Jim Halpert does not believe in love at first sight.

So when the shy, quiet woman in the light pink blouse and gray skirt entered Poor Richards and jumped forward a bit when the wind whipped the door shut behind her, causing a loud smack that got Jim’s attention, it wasn’t his heart beating out of his chest that knocked his beer bottle out of his hand.

Nope, it wasn’t love. Sweaty palms, maybe. But not love.

The beer in question slipped from his hand; falling to the ground in slow-motion, like one of those commercials where the waitress bumps the beer off the table and everyone looks on in horror as it crashes to the ground.  A tragedy in the truest sense.

But the real tragedy of this evening was not the loss of alcohol.

No, for Mr. Halpert, the real tragedy was the stark realization that the new receptionist had a hold of him; a grip that seemed to grab and let go as frequently as her radiant smile lit up her face. And since he had quickly discovered that making her smile was something he enjoyed doing very much, he figured he was content with her never letting go.

So, wasted beer be damned, he thought; there were plenty more where that one came from.

Jim’s roommate, Mark, looked down with a bemused look on his face as Jim began picking up the larger shards of glass from the puddle of suds forming at his feet. He watched as Jim carefully maneuvered through the liquid so as not to cut himself. But if he asked Jim to be honest with him (and he would have, because he’s Jim Halpert) he would have told Mark that had he sliced his finger clean off, he would not have noticed until he woke up in a hospital to a doctor explaining to him that he’s missing the tip of his index finger. Because at that very moment, when most of the people watching him clean up his mess think he’s just being nice -- I mean, it’s Jim Halpert -- he is crouched on the ground, trying to process the simple fact that the one person he wanted to see, more than any other out of the other six billion on this earth, had just walked through the door.

This one, he thinks, who might be the one mothers tell their sons about.

This one.

Pam Beesley.

Jim stood up and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. Not wanting to embarrass himself further, he ever-so-carefully picked up the beer that Mark had ordered for him when the first one became a casualty of love, and sat down next to him and the rest of the crew from Dunder-Mifflin.

He looked around at his co-workers, noticing that it was an unusually light turnout for a Friday night. Perhaps the fact that Michael had been summoned to the New York office on Wednesday for an emergency meeting with the other branch leads meant less stress for the rest of the office. And less stress meant less alcohol consumed. Even Dwight told Jim to have a good weekend when he left for the day.

Kevin, Meredith and Creed occupied the opposite side of the table from Jim and Mark, engrossed in a conversation that only the three of them could be engrossed in. A few of the guys from the warehouse were in the back playing darts. But Jim never really counted them as part of the team, since the only time they ever mingled with the rest of the staff was when Michael had his yearly Dundie Awards. He couldn’t blame them for staying away.

“You okay, dude? You’re shaking,” Mark stated to Jim as if it was the most obvious thing ever uttered.

“Hmmm?” Jim tore his eyes away from the bar for a second before they settled on Mark. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. My beer slipped. That’s all,” he replied. Jim took another gulp of his beer, wondering just how damned obvious he was being.

There were two women sitting at the end of the bar nearest their table. Unbeknownst to Jim, the tall blonde in the fiery red shirt had been making eyes at him for the better part of thirty minutes - slippery fingers, or not. After a half-hour of zero eye contact, she sent her friend over to talk to the less-attractive guy who was sitting next to him.

“My friend, Jessica, thinks your friend is hot,” she half-shouted to Mark as she slid into the seat next to him. “And she wants to talk to him.”

Mark, who had ridden Jim’s coattails to numerous phone numbers over the years, saw this as another opportunity to get some digits from a girl who normally wouldn’t give him the time of day. Jim had an affect on women, and Mark liked to think that some of that charm rubbed off on him. When in reality, the wing women usually gave Mark the wrong number on purpose. Jim, always the good friend, would go along for the ride, only to inevitably throw his number away when he got home. Mark didn’t think this opportunity would be any different.

With a tiny smirk on his face, Mark turned to Jim to see if he was up for a little flirting, but all thoughts of mingling with the girls at the bar flew out the window when he saw a foreign look on Jim’s face. Intense? Happy? Noticing that Jim’s gaze was focused on the opposite end of the bar, he followed Jim’s eyes with his and they landed on a petite woman ordering a drink. Mark isn’t the brightest guy in the world, but it only took him about two seconds to figure it out.

“Is that…”

Jim is nodding his head before Mark can finish the question.

“Ah, yes…the infamous Pam Beesley,” Mark mutters, almost to himself.

Jim turns in his chair so he’s facing Mark.

“I think I’m going to go talk to her,” he explains carefully.

“Why wouldn’t you? You’ve only been talking about her non-stop since she started on Monday,” Mark answered.

_________________________

It was Tuesday night. A typical night in the Mark/Jim compound. They were watching the Sixers when Jim started talking about a girl. The same Jim, Mark thought, who throws out phone numbers. Mark had a feeling this was monumental…at least to Jim.

“I’m telling you, dude - she’s way different than any other girl I’ve ever met. She’s sweet. She’s funny. She makes work bearable. And, to be honest, I have a hard time not looking at her.”

“Who is?”

“Pam. The new receptionist. The one I mentioned last night.”

“Oh, right - the one you fell in love with at first sight?” Mark snickered a bit as be turned his attention back to the television.

“Um, no. Jim Halpert does not fall in love at first sight.”

“Whatever, dude. You never talk about women.“ Mark turned and looked at Jim with a serious expression on his face. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about this: it’s okay if you’re gay. You don‘t have to cover it up with a story about a fictional woman named ‘Pam‘. I‘m here for you.” Mark’s face betrayed his seriousness as a grin escaped from his mouth.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“I know. But you still love me. In a strictly platonic kind of way, of course.” Mark turned his attention back to the game as Jim began again.

“I mean, I’ve never looked forward to going to work. Ever. But now I find myself waking up early and punching in before 9 o’clock. To be honest, knowing that I’ll see her when I walk in the door is enough to get me out of bed.” Jim let out a small laugh. “I’m actually a little scared.” Mark muted the game and addressed Jim again: “Well, I think it’s pretty simple. You’re in love. Did you happen to see a midget with wings holding a bow and arrow when you got to work on Monday? Because that little bugger pulled an arrow out of his quiver and shot you right between the eyes. This Pam chick arrives not ten minutes later and before you know it, you’re totally gone.”

Jim quickly brought his hand up to his chin to stop the beer from dribbling onto his shirt; he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

“I certainly did not see an angel midget flying around the office. We started talking because Dwight creeped her out when he quizzed her on the Scranton phone book. She must’ve assumed I was a bit more normal than Dwight.”

“Her powers of observation are impressive.” Mark raised his eyebrows and took another swig of his beer. “Listen - if she’s so magnificent, and you’re so sure your destiny is to be with her, why don’t you just make a move? See if she wants to join us for drinks on Friday.” Mark took another pull from his beer. “Then I can see if she’s as hot as you say she is.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” He punched Mark in the arm as he rose to get them another beer.

_________________________

Jim stood up from the table. If this really felt as right to her as it did to him, talking to her would be a piece of cake. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the spark he felt during their initial conversation was not all in his head; the way in which they eased into an easy rhythm had been hard for him to comprehend. This really didn’t have to be so difficult. If it were any other women, he would’ve charmed her in ten seconds flat.

But this was Pam. The new receptionist.

He began to wonder if maybe there was an ounce of truth to his idiot roommate’s explanation.

But just as he was about to reach out and get her attention (a potentially life-altering moment, to be sure) a loud voice boomed out from the back of the bar. The totally unexpected shouting of her name over the din of the bar caused him pause.

“Pammy!”

Jim’s head snapped around to see one of the warehouse guys, Roy, lumbering her way with a big grin on his face.

…fuck?

Jim had a befuddled look on his face as he watched the beefy warehouse worker with a huge grin on his face make his way through the crowd of patrons.

Jim had seen him a few times at Poor Richards -- okay, a lot of times -- and the one constant during each occasion was the fact that Roy was usually completely and incoherently drunk. Come to think of it, he had never seen Roy not drunk.

And, of course, this time was no different. If he really thought about it, loading paper onto a truck probably didn’t take as many brain cells as selling that paper. One could, potentially, be drunk the entire time. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“Pammy! I never thought I‘d see you here!” Roy bellowed, arms spread out in front of him in a welcoming gesture as he approached the cute secretary.

From the spot where Jim was rooted to the ground, it didn’t look like Roy had any plans to halt his advancement. As he got within arm’s length of her, he reached out and grabbed Pam’s elbow with his free hand, causing Jim to momentarily start forward.

But as soon as be began to move, he stopped. The look on Pam’s face was hardly one of terror. In fact, Jim swore he saw the hint of a smile play across her lips. Nothing major; just a tiny smirk, like she was in on this, whatever it was.

And then it happened.

As Pam Beesley turned around to look up and acknowledge the beefy paper loader, Roy Anderson did the one thing Jim Halpert had been absolutely dying to do since he first saw that radiant smile in the break room.

He leaned in and kissed her.

And when Pam reciprocated by bringing her hands up to Roy’s chest, the force of that action sent Jim, literally, reeling back to his chair. If it wasn’t so damn depressing, it might’ve been funny.

“I thought this only happens to people on television,” Jim said to Mark as he motioned his head in the direction of the couple.

“Hmmm…are you sure we’re not?” Mark looked around the bar suspiciously as he took another sip of his beer.

“Very funny.” Jim sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s just…I thought I had it figured out. I mean, the signs were there. I was so sure of her; of this.”

“She‘s engaged,” said Kevin. He had been sitting silently next to Jim and Mark the whole time, staring at the blonde at the bar while he nursed a pitcher of beer.

Jim raised his eyebrows and looked at Kevin.

“Really, Kev?” So random. “How can you tell?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “No, not her.” He looked at Pam and Roy. “Pam. Pam is engaged.”

“What?”

“You never noticed her ring? He looked back at the blonde sitting at the bar. “Roy’s only been bragging about it for the past five weeks. I went down to the warehouse at lunch last week to play cards and he would not stop talking about it.”

Kevin let forth a tiny giggle before finishing his sentence: “But I can see why you wouldn’t have noticed it; the diamond is tiny because he lost all his money to me playing “One-Eyed Jack, King With The Ax.”

Jim was positive he had never seen a ring on her finger. But as he looked closely at her left hand while she listened to Roy, there was an unmistakable sparkle. It was hard to see, but a sparkle nonetheless. The fact that she was practically married was momentarily put on the back burner as he tuned into their conversation.

“Oh, come on, Pam. Just a few more games. Darryl and I are in the middle of a best-of-seven series and the loser has to take the winner to lunch on Monday,” Roy said. “Besides, this will give you a chance to hang out with your new co-workers.”

Pam looked defeated. She looked down at the ground and let out an exasperated sigh that was lost on Roy.

“Fine.”

“Aw, you’re the best, Pammy!” Roy bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “Listen - I’m really glad you came out tonight. I hate to think about you alone in our apartment practicing your art. I’d rather be with you at the bar, so I know you’re okay.” As he picked his head up, he winked at her and made his way back towards the dartboards where Darryl was waiting with a full bucket of beer.

As Jim watched Roy retreat to the back of the bar, he couldn’t help but be amazed that that lug nut was dating the woman of his dreams. Well, the woman who had been the woman of his dreams up until 15 minutes ago. He was about to begin wallowing in his own self-pity when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and was greeted with a sight he could definitely get used to.Pam.

“Is this seat taken?”

“Hey!” His mouth broke into the stupidest of grins as he stood up. “Nope. This seat is all yours,” he said as he pulled it out for her. He looked at her as he performed his gentlemanly duty. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Yeah, well, my fiancé might need a ride home,” she said as she brought her beer up to her lips. “And you said you would be here, so I didn’t think it would be that bad." She gave him a playful smile as she took a drink. “Besides, it would be the perfect opportunity to brainstorm some ideas for pulling a prank on Dwight.” She gave him a confused look. “He’s so weird.”

“I like the way you think, Beesley. Tell me: Have you ever considered putting his personal effects in Jell-O?”

And there it was again; that radiant smile.

For a quick second, his facial expression fell as he came to a final conclusion: He was in love.

Maybe it hadn’t happened at first sight, but it had been there the whole time. And for the first time in his young life, he was sure of one thing: He wouldn’t be able to live without this one woman.

His one woman.

Pam.