“There you go. Thanks.” Jim stood up from the car after tipping their driver and turned to look at his wife. His tie was slightly crooked. It had been slightly crooked since approximately the third glass of champagne, and Pam had decided not to tell him because it was very endearing.

Pam, trying her best not to lean on her husband, asked, “how much did you give him?”

“Big tip.” Oh God. He sounded drunk. So much for coming back to work today, Pam thought. She didn’t dwell much on their poor decision making though, because she quickly realized she was missing something.

“Wait. I don't have my scarf.”

“What?”

“I'm missing my scarf.” The taxi pulls away and she sees her scarf lying on the concrete. She must have dropped it. “Oh.”  She laughs as she bends down to pick it up, quickly remembering the mass amounts of champagne she had just consumed as it was much trickier to stand back up than it should have been. 

Pam moves to be closer to her husband on the sidewalk in front of Dunder Mifflin, both of them looking at the building with the specific expression of people who have just had a very good lunch and are now being asked to return to reality. The cameras start honing in on the couple, and they take that as their cue to start walking (as best they can while in their inebriated state).

"Okay," Jim said.

"Okay," Pam said.

"Back to work."

"Back to work," she kept echoing. 

They started walking toward the building. The February air was cold and Pam felt more obviously tipsy with each step.

"I'm still a little—" she started.

"Mm-hm."

"Is it obvious?"

He considered her. "You're walking fine."

"That's not what I asked." Pam knew she was not walking fine.

"You're walking fine," he said again, diplomatically, albeit slightly slurred.

She pressed her lips together as the cameras came close. "Okay. Professional faces."

"Mmm-hm," he agreed, and tried to stand up straight. Then, to the cameras: “We decided to have a Valentine's day lunch. And then that way we can spend the entire night with Cece and not—avoid the, uh, Valentine's day dinner thing. It's a whole thing.”

Pam supported his comments, “Yeah, lunch was wonderful!” She was speaking as if the cameras were 20 feet away and she didn’t have a microphone. Too loud, Jim thought as he quietly shushed her, so much for sobering up for work.

Pam kept going, although slightly toned down, “Um, there was an amazing buffet and there was a chocolate fondue… station.” She lost her train of thought and she looked back at Jim for help, “And what else was there?”

Jim tried to help her out, “Um, bottomless champagne.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and then as privately to Jim as she could get in the moment: “never found that bottom, did we?”

Jim smiled in his response, “No.” And they walked into their building with the particular careful dignity of two people who are completely fine and would like everyone to know it.

"That was a great place for brunch.” Pam tried as they waited for the elevator (there was no way they could take the stairs). “Can we go back there sometime when we're not—" She gestured vaguely at herself.

"Day drinking on a Monday?"

"It was Valentine's Day."

"It's still Monday."

"Romance doesn't care about the day of the week, Jim."

He smiled at the elevator doors. She bumped his shoulder with hers. He bumped back. They rode up in the comfortable quiet of two people who had run out of the need to fill silences years ago.

The doors opened and the office materialized around them, its specific ecology of fluorescent light and low-level chaos fully unchanged from when they'd left it two hours ago. Phyllis was knitting. Andy was doing sudoku. Dwight was fidgeting with his bobbleheads. Completely normal.

Jim straightened his tie. Pam didn't tell him it was still crooked.