Jim left the office to take a ride and meet with a rather big client after his lunch when he noticed Pam, sitting on the bench in front of the building and sketching something on a large piece of paper. 

Well, the client could wait. 

'That’s a way better use of lunchtime,' Jim said, stepping closer. Pam gave him a small smile and returned to her drawing. 'What's this?'

'My Sunday project,' Pam answered. Jim peeked in her work and saw a pretty accurate sketch of their office building. 'We're on landscapes now, so… this should count, right?' 

'Oh, it looks great!' he smiled. 'I guess it counts as landscape, though I always thought that landscapes should be… I don't know, greener?' 

'I know, I know,' she groaned. 'It's architectural painting and selling it as an urban landscape would be a stretch. And Mrs. Rud'ko won't appreciate it, and I'd like myself to draw something blooming, but my schedule left me only with this. Oh, I forgot, I also have the sight from my window. But this is still a better choice.'

Something clicked in his brain and he blurted without thinking.

'What are you doing tomorrow?' 

Pam blinked and shrugged. 

‘My shift in the restaurant starts at noon, and after that, Izzy, Karen, and I have a movie marathon.’

'Something good?'

'Of course! All six parts of 'Pride and Prejudice.'

'Wow, I didn't know you're a fan of nightgown looking dresses,' Jim smirked. His mother was fond of British period dramas, and she'd made him watch some of her favorite movies with her. Not that he would ever admit that. No need to say, he had a special attitude toward them.

'Don't you dare call the Empire style dresses' nightgowns!' Pam exclaimed, narrowing her eyes. 

'Did I strike a nerve?'

'Oh, just shut up already!'

'Okay, okay, I got it, you'll have a pretty busy evening. What about the morning?' 

'Um, I don't have plans for the morning,' Pam answered. 'Why?'

'Meet me on the platform of the 'Vydubychi' station tomorrow at six-thirty and take your art supplies,' Jim snapped his fingers. 'I know a terrific landscape you might like to put on canvas.' 

'Huh,' she chuckled. 'That's intriguing. And we'll meet this early because…'

'To catch the golden hour, duh,' Jim shrugged as if it was obvious. 

'And you told me you knew nothing about art,' Pam grinned. 'I definitely have a good influence on you.' 

She folded the paper and stood up. 

'Okay, deal. Tomorrow, six-thirty, 'Vydubychi,' she gave him a small smile, and he returned it.  

'All right,' Jim replied and bit his tongue to prevent 'it's a date' from escaping. 

Because, of course, it wouldn't be a date. 

First of all, when you had a date, the other person was aware of it, and there was nothing in Pam's casual and friendly 'See you tomorrow then and don't be late!' pointing it out. Besides, she still dealt with too much of her own stuff; the shades under her eyes refused to vanish, and he knew that sometimes, after an especially exhausting shift, she spent her lunch breaks napping in the ladies' room. Jim didn't want to burden her more with his feelings. 

And yet, the thought that tomorrow he'd meet with Pam and spend with her some time alone, away from their colleagues and random strangers in the metro, banished all other thoughts from his mind. Somehow, somehow he managed not to fail a sale and then discovered with great relief that it was too late to return to the office. 

It was for the best since Jim doubted that he could hide his excitement from Pam long enough. 

Jim was glad that Mark was at home and thankful for the so needed distraction his roommate provided with a video game console. They played till midnight when Jim feigned tiredness and went to bed. But the thought about meeting with Pam, an absolutely friendly meeting without any hidden meanings, made him toss and turn without much sleep. 

He gave up on it around half-past four. 

The buildings around the one they rented the apartment in, blocked the sunlight even when there was some; the sky was still dark and starless. He still had two hours before the time of the meeting and struggled with killing it. He didn't muse over the choice of clothes much; it wasn't a date, and he didn't want to give Pam a wrong idea, so he just put on some jeans and the first clean t-shirt he'd found. The fact that those were his nicest jeans and his favorite t-shirt was a pure coincidence. 

He drank some coffee, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and found with frustration that all of that had taken him less than half an hour. The minute hand of the kitchen clock teasingly balanced between '1' and '2', while the hour hand was strictly glued to '5.' Even the dumb clock was mocking him, Jim thought sulkily. He had run his fingers through his hair for so many times that he had efficiently ruined the semblance of an order he had managed to style his hair into earlier this morning. The anticipation was too much to bear; he gave up and left his apartment without second thoughts. 

In a hurry, he didn't take any jacket and regretted it the moment he opened the door of the building entrance. He had checked the weather forecast, and it had promised a lovely sunny day, but this early, the wind was chilling, and his bare arms were instantly covered with goosebumps; he thought that he could almost see his breath going out as white puffs. For a moment, he considered returning for something warm, but then Jim remembered an old saying that going back was bad luck. There was no returning. With that, Jim went to his metro station, shivering in the wind and wishing to hide underground as soon as possible. 

The city was silent and sleepy. The only other human beings Jim met were a janitor in the yard of the neighbor building and a clerk, smoking near a 24-hour store. But little by little, the darkness faded, and the pinkish hues exuded through the sky's grey. By the time Jim reached the station (only to find that it was still closed), the sun shone so dazzlingly that Jim felt weird compassion toward owls, bats, and other nocturnal creatures. After an endlessly long five minutes, the station was open; Jim went underground and stood on the empty platform, the pace of his heart increasing with every passing moment. When the first train arrived, he was the only passenger in the wagon; he had a vague suspicion that he might be the only passenger on the whole train. 

His journey was short; the train stopped twice, crossed the river (sun rays, reflected from the water, blinded Jim and for a moment he wondered if it would have been weird to take sunglasses) and finally Jim was at the meeting place, forty minutes before the meeting time. 

A station master kept throwing suspicious glares at the lanky guy, who was pacing agitatedly but froze in pretending nonchalance every time a train stopped. Jim didn't notice that he was watched; his mind was busy with calculations. 

Pam lived across the city from him, and her station was the terminus. Jim looked at the map of the metro, and his eyes traced the blue line. The average time the train made a ride between two stations was about two and a half minutes. So, it would take Pam twenty minutes to reach the transfer station to the green line. It was too early, and it was a weekend, so the time between the trains was longer than usual; on workdays, the time interval between trains was about four minutes, and now it was almost doubled. She might get lucky on the transfer and catch a train that just arrived, but for his own mental safety, he didn't count on that and added ten minutes for her to make a transfer and board the train on the green line. There were three stations between the transfer one and the meeting point, so the train made this distance in ten minutes. Hence, if his calculations were right, it would take Pam about forty minutes to arrive. And if she took the third train from the beginning of the metro circulation, she'd be on time. 

Another empty train came and went, and Jim was suddenly struck with a terrible thought and he felt his guts tightening in horror. What if his idea wasn't good enough? He was going to show Pam a place that was special to him — what if Pam would find it bland and boring? What if Pam would be disappointed and think that the whole venture wasn't worth being up bright and early on Saturday? What if Mrs. Rud'ko would find the view not pastoral enough for her liking and Pam would solidify in her opinion that the only person she should count on was herself? When Pam had asked him to find her some art classes, he had taken the liberty to use his mother's connections in bohemia and had made an acquaintance with Mrs. Rud'ko, a former teacher in the National Academy of Visual Arts and Architecture, who, partly of boredom and partly of the scarceness of her pension, gave private lessons. Back then Jim had thought that private lessons would have been slightly better than courses with a fixed schedule and many other students who might have drawn the attention of a teacher away from Pam; judging by the number of 'thanks' and the frequency Mrs. Rud'ko's name popped up in their conversations for the last month, Pam was quite satisfied with his choice. 

He couldn't afford to lose all of that credit.

Jim heard a distant rumble in the tunnel, and the wave of cold and slightly stale air hit his face. Another train was coming, and though it was still too early for Pam to arrive, Jim hid his hands into pockets and stood still. The train stopped, its doors opened with a loud whoosh, and when a lone figure stepped out of the wagon, Jim's heart went on a furious race. 

She was twenty minutes earlier than he'd expected. 

Pam beamed up at him, and even if Jim tried, he couldn't hide his grin. She wore a calf-length grey dress, an ugly bulky cardigan, and her hair was twisted in a messy bun; she vaguely reminded him of a high school girl from American films about the fifties. Also, she had an enormous backpack behind her back and held a seemingly heavy easel under her armpit. 

'Just for your information, Halpert,' she said instead of greeting, 'the golden hour ends in fifteen minutes.' 

'Really? Huh,' he replied and scratched his brow with feigned disturbance. 'So, abort the mission then?' 

'Are you insane? I was promised a terrific landscape, and you won't get out of your promise easily!' 

Another huge smile split Jim's face. Crazy early in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, but she was here because he'd asked her. 

'I wasn't even thinking about it,' Jim said and reached out for Pam's easel. 'May I take it?' 

Pam considered his offer for a moment and gave the item to him. 

'Be careful,' she warned him. 'I borrowed this easel from Mrs. Rud'ko, and I'll die from embarrassment if something happens to it.' 

'I will,' Jim promised. 'Shall we?' 

Pam nodded, and they went to the exit from the platform. 

'So, where are we going?' Pam asked as they left the station behind and walked by the highway. 

'To the Barren Mount,' Jim answered, placing her easel under his arm comfortably. The said mount loomed over the road in a kilometer or so, the top of it was hidden by the trees that covered its hills. 

'Barren mount?' 

'The Barren Mount,' Jim accentuated. 'The biggest one among the other barren mounts and the second biggest site of the witch gatherings in Europe. Pretty awesome, right?' 

'Do you believe in witchcraft?' Pam raised her brow on him. 

'I don't believe, I know it exists. Haven't you read Gogol in middle school? 'All women in the city are witches, especially those who work on marketplaces,' he quoted with a smirk. 'By the way, Walpurgis night will be in a few days, so, um, if you feel an urge to kindle a bonfire and dance around it naked, praising Mother Nature, don't stop on my account.' 

'Oh, Jim,' his guts twisted unpleasantly at the sight of disappointment when she shook her head. 'I can't believe you fell for this fairy-tale bullshit. Let me guess, you believe that witches use broomsticks for flying, right?'

'Ummm… yes?' Jim said, unsure where this conversation went but relieved slightly that she didn't seem offended with his earlier remark.  

'I knew it,' Pam sighed and continued. 'For your information, Jim, we don't fly on broomsticks. My sisters and I ride whatever the hell we want, including logs, pigs, and unlucky men, who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And even if we kindle bonfires… well, we usually do it to light the glade where we gather to sacrifice poultry to appease the forces of the night, learn the proper way to jinx our foes and curse crops and cattle, dance with chorts and so on — the usual stuff. And, by the way, we do it fully dressed. Those men who made up that naked dancing nonsense had probably never walked through nettles without their pants on.'

Pam threw a short gaze at him and added. 

'I'm afraid now you know too much. And I don't have a choice other than to put a spell on you and ride you to the next gathering that indeed will take place in a few nights.'

Jim cast a dumbfounded look at Pam and stumbled. It was a miracle that the easel didn't drop from his weakened grip. 

'Oh God, Jim, I'm just kidding! But you should have seen your face!' 

Pam laughed so hard she bent in half, her face turning red. Jim was sure his own was crimson now, but for a completely different reason.

'Wow, Beesly, you would never cease to surprise me,’ he said awestruck. 'I didn't take you for someone who knows so much about bloody magic rituals. When did you learn all this stuff?'' 

'Oh, well…' finally, Pam calmed down, and hiccup remained the only evidence of her earlier laughing. 'My granny was very religious. And when I say 'very' I mean she'd probably find a reason to call Angela a 'hussy'.'

Jim chuckled on that. 

'And she hated her neighbor, Aunty Cristy, she hated her so much that she was convinced that Aunty Cristy was a witch. To be honest, I'm not sure what was the cause and what was the effect — were the accusations based solely on granny’s hatred or was there actually some witch stuff indeed that caused such a passionate reaction. Anyway, every time I visited her, she told me about what witches were able to do to good people and accusing her neighbor in the latest mishap. Her stories scared me to death, I had trouble sleeping after listening to them, and I avoided Aunty Cristy as much as I could, barely leaving our backyard. How can I forget them after all of that?' 

'Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to forget something like that either,' said Jim. 

She smiled at him with a hint of nostalgia and sadness. 

'And you know what the funniest thing is?' she said then. 'I think now that she told me all of this witchy stuff because she didn't want me to make friends with Aunty Cristy's granddaughter. If I had a friend then, perhaps I wouldn't spend so much time with my granny. And… it was a tad selfish of her to keep me constantly nearby. It's weird to realize that people you got used to respecting could do wrong things, knowingly or unconsciously.' 

The mood shifted drastically from light and jovial to melancholic, and though Jim hated to see Pam sad, the fact that she was so open to him lifted some burden from his shoulders. They'd never discussed heavy stuff when she'd been with Roy — and many months after their break up too. But now that was changing, and Jim could only greet these changes with an open heart. 

'That sucks,' he said sympathetically. 'Maybe, our parents and grandparents wish us only well, but the way they show their care… okay, I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to laugh.' 

'Cross my heart,' Pam made a gesture, and Jim nodded. 

'So… um. That's really embarrassing, but when I was in elementary school, I had a friend, Tom,' Jim started. 'But my mom didn't like him, I don't even know why maybe she thought that he had a bad influence on me or something…' 

'Oh God,' Pam cringed. 'What did she do?' 

'Well,' Jim rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, 'it was me, actually. I met him after classes and said something like 'my mom thinks you are too dumb to hang out with.' Not my proudest moment. And, to be honest, I knew that it was kinda wrong, but my mom said I shouldn’t have befriended that boy, so… how could I doubt her words?' 

'I'm sorry,' Pam said compassionately. 

'Yeah,' Jim shrugged, the shame for his childish behavior still stung a little. He sighed then. 'We were easily misguided when we were children, but now we have grown up and make our own decisions and mistakes. We won't allow people around us to plan our lives.' 

'Good for us,' Pam responded. 'Though, it's sad that someone sometimes just gets older but does not mature.' 

They silenced for a moment, and Jim asked carefully. 

'Are you still not talking to your mom?' 

'No,' Pam shook her head. 'I mean, we made a few direct calls without using Penny as our messenger, and I thought that everything was going to be fine, but then Roy sent his first remittance to his family, and Mrs. Anderson started a grand renovation, so… I'm an ungrateful child all over again.' 

'I'm sorry,' this time, Jim fell quiet. 

'Don't be,' though her tale was quite depressing, Pam didn't look sad, just a little thoughtful. Engrossed in conversation and their own thoughts, they reached the nearest wooded hill, and any wistfulness Pam had had was replaced with curiosity. 'So, um, where to go now?' 

'This way,' Jim pointed at a narrow footpath that ran up the hill between trees. He stepped on it first and started to walk up a gentle slope. Pam followed. 

With every stride, the noise of running cars and other sounds of the big city hushed; Jim and Pam were surrounded by silence that was only broken with their footsteps. But, little by little, Jim discovered that this silence was weaved with dozens of tiny noises he could never distinguish in his everyday routine — he wasn’t sure if those sounds were even present. A soft creak of tree branches above their heads; birds' chirping — usually, Jim could recognize crows, pigeons, and sparrows, but had no idea what kind of birds sang so pleasant yet so loud; almost imperceptible rustling in the undergrowth — Jim could swear he saw a wood mouse, sneaking among the grass and fallen leaves but before he could draw Pam's attention to it, the creature had hidden. 

He heard an abrupt 'click' and a quiet 'crap' behind and turned around to see as Pam stood before a bush of dog-rose with a phone in her hand. 

'What are you doing?' he asked, approaching her. 

'I just… look at these leaves, at the play of lights and shadows,' Pam waved her hand at tangled sprouts, and perhaps it was a charming sight, but Jim didn't really perceive that the way Pam did. 'I want to capture it for future references, but the camera on my cellphone is too poor.' 

She made another shoot and groaned in frustration. 

'Come on,' Jim said with a smile. 'If you won't like the terrific landscape I prepared for you, we can always return.' 

'The light will be different then,' she complained. 'But you're right, don't let that landscape wait.'

 They passed about three hundred meters, then the path split in two; the left one climbed up the hill and led to the top of the mound, to the ruins of the old fortress and the neo-pagan gathering place. 

Jim turned right, and they continued their walk among the trees and bushes. Soon clearings between trees became wider, and Jim cleared his throat. 

'Well, Beesly, brace yourself. Three… two… one… behold!' 

Pam gasped, and Jim thought that probably it was a good sign. 

The hill before them was woodless and ran down to gardens and cottages, almost indistinguishable in the distance; every inch of the field was covered with dandelions and buttercups — the whole ocean of bright yellow and green with patches of white foam of faded flowers. Small clouds passed on the clear blue sky and, for the briefest moments, shielded the sun, making shadows and lights slid on the grass — all of this, combined with a breeze that shook the plants slightly, gave an impression of a breathing land. 

'Well, you said you'd like to draw something blooming, and I thought that drawing lilacs in the botanic garden would be kinda mainstream, so…' Jim trailed off sheepishly, but Pam seemed not to listen to him at all. Her eyes roamed the scenery before her, as if she wanted to capture all of it, but didn't know where to begin.

Finally, she tore her gaze from the dandelion field and looked at Jim, slightly dazed. 

'That's so much better than lilacs,' she said at last, and her words untwined that nervous knot in his stomach. 'Where… how did you know about that place?' 

'Let's say, I had some picnics nearby,' Jim answered. In his student days, when life had seemed to be so easy and carefree, and the biggest problem had been finishing his thesis, Jim had occasionally met here with his friends, chatting, drinking wine, playing music, and enjoying life in general. He lost touch with most of them now, his dreams of a journalist career and traveling remained only dreams, and his own existence narrowed to work in a paper jail, repetitive family gatherings, and pining over his best friend. But being here again resurrected his memories of hope; bringing Pam here felt like sharing that hope with her. 

He was thrilled that she accepted his gift with both hands. 

Pam started to unpack her belongings, and Jim chuckled slightly when she fished out of the backpack a medium-sized canvas, a tiny folded chair, boxes with paints and brushes, something looking like a stained sheet, and many, many other art supplies he had no idea what they were about. 

'Wow, Pam, you're well-prepared,' he joked. 'What else do you have? A can of gas? An ax? Dinner for twelve persons?'

'I don't have dinner for twelve, but I have a granola bar. I'll share if you want some,' Pam said absentmindedly. 'Now, could you set the easel there, please?' 

She pointed at a place a meter away from her, and he obliged. 

A thought occurred to him now that he hadn’t planned what he was going to occupy himself with while Pam would draw. She was instantly engrossed with pencils, paints, and the canvas; he just sat on the grass three meters from her and hugged his knees. He didn't mind just being here, admiring her skills, enjoying the sunshine, the warm wind, and soft rustling of trees behind his back. 

But then the wind, trees rustle, and warm April sun — as well as three hours of sleep — played a cruel joke on him. He started to doze off. When Jim realized what was going on, he stood up to make a quick refreshing walk; but when he was pacing around, Pam got distracted from her work, and he didn't want to go far from her and leave her alone — this place was too secluded after all. Jim returned at his previous spot and pinched a patch of skin between his index finger and thumb with his nails. The sharp pain made him jump awake, but in a few moments, his eyelids were heavy again. 

He could easily forget that less than two hours ago, it had been freezing; the sun started to blaze so much he felt himself roasting. Perhaps, Pam felt the same because, at some point, she took her cardigan off. 

Turned out, her grey dress was strapless. 

All Jim could do was to stare at her exposed skin; either Pam didn't pay attention to his intense goggling or hadn't noticed it, occupied with her art. She made masterful strokes, and the canvas bloomed under her brush, but Jim didn't heed that. His eyes were drawn to the tiny mole on the back of her neck he'd never seen before, the one that usually was hidden behind collars of her clothes and her hair. She had a few more — on her left shoulder, right above her elbow, on her shoulder blade... Jim thought that if he took a brush and connected that little dots on her skin, he'd see a constellation, printed on her body. 

He'd never been into poetry until now.

Perhaps, he even might do that. Pam was an artist, and she'd probably find that amusing. But his limbs were heavy as if they'd been made of stone, and his tongue felt like a foreign object in his mouth. 

'Jim,' all of a sudden, Pam stood right before him, looking with narrowed eyes at something slightly above his forehead. 'Don't move. There's a bee in your hair. ' 

'Hmm?' Jim managed to say, painfully aware of the sight of her collar bones pushed into his view. She stepped closer, holding her paintbrush by the other end, and Jim looked down at the skirt of her dress, because the idea that Pam caught him staring at her mortified him. It's funny, he thought, that her dress wasn't really grey; it was striped, but black, white, and mint lines were so narrow that they fused into one shade. 

'Here she is,' Pam picked the insect at the handle of her brush; she shook it abruptly away from Jim and bristles smeared the inside of her wrist yellow. 'The honeybee might have mistaken you for a dandelion. No wonder — your hair is a complete mess.' 

Her fingers ran through his hair to comb it a little, and every touch sent shivers down his spine. Jim closed his eyes, savoring that sensation. 

'Do you want me to cut it?' he mumbled, and she froze. 

'No,' she cupped his cheek now, and Jim gave up, leaning into her hand; she stopped again, and then her thumb stroked his skin gently. 'I like it the way it is.' 

Jim opened his eyes to look at her and saw a dreamy expression he'd never seen before. He had to say something, anything, he wanted to, but his utterance betrayed him. 

Jim blinked, but Pam was away, sitting at her easel, wholly engrossed with the painting. He blinked again. And again. And one more time. 

'Wake up, sleepyhead!' 

Jim jerked, lifting his head from his knees. 

'I'm not sleeping,' his hand flew to his eyes to rub them furiously.

Pam smirked and shook her head. 'That's okay. I was glad to paint in peace and quiet without any distractions. Well, except for the snoring.' 

'Hey! I don't snore!' Jim protested, rising on his feet. His head spun a little from that sharp movement. 

'Yeah. Right,' she chuckled. 'Ready to go?' 

'To go?' Jim was still slightly disoriented. 'What about your project?' 

'Jim,' Pam said, and only now he noticed that her cardigan was on, her stuff was packed back, and the easel was folded and ready for him to carry. 'It's almost eleven. I painted what I could, and I'll finish the rest in the evening. I really wanted to complete it now, but I'm about to be late, so…' 

'Oh, yeah, right. Sorry,' Jim grabbed the easel before she asked him to. 'Let's go.'

On the way back, they were mostly silent. Jim didn't know what Pam was thinking about, but he felt frustration and anger at himself. He'd spent almost four hours in Pam's company, and instead of talking, joking, and simply basking in her presence, he'd fallen asleep and vividly dreamed of her. Unbelievable. 

'You should probably take a rest,' said Pam as they walked by the highway. 

'Huh?' 

'You had to wake up early today to show me that place,' Pam smiled. 'You really should go back home and have a good sleep.' 

'You did the same,' Jim admitted. 'To arrive on time.'

'Yep. But I have a perfect relaxation planned for this evening.' 

'Oh, yeah, I remember. Six parts of the movie about girls in nightgowns and guys wearing stockings.' 

Instead of answering, Pam just elbowed him, and he grinned, but that exchange felt like a small victory. 

They reached the station and stood on the platform. He didn't want her to go, but she had to. Any moment a train might arrive; Jim decided that if the train in his direction arrived first, he’d skip it. 

Naturally, it was her train that came first.

'Thank you, Jim,' she said sincerely. 'It was so great, thank you very much for sharing this place with me.' 

'Anytime, Pam,' he shrugged, feeling as an aching emptiness rose inside his chest. He'd see her at work just in two days, but he already knew that surviving these days would be even more challenging than usual. 'Hey, will you show me your art when it's ready?' 

'I promise,' she swore and reached out to take the easel; at this movement, a sleeve of her cardigan rolled up slightly, and Jim noticed a stain of yellow paint on her wrist, half-erased but still visible. 'See you on Monday!' 

Jim waved her, not trusting himself to speak. She waved back and stepped inside the wagon of the arrived train. In a few moments, it took her away. 

He didn’t remember how he’d managed to get home that late morning. The only thought was swirling in his mind.

How much of his dreaming had actually been a dream?