“Jim Halpert, is this a previously undiscovered kink of yours?” Pam’s eyes danced and he decided to play along.

“I’m not sure I have any previously undiscovered kinks, but if you’d like to go experiment…”

She blushed crimson, which was endearing. “Maybe later.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Embarrassing his girlfriend was, he already knew, great fun.

“Pinky promise?” Well, apparently she wasn’t that embarrassed, and it was his turn to sputter.

“Uh…”

“That’s what I thought.”

**

Later that day at work, Pam waited for Jim to make his customary midmorning stroll up to her desk. Like clockwork, at 10:23 he was standing there, eating jellybeans, and she made her move.

“I talked to the landlord. We can tour it tonight, if you want.”

“Tour what?” He popped the bean into his mouth. “Oh, the orgy place?”

“Exactly.” She grinned. “And it’s the third Thursday of the month, too.” She laughed as he stared at her desk calendar and did a doubletake. “Anything you want to confess?”

“I guess you’ll just find out when we tour the apartment tonight.” He winked. “Where is this place again?”

“Just down the street from you and Mark.”

He nodded. “Excellent. Won’t be too hard to move then. Assuming the orgies aren’t too much for us, of course.”

“Naturally.”

She was trying her best not to get her hopes up, so when the door to the apartment creaked open seemingly of its own volition she tried not to be too disappointed. “Creepy Addams Family-style doorway” wasn’t quite disqualifying, anyway, not in her mind at least. But then she looked down and realized that, no, it wasn’t moving on its own after all. A girl who appeared to be about ten and was as far as one could possibly be from Wednesday Adams while remaining in the same general category of child had opened the door, and Pam, so used to looking up at people, had missed her entirely.

“Are you Wilhemina Pennysworth?” Jim asked, a laugh lurking behind the back of his voice.

“Yes.” The small person answered. “But so’s my mom. I think you want her. MOM.” The voice that emerged as she called for her mother would have fit a person three times her size—or more, since she was probably less than a third of Jim. “THE NEW PEOPLE ARE HERE.” She eyed them both. “I LIKE THEM.”

“Well, thank you Wilhelmina.” Pam figured it was good to stay on the good side of this diminutive shouter.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled and pulled the door fully open. “I have a sense about people. Mom and I live across the street.” She pointed at a pretty yellow house covered in vines. “My gramma and grandpa used to live here. Then they died.” She skipped into the house and gestured them to follow. Pam decided that her initial assessment about the Addams Family was perhaps more on the nose than she’d believed.

“Oh, hello there.” A harried-looking woman with a wrench and a ponytail came out of what Pam could tell was probably the kitchen and wiped her hands on her jeans before sticking one out to shake. “Willy Pennysworth. I see you’ve met Mina. And you must be Jim and Pam.,” she said, shaking first Jim’s hand and then Pam’s. “Or is it Pam and Jim? I never like to make assumptions.”

“Right the first time.” Jim grinned at her and then at Mina, who smiled sunnily back.

“Glad to meet you. I was just making sure the new dishwasher was correctly installed. They sent a man, but you know how it is—I like to check. One time I had a toilet delivered and they put it in the wrong bathroom by mistake.” Willy started walking with Mina skipping beside her and Pam and Jim were pulled into their orbit. “Shall I give you the tour?”

Pam and Jim exchanged a look. “Lead on,” they said at once.

“Jinx, you owe me a Coke.” Pam grinned. “Too slow, Halpert.” He just shook his head and they trailed behind Willy as she started the tour, quite proudly, with the new, correctly-installed dishwasher and the kitchen around it.

Several rooms later, Pam was in heaven. Jim had quite expertly mimed to Willy (with Mina’s loud attempts at translation) about Pam’s painting and she’d led them into a large, well-lit room in the back of the house that was simply perfect. She spun around in delight and caught sight of Jim, hands moving quickly, communicating something to Mina, who promptly grabbed Pam’s hand and dragged her towards a door, heedless of her mother’s “Mina, don’t bother the…”

That was all Pam heard before she was through the door and stopped thinking about Willy at all.

It was a terrace. It hadn’t been visible on any of the online photos—she had looked at them all. It wasn’t visible from the street—she’d driven down this street before and never seen it. She didn’t even think they made houses like this in Scranton. But here, on the second floor overlooking the backyard, screened from the street by a pair of mighty oaks but open to light from above, was the terrace of her dreams.

“My grampa put it up himself,” Mina said proudly. “He said every house ought to have its own character, and this was going to be his house and his character.” She looked around and gestured Pam down to her level. Pam crouched and Mina whispered in her ear. “He had a mustache.”

Apparently that was all she was going to get. Pam nodded solemnly and it must have been the right response because Mina skipped away bellowing about how she liked these people, could she keep them?

Pam looked for Jim but didn’t see him—which surprised her, since he should have been gleefully cackling about what he and Mina had conspired to show her. She followed Mina through the doors back into the house and looked around—but still no Jim.

She found Willy, who showed her another bedroom, but yet again no Jim. Pam was becoming worried, and trying to figure out how to politely point out to her potential landlady that there were supposed to be two of us—was this how horror movies started?—when the front door creaked open loudly.

Jim walked in, handed her a Coke, and cleared his throat.

“I say we take it, don’t you?”