Pam resolved then and there never to actually find out which ass was printed on Michael’s chaps, nor why he thought that a work-appropriate choice even for a business that he himself owned and therefore could not be fired from. But it was unlikely that she would ever be in a situation to ask, since he had completely ignored her and Jim (and her technically illicit position behind the counter, not to mention their clasped hands) in order to wade into the morass that was the clump of customers in the corner under Eddie Izzard.
Pam found herself quite intrigued as to what, precisely, might be causing such a stir.
When she asked Jim, he rolled his eyes. “A purse lady.”
“A purse lady?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Like, one of those old ladies who has a clown car for a purse, and tries to stuff an entire ham inside there at the grocery store? What does she have in there to attract that much attention, Michaelangelo’s David?”
“Uh, no…” Jim rubbed the back of his neck with the hand not still holding Pam’s. “A lady who sells purses.” He shrugged. “And before you ask, no, I do not think Michael has suddenly developed an extensive and nuanced sense of accessorized fashion. It’s....” he shrugged again. “She’s hot.”
“Oh.” Pam didn’t like the way it made her stomach feel to hear Jim say that. He must have noticed it in her voice because he squeezed her hand.
“I’m not interested in her, it’s just…look at how Michael and the other regulars are acting.” He gestured and she noticed that indeed, the shop’s mostly male clientele was all there and practically drooling. Kelly was the only one not doing so, sitting in the far corner with what might have been trying to be an unreadable expression but was clearly jealousy. That, if nothing else, convinced Pam that Jim was speaking from an objective place of knowledge and not personal attraction; if Kelly had seen this woman as anything other than a threat she’d have been sitting side by side with her chattering up a storm.
Besides, she trusted Jim. Even if she had a bad history with roving eyes, she hadn’t actually seen his rove anywhere but Michael’s ass, and since they’d both been eying that particular monstrosity she could hardly complain.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re here.” He squeezed her hand again. “I needed someone else sane to watch the circus with me.”
“Is that the only reason you’re glad I’m here?” She tried to be more flirtatious and cute than anxious, and wasn’t sure if she succeeded.
“I mean, it’s on the list, but it’s not number one.” He grinned. “Number one, by the way, is the tea. Seriously, I got Michael to actually stock some tea and it’s pretty good. I mean, I think so at any rate. It’s not like I’m a tea aficionado like some people I know.”
“Really? That’s number one?”
He bent down and kissed her, very lightly. “It’s number one on the list I actually wrote down, because if Michael found it I didn’t want to be too embarrassed.”
She decided that that was definitely not an adequate first kiss from Jim Halpert, and dragged him down for a more proper one. Then, after an amount of time she was definitely not counting, they both straightened up and she cocked an eyebrow again.”
“You actually wrote it down?” She made a grabby hand with her free hand. “Share, share.”
He pulled out a napkin scribbled with messy handwriting. “Ask and ye shall receive.”
“Am I supposed to read this?” She elbowed him in the side. “Or prescribe it in a pharmacy?”
“Oh ye of little faith.” He held the paper up and made a great show of presenting it to be read, like it was an official proclamation or the Declaration of Independence or something. It required him to finally let go of her hand, but since it was for her entertainment she supposed she’d allow it. After all, it was impressive enough that they’d kept holding hands through the kiss—and that no one had noticed yet.
“1. Tea.” He glanced over at her. “Do you want the elaboration or just what I actually wrote down?”
“List now, elaboration…at leisure.” She grinned up at him and, realizing that since he had initiated a kiss between them she could do the same, pulled him down for one. “Possibly not at your workplace,” she added once she’d released him, but the crowd around the purse girl (poor woman) was paying them no mind.
“Beesly.” He groaned. “You’re killing me.” At her questioning look he rolled his eyes. “Every time you pay with your credit card it throws your last name up on my screen.”
“Oh, right.” She shrugged. “That makes sense.”
“Anyway…” He cleared his throat. “2. Calm.” He raised an eyebrow and she gestured for him to go on. “3. WTF Michael?”
“Ah. That’s the purse thing?”
“Actually, no.” He grimaced. “I’ll tell you later. 4. Purse.” He handed her the paper. “With four question marks after it.”
“Poor Jim.” She grinned at him. “Four question marks worth of concern. How ever did you survive?”
“Poorly.” He snuck an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “But, better now.”
