Jim and Steve met up at the Northern Lights espresso bar just down the street from the theater. Alicia had dismissed him with a smile at 5 on the dot, telling him he was welcome to come back anytime: “it’s nice to get some things focused in advance, so I won’t turn down help.” He had had a full crash course on running the spot (it was as simple as he remembered, but as she reminded him, everything would change once there was an actual actor to follow). He was feeling pretty good, actually: the prank had gone well, he felt more useful after a day of focusing than he usually did after a day of work, and except for the fact that he hadn’t seen Pam all day, it had been a good one.

Steve was already waiting for him at the entryway to the coffee shop, which told him he must have slipped out early. A raised eyebrow received a shrug in return: “Dwight had to leave at 4:30, something about beet planting season, so everyone just started filing out. It felt weird to be the last one there.”

“Fair enough.” He paid for both their coffees (latte for Steve, mocha for him because he hadn’t had any jellybeans all day and his sweet tooth was aching) and they took seats at a table by the window. Jim wasn’t sure how to break the ice about how the prank had gone, but fortunately Steve spoke first.

“Man, you did not exaggerate about that place.” He sipped his latte, flopped his legs out, and continued. “I swear, if it weren’t for your friend Pam, I’d say being insane was a requirement for working there.”

“Pam?” Jim wasn’t really sure he wanted to know how Steve felt about Pam. How could anyone spend even a day working alongside her and not fall in love with her? It hadn’t taken him three hours that first Monday.

Steve apparently misunderstood his questioning tone, taking it as an inquiry rather than a self-examination. “What, did you think I was going to say you? Jim, you just had me pretend to be you for a whole workday. If anyone’s crazy there, it’s you.” He kicked Jim’s leg under the table. “Just kidding, man. Seriously, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Mostly Pam.” Jim grinned at his friend. “If she weren’t there, I don’t think I’d get through a single day.”

“That’s because he’s in love with her.” Mark dropped into the third chair at their table, dirty chai in hand (Jim hadn’t seen him order, but Mark was a creature of habit). “Hey guys.”

“Hey, Mark.” Jim didn’t have to ask what his roommate was doing there, and he supposed that after having to listen to Steve and Jim plan the prank until all hours over the last week he deserved to be in at the debrief. He resolutely decided not to acknowledge the truth of Mark’s statement, but Steve was not about to let him off that easily.

“Wait, what?” Steve turned to Mark, his eyebrows raised in a parody of Jim’s own surprised face. “Jim, man, that’s kind of crucial information. An actor prepares, you know. I could have gotten into the part.”

“Shut up.” Jim curled around his mocha.

“See how he doesn’t bother to deny it?” Mark tapped his cup against Steve’s in a mock-toast. “To Pam, the holy grail.” Jim just sipped mocha and rolled his eyes, while Steve and Mark both drank.

“Come on, Jim, you could at least have given me a hint. I thought the whole point was to tell me everything, help me pretend to be you.” Steve wasn’t making fun of him, Jim thought—that was all his stupid lifelong friend-slash-roommate’s fault—but he still wasn’t entirely comfortable going into his feelings for Pam in even as public a place as a coffee shop, especially not without alcohol.

Unfortunately, Mark had no such compunctions. “No, he couldn’t do that, because, how did you put it that one time, Jim…” he tapped his chin as if in thought, but Jim was certain he knew what was coming. “‘The lady does not reciprocate.’ Which is a shame, if you ask me.”

“Nobody did.” Jim decided the surly tack wasn’t getting anywhere, so he pivoted to light and breezy and rolled his eyes at Mark. “Ignore him, I was really drunk and reading Jane Austen when I said that, but yes, I like Pam, she’s engaged, can we just move on to how the day went?”

“Wait, she’s engaged?” Steve looked back and forth between Mark and Jim. “Man, I’m sorry.” He reached over and punched Jim’s shoulder. “Seriously, I’ll back off.” Searching for a change of subject, he offered: “why were your reading Jane Austen, anyway?”

Mark howled in laughter as Jim muttered into his mocha “…because Pam was.”

Steve shook his head. “Sorry, man. Was it at least one of the good ones? Emma, or Pride and Prejudice?” He returned the incredulous look Mark was suddenly giving him. “What? I was an English major in college, that’s how theater kids reproduce.”

“It was Persuasion.” Jim took a long pull of his drink, only to find out he had finished it. “Can I get anyone else a refill?”

“I’m good.”

“Me, too. And hey, man, at least it wasn’t Northanger Abbey.”

When he came back, with a hot chocolate this time since he did want to sleep that night and he was beginning to discover his youthful ability to drink coffee all night and hit the pillow with ease regardless was wearing off, Mark and Steve were in a deep discussion about Darcy and Elizabeth from Pride and Prejudice. He hovered over Mark’s shoulder long enough to hear him assert that “Lady Catherine de Bourgh was the worst” and then sat down rapidly, pointing a finger at his roommate.

“J’accuse!” He grinned at Mark. “I knew you were reading them when I put them down.”

Mark grinned back. “You got me. What gave it away? Before now, I mean.”

“You kept moving my bookmarks.”

The rest of the conversation flowed easily from there on, and he got a good idea of what Steve had done and how he’d fared wading through the catalog. They drove separately back to Jim and Mark’s place, Mark picking up a pizza on the way (he’d volunteered, with a hand on Jim’s shoulder that told him this was his apology for outing his crush on Pam in such a direct way) and spent the rest of the evening playing Madden and going over the last few details of the day so that Jim could slide back into the routine of the job tomorrow as if nothing had happened at all.

As Steve got up to leave, Jim walked him out while a grumbling Mark went out the back to toss the pizza box. Steve stopped as he was about to head out the door and met Jim’s eyes.

“One last thing: your Pam seemed disappointed I didn’t have more to say to her. I think she missed you.”

“She’s not my Pam.” It was like an automatic reflex.

“I know, but I just thought you’d like to hear it.” He tapped the door frame on his way out. “And by the way, Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wrong. Reviewing legal documents is way more interesting than selling paper.” And with that, Steve was gone—though it wasn’t like Jim wouldn’t see him on Saturday at the Y.