The sun has been up for hours, but Pam has absolutely no desire to get out of Jim's bed until at least noon. Maybe later. The light in the room has a wonderful golden tone to it that she always associates with Tuscany. She rolls onto her side and finds him watching her, smiling happily. Her elbow cracks as she stretches, lazy with sleep, and rests her head on his pillow. "Why are you making that face?"
"What face?" He's already grinning, though, eyes vibrant in sunlight reflecting off pale walls.
Her finger traces the corner of his mouth. "That face. You're busy hatching a plan, I can tell." The crisp hair on his knee brushes her thigh and she inches closer.
He shakes his head, bumping her nose with his own. "You're gonna say no. Again."
She sighs, resigned. "Just say it."
The smile is gone from his eyes, replaced by hope. "I still think we should get married."
"Jim... we've talked about this a thousand times. I am not planning another wedding. Ever. No more arguments about seating arrangements and orange invitations and wedding bands."
"I swear I won't argue about the band, since we are definitely hiring Scrantonicity. I already promised Kev. And I love orange. I think your dress should be orange to match the invitations. And the napkins."
She punches him in the arm. "Shut up. You're just trying to make my mom happy. Why can't we just live in sin?"
He considers for a moment. "I have a better idea."
"Oh yeah?" Savoring the quiet intimacy of weekend mornings, she runs her hand up his forearm, lightly drags her index finger so that it leaves white trails on his skin. "I'm telling you, sinning is the way to go. Come here and I'll show you." She throws a leg across his hips and pinches the spot on his ribs that always makes him laugh.
"Stop it." His protest is unconvincing and a tickle fight ensues, which briefly becomes something a little naughtier. Fully aware of her intentions, he struggles to tear himself away from her usual ploys to distract him from wedding talk. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted..."
She returns to her side of the bed and pulls the sheet over her breasts, fake-indignant. "I didn't hear any complaints."
"Fair enough. Pleasantly interrupted it is." He finds her hand under the bed clothes and weaves their fingers together. "Seriously, though, what do you think of just eloping? You, me and an island? Clothing optional meals?"
Her expression softens. "Hmmm. Tempting." She closes her eyes and pictures a white sand beach sheltered by palm trees. The fragrance of the ocean, mingling easily with his scent in a sun-dappled bed.
He can see he's winning her over. "So you'll think about it?"
She opens her eyes and squeezes his hand. "I don't have to. You are definitely in my desert island top five. Top three, even. And... if you make me breakfast right now and promise not to wear orange at the ceremony, the number one spot is yours."
He grins and kisses her forehead. "Done."
*
The eggs are a little cold, since they were distracted "celebrating" against the kitchen counter, but it's nothing a microwave can't fix. He sets her re-heated plate on the table with a knowing glance. She still blushes, after all this time. "So, where would you like to go? I personally want to cast a vote for Sandals Jamaica."
She wrinkles her nose. "Gross. No."
"What about St. Thomas?" He sits next to her and spreads some butter on his toast, then digs into his eggs. "You won't have to apply for a passport."
"Why not?"
He stops eating with the fork halfway to his mouth, chuckling. "It's part of the US."
Stupid. It's a good thing he already wants to marry her. "Oh, yeah. Right."
"Pam?" There's a hint of laughter in his voice.
"What?" She ducks her head, the back of her neck prickling with embarrassment.
"I love you." Even when his mouth is full, those words always make her smile.
