Pam cannot get over the fact that Izzy is apparently flirting with Dwight Schrute of all people—and only a few minutes after they met! It makes her feel…actually, she’s not entirely sure how it makes her feel, except that it is clearly not OK that Izzy is flirting and Pam is not, even though Pam has had a probably unrequited crush on the man in front of her for several hundred times longer than Izzy has even known that Dwight existed.

It’s OK to flirt, right? As long as Jim knows it’s not necessary for him to actually reciprocate her feelings (because, you know, service industry job and all) it’s OK for her to at least express a little bit of how she feels about him. Low key. Make it obvious that he’s not going to lose a tip or your custom if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. Just…having a little fun, two adults being adults in the same space.

You can do this, Pamela.

“Maybe for Dwight, asking if she’ll buy more beets is a way of getting her number.” Jim stops laughing at her little joke and plays along, and she falls just that extra bit more in unrequited crush-like love with him for it. His voice shifts registers into what is clearly intended as an imitation of Dwight (also, she’s heard his Dwight impression before—but it’s good enough to be recognizable even if she hadn’t, she thinks with fondness). “Question: what is your phone number for delivery purposes. Question: are you going to be home at 6:30 pm to take receipt of your new pallet of beets? Question: would you be free for dinner afterwards?”

She giggles and does her own Dwight (not, she thinks, as impressive as Jim’s). “Fact: service times for beet delivery improve by 20% if you choose to go out with me.”

He guffaws. “Now, I’m sure Dwight would insist that it’s impossible for a Schrute to deliver 20% faster because they are already the fastest in the universe.”

“Except that if you told him that, he’d then insist that a Schrute can do anything, and so logically a Schrute can also outdeliver a Schrute.”

“Could Dwight make a delivery so fast that even he couldn’t beat it?” Jim taps his finger to his lips, drawing Pam’s eyes inexorably up and almost but not quite distracting her from what he said.

“HAH!” She points an accusatory finger, definitely not at all trying to deflect from the fact that she was just thinking about kissing him. “I said you were a philosophy major. That’s a total philosophy major question!”

“I beg your pardon, that is a theology major question.” Jim looks what she can clearly identify as mock-offended. “In philosophy we don’t make sloppy assumptions like ‘God exists’ without further evidence.”

“So you’re saying Dwight’s a god, now?” Her voice comes out as saccharine as possible. “Because I don’t recall anyone mentioning God, even if the classic version of the question you posed is whether God could create a rock so heavy he couldn’t move it.” She smirks. “And while we might argue over whether God exists, Dwight definitely does.”

“More’s the pity.” Jim nods sagely. “I concede the point; that was a total philosophy major question.” His eyes narrow. “Wait, you weren’t a theology major, were you?”

“You take that back!” Without thinking, she reaches across the counter and smacks his arm lightly.

He puts up both hands. “Consider it taken.” He shoves the jar of candy towards her. “Here, amuse yourself while I make my penance by discovering what you did major in.”

She pops one into her mouth. “I’m waiting…”

“Hmmm…” He looks at her—really looks at her—and she finds herself half-squirming under the intensity of his gaze and half-wanting to jump across the counter and pin him up against the rows of whole-bean coffee bags behind him. There’s something about receiving the whole depth of Jim’s gaze, directly and squarely, rather than the skittering glances and half-committed winks she’s used to that is simultaneously intoxicating and terrifying, like the one time Roy convinced her to try a Long Island Iced Tea without telling her the first two words and she found herself drunk in a Chili’s without realizing how it had happened and freaked the hell out. Except that was a wakeup call that she desperately needed to listen to and this was…well, maybe it is one too, but it was a very different sleep that she was waking up from. This isn’t waking up from denial about who she was becoming or who Roy already was, but rather awaking the slumbering awareness that maybe Jim was just as focused on her as she was on him—and maybe that was OK.

“Hmm…not theology, not philosophy—you’d have mentioned if we had the same major.” His fingers taps on his lips again and she follows the movement, swaying a little towards him, though he doesn’t seem to notice. “You do graphic design, but it’s definitely not the hard coding side of it—it looks too visual. Could be English or journalism or communications, but I can’t see you in one of those specific-job majors, and if you were a creative writer you’d spend more time beating your head against a wall.” He rubs the back of his neck and it somehow draws her attention to his chest as he stretches his arm out. She likes what she sees, but then again she has pretty much liked everything about Jim at this point. “Not the sciences—not that you couldn’t do it, but nothing has given me the impression that you like science, and I can’t see you majoring in something you didn’t like.” His hands slap down on the table, breaking her out of her reverie. “Got it!” He grins, wide and excited like a particularly friendly puppy. “You, my dear Pam, were an art major.”

“My dear Pam, is it?” Pam jumps almost half a foot as Izzy slips up next to her and raises an eyebrow at Jim—where did she come from? Where did Dwight go? Why is she interrupting? “Tell me, Jim.” Izzy crosses her arms. “What exactly are your intentions towards my friend here?”