Jim Halpert never believed in magic. When he was young, much to the dismay of other children and certain parents, he was always the one to shout “The rabbit was in the hat the whole time, you guys!” It wasn’t that he was cynical or didn’t like the idea of a little mystery. It was just that he had never experienced anything that made him want to believe in all those little extra somethings in the universe. Plus, watching Michael Scott grimace his way through more than one magic trick gone wrong did nothing to inspire the concept of wonder in one’s life.

After all, if there were miracles would he really still be a paper salesman?

He believed in a logical sort of magic, the stuff with an explanation. Everyday miracles like love or the birth of a child - sure, he could get on board with those. Those had a clear place in life. Yes, there was a bit of magic attached to events like that, but there was also a definable pattern you could trace that made those things make sense. Point A reached Point B simply. You couldn’t get lost on a straight line like that.

As Jim had witnessed, Mark had followed that path diligently and would be getting married in the summer. Jim moved out of the house and found a small apartment that he could afford on an apathetic paper salesman’s salary. While Mark and his fiancée prepared for their wedding, Jim scoured local stores for furniture to fill his apartment and went on a few dates a month. Nothing ever really stuck.

The woman he was dating now, Anne, was nice enough; she was a teacher who liked rock music and foreign films. They had fun together and he liked her enough to ask her on another date, but truthfully, it didn’t matter whether or not he saw her again. She may have been nice enough but she wasn’t enough.

After another lunch date with her failed to spark anything within him, he dropped her off at her apartment with the promise to call then decided to spend the rest of the afternoon looking for more furniture. He was bringing work home more frequently and didn’t have a proper desk to sit at, so he decided to pick one up. He avoided the larger chain stores in favor of a local antique shop that his mother promised would give him a good deal.

When Jim arrived at “Olde Good Things,” he realized that his mother had grossly misinformed him with the term ‘antique shop.’ The building was a large warehouse with different departments filled with architectural antiques and fixtures. He made a beeline for the furniture section and began searching for what he wanted. The cheapest desk he could find was made of maple and had six drawers, three on either side. One of the corners was chipped and someone had carved their initials on the underside, but it was in his price range and light enough for him to be able to take home by himself.

When he got home with his newest addition, the old Italian man who lived in the apartment below him insisted on helping him get the desk up the stairs.

“Thanks, Mr. Castellani,” Jim said once the desk was in his apartment. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did!” Mr. Castellani replied. “We’re neighbors! Besides, I was going to come up here anyway and invite you to dinner. Alessandra wants to see you. And I’d like to watch the game with somebody who knows what’s going on for a change.”

Jim laughed and agreed to join his neighbors for dinner. It was like having two sets of parents, except that the Castellanis never nagged or asked what he was doing with his life. They mostly just invited him to dinner or left a plate of food on his doorstep on the nights they knew he would be working late, and Mr. Castellani liked to talk sports with him whenever he got a chance.

Jim shoved the desk into a corner then freshened up and went downstairs.

Dinner went like it usually did - a lot of conversation, laughter, and Mrs. Castellani fussing over him and telling him he needed to eat more. When Mr. Castellani fell asleep in his recliner, Jim said his good-byes and returned to his apartment.

He didn’t feel like calling the woman he was seeing and didn’t really know what to do with himself, so he grabbed some disinfectant wipes from under the sink and decided to clean the dust off the desk. After he wiped down the top, he opened the first drawer to wipe it out and was surprised to find that it wasn’t empty. Inside the drawer there were pieces of stationery, matching envelopes, some stamps, and an old pen.

Jim took everything from the drawer and placed it on the desktop. The paper had been yellowed with age but didn’t appear to be in bad shape. He picked up the pen then decided to scribble something on the back of one of the envelopes, and was surprised that it still worked. While he was scribbling, he noticed that there appeared to be something inside of the envelope, so he ripped it open.

Inside the envelope was a letter, written on a sheet of the stationery.

March 9, 1924

Dearest You,

Why won’t you come to sweep me off my feet? Why don’t you come to take me dancing in the rain on a summer night? We could turn circles in the wet grass, our feet bare, and I could let my hair down to fly in the wind. You could take me to the altar. You could kiss away all my tears and I would wonder why I bothered with crying in the first place. We could go to the big city and sneak into the speakeasies and drink giggle water until we’re so drunk and kisses feel like water sliding down our faces on a hot summer’s day.

I guess what I’m saying is, I could love you better. And you could love me better. I know you could. You would know me like the back of your hand. We could be that pair that makes everyone else look all wet. I know I’m not just talking bunk. I’m convinced you’re out there somewhere, pacing round some little room and thinking up all the ways to save me. At least that’s what I dream.

I’ll carry this torch for you, even though you don’t exist. You aren’t real, except in my imagination, and what’s that to me but a runaround? If you were real, certainly you’d be here by now.

I guess I’ll have to follow my father’s advice (or command, more like) and go down that middle aisle with Roy. I’ll be somebody’s Mrs. What a thought. I guess I went to school for nothing. I didn’t learn any baking and mother’s convinced he’ll leave me for it, but she doesn’t know how we spend the weekends. Roy’s not so much concerned with baking as he is finding the good hooch. And to think I used to think that Roy was a real flat tire! I guess you don’t know someone until you get to know someone. Anyway, his brother’s cellar ain’t no speakeasy. It’s damp and dreary and makes me wonder how long I’ll make it living the rest of my life like this.

As the summer gets closer, all I can think about is the wedding. And not in the good way that I might think about a wedding with You. I suppose if I don’t get married now, I never will - I’m nearly 30. I’ll be the last in the family to go. I guess a part of me likes to be different. But I’m too scared to be all different all the time. I think Roy makes me the same as everybody else and I suppose I love him, but is it enough? Who’s enough for me?

Well, you are. You’re enough. But you’re not real. I guess I won’t invite you to the wedding, but I hope you come and I hope you say something. You’ve only got a few weeks, so SPEAK UP. I’m yours if you find me.

Love,
Pamela Morgan Beesly

Jim reread the letter and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He had found finally found someone who understood the empty way he felt, but the trouble was that she had felt it more than eighty years previously. He tried to imagine her, a young woman approaching not only thirty but also a marriage she wasn’t sure about, sitting at this desk, pouring her heart out to a someone she didn’t think existed. He felt like he could relate.

He couldn’t explain why, but he felt like he needed to write her a reply and let her know that someone felt like her (or maybe he was writing to himself, he wasn’t sure). He grabbed a piece of the yellowing stationery, picked up the old pen and began writing.

Dear Pam,

I read your letter. I found it in the desk drawer. And I guess I just wanted to write something down because I know exactly how you feel. I don’t know who will be “enough” for me, but I do know that I haven’t met her. I guess I’m waiting for her to come find me like you’re waiting for someone to find you. Sometimes I get scared of living my life like this… because what if no one ever finds me? What do I do then? I try not to think about it. It makes me sick to my stomach.

But I’m glad I found your letter. Finding someone who feels the same way is a really big help. It’s a big world and I’ll never figure it all out, and I guess it helps to know that there’s another person out there who isn’t sure either. I just hope that the both of us figure things out sooner than later. I don’t have any letters from Roy so I don’t know what he’s like, but I think you do. I think you know what you need to do. You probably already know how to fix the problem, but maybe you’re scared. I’d be scared too, I guess.

I wish I could help you. I wish I could be that one who loves you better. But I don’t know how to reach you. The best I can do is think about you, and hope that’s enough. Maybe I’ll see you in dreams. I wonder what you look like.

I guess all I can say is: do your best, Pam.

- Jim Halpert

Before he could rethink it, Jim folded up the letter and slipped it into one of the envelopes and sealed it. He wrote Pam’s name and the address from the stationery on the envelope, then licked one of the stamps and stuck it on the corner.

He stared at the envelope for a long while before sighing and going to bed.

The next morning, Jim got ready for work like he did every morning. The only disruption of his routine happened while he drank his coffee. Instead of sitting on the couch and watching the news before he left the apartment, he sat on the arm of the couch and stared at the envelope on the desk.

He sipped at his coffee and weighed his options. He had been driven insane by loneliness, that much was clear to him. The part of him that wanted to retain some normalcy told him to sweep everything into the trash and scratch out the initials (Pam’s initials he had realized while laying in bed the night before) on the underside of the desk. The other part of him, the part that secretly wanted to believe in magic, told him to mail the letter. It wasn’t likely to go anywhere but the dead letter office, he knew that, but something about the act of mailing the letter appealed to him. If he mailed the letter, he was opening himself up to the universe. In a way, he would be out there for the world to see. Maybe the universe would appreciate his gesture and send something back his way.

He wasn’t sure what finally did it for him, but on the way out the door, he tucked the letter into his messenger bag.

The envelope sat in his bag for the entire day, ignored. Jim was too wrapped up in work and Michael’s shenanigans to give it another thought. It wasn’t until he was driving home and got caught at a red light near the oldest post office in the city that the letter entered his mind again. He stared up at the light and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was tugging at him, so he made the right on red and parked the car in front of the post office. He grabbed the envelope from his bag and went inside the building.

The post office was probably one of the oldest buildings in the city. The architecture was ornate and classic, the defining features were the marble floor and columns that reached up to touch the ceiling.

Jim approached one of the free tellers and slid the envelope over the counter. “Uh, I’d like to mail this.”

The man barely looked at the envelope as he grabbed it. “Okay, no problem.”

It felt like a rather insignificant end to it all. Jim frowned and left the post office, dejected. He wasn’t sure what he had been hoping for, but whatever it was, he hadn’t gotten it. As he got back into his car, he imagined handing the envelope over and having the man behind the counter smile knowingly and nod as if to say ‘your future’s safe in these hands.’ Instead, the envelope received nothing more than a cursory glance to check for proper postage and Jim hadn’t even received a ‘thank you’ or ‘good-bye.’

When he got home, Jim didn’t feel like staying home alone, so he called up Anne and asked her if she wanted to go out and she agreed.

While Jim got ready for the date, he couldn’t put the letter out of his mind. Now that it had time to sink in, he felt pretty stupid. Pam had never mailed her letter, so why had he felt the urge to mail his? Why couldn’t he have done what she did and simply left it in the desk drawer for someone else to discover eighty years down the line? What would have been so terrible about that? He wasn’t looking forward to getting that envelope back in his mailbox with Return To Sender stamped on it in big, red letters. It would feel like the universe was ignoring him all over again.

Before he left the apartment, he shoved everything back into the drawer where he had found it and tried to forget about it.

When they were seated in Anna Maria’s, Jim made his best efforts at small talk and tried to focus on the conversation with Anne, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. He thought briefly about his own letter and how he felt, but spent most of his time thinking about Pam’s letter and trying to imagine what it would be like to be so close to marrying someone you weren’t sure you wanted to be with. Had she gone through with it? Had somebody found her and spoken up? As ridiculous as it was, he wanted to ask her what happened.

Anne must have noticed that he wasn’t all there, because she said, “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Jim looked up from his barely touched plate of food. “Oh, yeah. Just… thinking. Work stuff, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because you look upset.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be, like, moody or whatever. I promise I’m having a good time. It’s just an off day for me, I guess.”

“Okay,” Anne said. “Well, you know that if you ever want to talk about anything, you can talk to me. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

Jim nodded. “No, yeah, you definitely are. I mean, if I recall correctly, you remember my favorite color and my favorite kind of cookie.”

“Chocolate chip,” Anne said and smiled. “Kind of an easy one. Come on, challenge me here, Jim. Ask me something tough.”

Jim offered a small smile. After that, he managed to turn the date around. He forgot about the weird feelings he was having and focused on having a nice evening with a pretty girl. He was having a good time, but it was hard to ignore the nagging feeling that Anne still wasn’t enough. He ate his pasta, cracked jokes and tried to tell himself that this was the sort of thing he wanted.

After dinner, they stopped for a quick drink and Jim made up an excuse to end the night early. When he pulled up in front of Anne’s house, he smiled and said, “Well, last stop.”

“Yep,” Anne said. She opened the car door. “I had fun tonight.”

After Anne had gotten out of the car, Jim replied, “I had a good time, too. Night, Pam.”

He cringed and opened his mouth to explain, but Anne had already shut the car door in his face and started walking toward her front door.

Jim rested his forehead on the steering wheel and sighed deeply. After a moment, he lifted his head and glanced at himself in the rearview mirror.

He shook his head and said quietly, “What is wrong with you?”

After Jim’s gaffe, Anne wasn’t returning his phone calls. He felt bad about it and wanted to apologize to her, but after a week it faded from his mind. It felt strange to him that he didn’t feel worse about it. He liked Anne well enough as a person and he felt like an idiot, but he wasn’t desperate to reach out to her. She just became another name that he could add to the ever-growing list of people that he just couldn’t connect with.

He spent his next Saturday night alone, sitting on his couch and eating a bowl of Cap’n Crunch cereal. A few people had invited him out (including the Castellanis) but he wasn’t in the mood.

When he got up to get himself a drink, he stopped in front of the desk. He knew that opening the drawer was like admitting that he believed something amazing was going to happen, like his life was going to be changed by some strange, otherworldly coincidence. The rational part of him told him to open the drawer so that he could just forget about this nonsense and snap out of the funk he was in.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the drawer’s handle. He opened it slowly, the old wood creaking as it went along. He peered inside in the drawer, wondering just what he’d find.

Nothing.

The only things in the drawer were the stationery, envelopes, stamps and pen, all just where he left them. There was nothing new or exciting for him to find.

He frowned, a little disappointed. Well, he thought, what did you expect? Seriously.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. On the way back to the couch, the beer slipped from his hand and fell to the carpet.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

He picked up the bottle and set it on the desk. Thinking that he had left some cleaning supplies in the desk when he cleaned it, he opened the second drawer, hoping there would be some paper towel inside.

There was an envelope staring up at him. His name was written on it in a loopy, feminine scrawl.

Jim swallowed hard. It couldn’t be a coincidence. How many Jim Halperts were there in the world and how many of them could have possibly owned this desk? There were only two explanations for something like this: either he was dreaming or this was his first experience with magic. He couldn’t think straight.

He reached out slowly and picked up the envelope. It was definitely his name. There was no denying the fact that he was holding a slightly yellowed envelope with his name on it.

Carefully, he opened the envelope and plucked the letter from it.

March 16, 1924

Dear Jim (if that is your real name!),

Who are you? This seems all wet to me. How did you get my letter? It was in my desk drawer. I never mailed it and it hardly ever saw the light of day. If it’s you, Will, tell me! And stop going through my things! Some cousin you are! And you better not tell Roy what I said...

But if this isn’t Will and you really are “Jim Halpert,” who I don’t know... I still want to know how you got this letter. How could you find it in the desk drawer? Have you snuck into the house? Boy, if so you’ve got some nerve! A real gate crasher. I should put your name in to the police or OR tell my fiancé. I doubt he’d like some man rooting around my room. And my fiancé’s big six so I wouldn’t take that lightly.

But I also can’t get it out of my head that maybe you found my letter in an innocent way and you truly do have the same feelings as I do. I have to admit it was nice to find out that someone else isn’t sure about what’s “enough” either. I worry about love. I worry that I don’t have it. I worry that I’m going to get married under the pretense of infatuation. I look at my engagement ring every night before I go to sleep and I try to picture what my life will be like. Roy works in the mines, so every day will be filled with a lot of worry. What if one day we have children and then one day he doesn’t come home? Or worse, what if one day I go to get the morning paper and I find they’ve left his body on the front porch? I think I must love him a bit because the idea of that sends terrible chills down my spine. I try not to think of things like that because they may never happen and I hate to worry myself. When I think of things like that, I go and paint to get my mind off it.

So, are you real? If you are, please tell me who you are. I want to know you. If we’re both waiting for the same thing, then maybe we can help each other pass the time. Or maybe we’ve found what we’ve been looking for in each other. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with these sorts of things, especially when you’ve never met the person. You say you can’t reach me. But you did, with the letter. Where are you? Why do you think you’re so far from me?

I’ve been thinking, and I think I like the fact that you’re out there, wherever you are, thinking about me. I’m all balled up over things, but I can promise you that I’m doing my best. I hope you’re doing yours.

Please tell me about yourself, Jim. I want to know you.

Sincerely,
Pamela Morgan Beesly

Jim couldn’t think. He wasn’t even sure that he was still breathing. He slumped into the chair by the desk and carefully set the letter down. Maybe this was a prank someone was playing on him. Maybe Mr. Castellani thought things like this were hilarious. But, no, that didn’t make any sense. How would Mr. Castellani get into the apartment and how would he have gotten the letter addressed to Pam? Nobody had known about the letter. It couldn’t be a prank.

He thought for a long while before opening the first drawer again. He pulled out the pen and another piece of the stationery. He crossed out Pam’s name and address and wrote Jim Halpert - 2009.

He took a deep breath and wrote his reply.

Dear Pam,

I promise you this is no joke. I like to play pranks, but something like this is too incredible to be anything but real. It’s strange for me to say that because I’ve never believed that anything like this could happen, but I can’t explain it any other way. Pam, the reason I said that I couldn’t reach you and how I found your later are one and the same: I’m living in the year 2009. I bought this desk (your desk - OUR desk) at an antique store and found your letter in the first drawer. I decided to write you a reply because… well, I don’t know actually. Something in me told me that I had to, like it would help me get over this weird feeling I’ve had lately. I never expected this. I expected the letter to be returned back to me. By accident I looked in the second drawer of the desk and found your response.

Pam, you know this desk well (those are your initials carved in it, aren’t they), so you know that we have four more drawers. You’ve already put two letters in the first two drawers and I’ve already opened those drawers, so nothing new can reach me there. We can’t change what we’ve already done. But we have four more chances to get to know each other. I haven’t opened the other drawers yet.

You said you wanted to know me. Well. I’m not very interesting. Sorry about that. Too bad nobody famous bought the desk, right? You could be writing letters to a movie star. Instead you’re writing to me - a paper salesman. I live in a small apartment by myself, and I don’t even have a pet. I’m trying to get used to my own skin, I guess. Recently I feel like I’ve lost myself. I go on dates, but like I’ve said, I can’t connect to people. Nobody is “enough.” The last date I went on ended badly. I feel weird admitting this to you (especially knowing you’re engaged and everything), but when my date got out of the car, I accidentally called her by your name. I just couldn’t stop thinking about your letter. And the name just kind of slipped out. It was a dumb mistake, but... well, I don’t know. It happened. I guess that’s the kind of guy I am.

Anyway. Like I said, I sell paper. It’s more boring than you can even imagine. I never wanted this to be my life, but sometimes life takes over when you’re not expecting it. In high school I thought I wanted to be a writer. I was always good at English and the teachers said I had talent, but I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it because it’s not really a career, is it? I don’t think I could pay my bills with a poem. I guess sometimes you just give up on a dream.

I guess I can say that I’m just a man. A man who is in love... with love.

Who are you? I’ll check the next drawer in a week and hope you answered.

- Jim Halpert

Jim folded the letter carefully and placed it in one of the envelopes. He addressed it and stamped it, then slipped on his shoes and grabbed his keys.

He couldn’t wait until the morning to mail it out.

The following week, Jim tried to keep himself busy. At work he kept his mind off the letters by throwing himself into whatever crazy thing Michael was doing, and at home… well, he tried to spend as much time away from home as possible. He didn’t want to be tempted to open the drawer early and risk the envelope not being there and ruining that drawer’s capability for communication. He sometimes thought he was being silly because certainly the envelope would have to be in there by now - Pam had over eighty years to make sure it was there. Still though, he kept his distance. He didn’t want to take any chances.

After one week had passed, Jim stood in front of the drawer, clutching a bottle of beer tightly in his hand. He quickly downed the contents of the bottle and placed it on the desk.

“Here goes nothing,” he said quietly.

He opened the drawer slowly and his heart flipped when he saw the corner of an envelope. He quickly pulled the drawer all the way open and his hand flew in after the envelope like a seagull diving for a scrap of food.

Anxious, he ripped open the envelope and read the letter.

March 23, 1924

Dear Jim,

If you are right (and I hope you are), I hope this reaches you. I think I like you already. You seem like you’d be the bee’s knees. I can relate to you because I think I’m just a woman who’s in love with love. I don’t know if there’s enough of it in my life, but I’m willing to believe that you could help bring a little more in. It’s just something in your letter. I can feel it. I know that sounds like a lot of bunk, but I promise it’s true. I don’t really believe in much, but I do believe in this. I don’t want to waste any of our chances. I’m afraid I’ll mess this up. Please promise me that no matter what I do, I can’t ruin this. I promise you that nothing you say or do can ruin this for me.

I think you sound very interesting. A little balled up, but very interesting all the same. I’m sorry. Do you know what balled up means? I can’t imagine the sort of things you’ll be saying in 2009. I think it’s probably better that you don’t tell me. I’d be scared of changing things on accident. Anyway, balled up is confused. You sound like a confused fella. But I’m confused too. So I guess we fit together. I don’t have a job. I used to help at my father’s store, but then he decided he didn’t like me down there in his business. I went to college. Nobody but me really thought it was a good idea (I wasn’t going to learn to be a teacher so no one understood why I’d want to go) but I really enjoyed it. Roy and my father were especially against it. I guess it’s the most daring thing I’ve ever done. I took a few art classes and it turns out I was the cat’s meow. Anyway, I don’t do much now. I paint for myself sometimes but mostly I just plan the wedding and little things. I think I’d rather sell paper.

I think you should try to be a writer. I don’t mean to sound like I’m telling you what to do, but I think you should take the chance. I think everybody should take a chance once in a while. I don’t take many myself, but that’s another story.

And I don’t think you should feel bad or anything about telling me about your date. I understand. When I got your letter, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I imagined what sort of man would be able to say those kind of things, what kind of fella would admit all that and let me look right into his heart. I’m not used to things like that. I liked it. I’ve been thinking of you a lot. It feels funny because I hardly know you at all, but I think if circumstances were different... well, I just mean to say that I think we’d have a chance. At what I don’t know, but I know we’d have one. That’s what I think about when I’ve been having bad days. I wonder what it would be like if I could meet you, what we would talk about and what we would do. Well, I feel like a real Dumb Dora for saying all that. I just feel like I can be honest with you, because where’s the harm?

(I also wish there could be a bit of harm because then that would mean our chance was more real...)

Anyway, I’m sorry if I’ve taken up too much of your time or if this was a waste of a drawer, but I think I just needed to say all that to you. Something this wonderful and strange has never happened to me before.

With love,
Pamela Morgan Beesly

Jim sat down at the desk and couldn’t stop smiling. Something about her saying that they would have had a chance made him feel light and giddy. It was a bittersweet feeling, however, as realization sank deeply in. They were obviously cut from the same cloth, but what did it matter? She couldn’t travel forward in time any more than he could travel backward. Even so, thinking about her thinking of him made Jim feel a little better. If he got nothing else out of this crazy, wonderful experience, he had connected with someone. The only problem was that the only thing he would have to show for it were some pieces of paper. It wasn’t like he could tell anyone about it. Not even Dwight would believe him.

He stared down at one of the blank pieces of stationery paper, but his heart was too heavy for him to write. He wanted to say the perfect thing back to Pam to let her know how he felt, but all he could think of was this whole thing coming to an end.

While he was trying to think of what to say, a new idea popped into his head. He got up from the desk and went to the hall closet to retrieve a photo album. He flipped through it until he came across a photo of him that an ex-girlfriend had taken: he was standing in the courthouse square on a chilly winter morning, a big black jacket wrapped around him and a warm smile on his face. He took the photo from the album and placed it on the desk next to the blank piece of stationery paper.

He picked up the pen and began writing his reply.

Dear Pam,

I’ve been trying to think of the perfect things to say to you. I feel a connection with you even though we’ve never met. Believe me - nothing you can write can ruin what we have. I think this has gone beyond us being able to ruin it. I would say it’s a near-perfect situation (I’m sure you can figure out why it’s only near). I hope I can bring a little love into your life, even if it’s only through words. You’ve brought a lot into my life. I’m not used to this. But I believe in it. I believe we’ve got something honest here. I just wish we had more time (or maybe less of it between us). I’m glad you’re thinking about me.

I’m glad you think I’m interesting. I was worried I would bore you. Selling paper doesn’t really give you a lot of good stories to tell. My boss is sort of crazy, but I would need another eighty years just to talk about him and I don’t think that’s how I want to spend our time.

I’m glad you enjoyed college. For me the experience wasn’t exactly anything to write about, but I bet our experiences are completely different there. And probably with almost everything else too. Maybe the only thing we have in common is our feelings... but I think that’s okay. Even people I’ve known my whole life don’t understand the way I feel in the way that you seem to. I’ve been having a hard time trying to think of what to say to you. I feel like I need to say everything I’ve ever thought or felt in my entire life and then I feel like I could just say one sentence and you would understand. Even though I’d like to be a writer, I guess I have trouble with words.

Maybe we should each make a promise. I promise to take a chance and try to become a writer if you promise to take more chances in general (you said you don’t take enough - this will be your motivation!). Maybe you can do something with your art? It’s up to you. I just think if we’re going to change each other’s lives, we shouldn’t just sit around. Promise me that you won’t give up on anything that means something to you. I think if we both do that then it’ll be easier to think about each other. We’ll be happy. Maybe. I hope. I wish this had happened a little differently. I don’t think I’d mind living in 1924.

I think we would have had a chance, too.

I’ll check the drawer again in a week.

With love,
Jim Halpert

He tucked the letter and his photo into the envelope and sighed.

Jim mailed the envelope in the morning before work and spent the entire day thinking about it. Something this amazing just begged to be talked about, but who would listen? Nobody would believe him. It wasn’t like he could call up one of his friends and explain that he was finally falling in love... with a woman from 1924. He couldn’t even explain why he was so sure that he was falling in love. Maybe, he reasoned, that’s how you know it’s falling in love - because it doesn’t make any sense. It’s probably the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

When he returned home from work, he found Mrs. Castellani outside, collecting her mail. She insisted that he join them for dinner again and Jim agreed. If anything, it would help keep his mind off the desk.

After dinner, Mrs. Castellani brewed some coffee and sat down at the table. “Jim, are you sure you don’t want anything else to eat? There’s plenty of leftovers.”

Jim patted his stomach. “Really, I’m full. Thanks though.”

“Okay,” Mrs. Castellani replied. Jim could tell by her tone that she was going to send him home with a plate of leftovers.

Jim got an idea. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“Sure,” Mr. Castellani said. “Anything.”

“Well, I was wondering if you knew anything about what Scranton was like in the 1920s.”

“Not much,” Mr. Castellani replied. “Both of us were just babies then. Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, uh... my niece is doing a project,” Jim lied. “I told her I’d ask the smartest people I know.”

“Oh, flattery,” Mrs. Castellani said, smiling. “I could get used to that.”

Jim smiled. “I aim to please.”

“You know,” Mr. Castellani said, “I think I actually might have something that might help you. My mother was a real shutterbug when she was younger. I think I may have some of her photo albums in the closet, would you like to look at them?”

“That’d be great,” Jim said.

Mr. Castellani got up from the table and disappeared into the next room.

“He loves looking at those pictures,” Mrs. Castellani said. “He used to take a lot of pictures himself, until that old camera of his broke. He never bought himself a new one for some reason.”

Mr. Castellani came back into the kitchen, his arms laden with photo albums. He set them on the table then pulled an album with a beat-up brown leather cover from the pile. He placed it in front of Jim and said, “There ya go. Those are my mother’s photos from when I was small.”

“Thanks, Mr. Castellani,” Jim said. He ran his hand over the album’s cover then flipped it open.

Most of the photos showed signs of their age, but the pictures were still clear. Mr. Castellani’s mother had documented everything from the family’s first house to weddings to children’s birthday parties, and even simple things like flowers or trees. A few pages in the album were dedicated to the streets of Scranton. Jim stared at the street photos for a long time, imagining Pam walking down these streets. He wondered what her house had looked like then and if it was still there now. He knew the address by heart.

He closed the photo album. “Thanks. That was really great. I wish I could’ve seen what Scranton looked like back then. You know, with my own eyes.”

“You want to take the albums with you?” Mr. Castellani asked. “You can let your niece look over them and then bring them back.”

“Sure, thanks,” Jim said. He stood and collected the albums in his arms. “I think she’ll really like this.”

Jim said good-bye to the Castellanis then took the photo albums up to his apartment. He set them carefully on the desk before grabbing his keys and leaving the apartment again.

He wasn’t sure why he wanted to see the house. It wasn’t like she still lived there. But he had to see. He just had to know. He drove down North Washington Avenue until he found the right house. He parked across the street and rolled down the window.

The house was big, way bigger than the house he had grown up in. It was obvious from the size and construction of the house that it had been built in a time when people put more thought into their homes and didn’t just plop a condo down on a piece of land. Six stone steps led up to a large front porch and there were windows all over. Whoever lived there didn’t want for sunlight, that was for sure. There had been some modern additions to the outside and it appeared that the house had been made into a duplex, and rather sloppily.

Jim wouldn’t tell Pam about this. He doubted that she’d like to know that someone came along and tore her family home literally in half.

He sat there for fifteen minutes, just staring up at the house and wondering why the universe played games as cruel as these.

For the rest of the week Jim passed his time by looking through Mr. Castellani’s photo albums. Most of the photos had been taken by Mr. Castellani’s mother, but the last two albums were photos that Mr. Castellani had obviously taken himself. Jim wondered if he would ever feel like taking pictures of things like this. He had never really felt like his life was worth documenting. After all, nothing extraordinary had ever happened to him before.

After night had fallen on the city, Jim stood in front of the desk. He took a deep breath and opened the third drawer. Inside was an envelope with his name written on it in that now all too familiar handwriting.

He took the envelope from the drawer and opened it.

March 30, 1924

Dearest Jim,

Is that you? Am I finally laying my eyes on my mystery man from the future? I haven’t been able to stop looking at the photo. I’ve hidden it in my pillow case and I’ve looked at it every night this week before I’ve gone to sleep. I can barely believe it. You said you were worried about saying perfect words to me, but that photo said everything I wanted to hear. Your smile is wonderful. I think you’re the cat’s pajamas, Jim.

I feel so funny saying these things to someone I’ve never met, but… I’m goofy over you Jim. I don’t know why I’m admitting that. I mean, I could certainly lie to you and say I think we’d make great friends, but truthfully I think we’d make a great pair together, in another way. It just hurts to know that. Because I do know it - I really believe it to be true and that may be crazy, but I like believing it’s true. Our experiences may be different but I don’t think that matters. There’s something different about each of us, something that only the other would understand. I don’t mean to be so… honest, I suppose, but I feel like I need to be. You’re the first person who I’ve told all my secrets to and I’ve never kept anything from you. I like how that makes me feel. I’m much more used to people not caring how I feel. I could get used to having someone who genuinely wants to know what I’m thinking or how my day was… but I suppose I shouldn’t get used to that. We don’t have forever with each other and I don’t know how I could find you. I suppose this will just have to be one of those things I carry around, another little secret for myself.

I’ve been painting more. I try to do something every night. I feel more inspired than I ever have. I promise I won’t give up on things that mean something to me. I’ll take more chances in my life. It’s going to be scary, but I’ll do it. I think as long as I have your picture, I can take chances. I think it’s something in your eyes. I wouldn’t mind it if you lived in 1924 either. Actually, I think I’d like that a lot.

I think I’m going to make some changes in my life. I’ve been thinking about what you said about just sitting around. Life won’t change that way. The change has to come from me. I think I’ve just always been afraid to be different and take the chance. But not anymore. I’ve made a promise to you, so I have to keep it. I don’t want you to think I’m all wet. You can trust me. I have a feeling I can trust you too.

I think what we’ve got here is the Real McCoy.

with Love,
Pam

Jim smiled and read the letter again. He wasn’t used to this sort of honesty. It was incredibly refreshing, but heartbreakingly bittersweet. He could imagine tiptoeing through weeks or months of flirtation with her before they got comfortable enough to tell each other their secrets, but he knew they didn’t have that kind of time. That was why Pam was rushing to make her feelings known - it was always in the back of her head that they only had two more chances. They had to make things as perfect as they could be. He wasn’t used to putting himself out there like this, but he couldn’t afford to walk on eggshells. For the first time in his life, he felt time was of the essence.

He took a deep breath and began writing.

Dear Pam,

I’m glad perfect words don’t mean everything to you, because I can barely think of anything to write. I wish I had forever to say these things to you. Hopefully I pick the right words. I know you don’t care how it sounds as long as it’s honest… but, honestly, I want it to be perfect for you. Hopefully that picture will be able to talk to you for as long as you need it to. Maybe you can find the courage you need there. I think you’re ready to take your chances. I’m going to start taking mine. After I mail this letter, I’m going to enroll in some writing classes. Maybe they’ll make me a better letter writer. I guess I can hope for that, right? I just wish we had more time for you to be impressed by something like that. I don’t think I’ll find someone else quite like you. It feels strange to say because obviously I can’t prove it, but… I feel it.

It’s probably selfish to want more from this amazing experience, but how can I help it? I never believed in… well, much of anything. I still can’t believe this is real, and I think what makes it more unbelievable is the fact that I truly can’t prove any of it happened. I hope I don’t wake up to find this is a dream. I would hate for the best thing to ever happen to me to be a dream. It seems like it should be, but maybe everybody deserves at least one miracle?

I wish I had forever to get to know you. I want to know everything about you. I want to help you change your life. But how can I? I guess I can only hope that I can manage to change your life in the way that I’m sure you’ll change mine.

I don’t mind being your secret. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.

And I hope that, maybe, one day, we can find another little miracle. Maybe we’ll find each other again someday. I’d like to believe something like that can happen. I guess until that happens, I’ll just say that I want you to be happy, no matter what.

Love,
Jim

He folded up the letter and slipped it into one of the few remaining envelopes. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. It was nearly 3am, but he didn’t feel like sleep. He couldn’t put Pam from his mind.

He looked at the two remaining desk drawers and frowned.

He sighed and rested his forehead on the desktop. “It isn’t fair.”

Jim’s week had been rough. Michael had been particularly annoying, the landlord had raised the rent, and he had an awkward run-in with Anne at the grocery store. He had apologized, but when she pressed for an explanation all he could offer was that “it was complicated.” She took this about as well as he had expected she would and walked away from him. He felt bad, but didn’t take it as a major loss. After all, he told himself, it wasn’t like he was losing his soulmate. In fact, he was fairly certain that he would never even have the chance to meet his soulmate. That thought alone was enough to ruin more than just his week.

After Jim returned home from shopping, he put his groceries away then sat down at the desk. He glanced at the clock before pulling the fifth drawer open. As usual, an envelope with his name on it was waiting for him.

He opened it carefully and read.

April 6, 1924

My dearest Jim,

I couldn’t help but notice that you signed your last letter “Love.” I stared at that word for a long while before I took out your photo, then I looked at that for a long while. I felt so much. I don’t think there’s enough paper or words in the world to explain just what was going through my mind. I think I felt every human emotion and maybe some new ones besides. I don’t know what to think or say. I wonder if you meant it seriously or if I’m only hoping you had, but no matter the case, I need to say this to you while I still have the chance, Jim:

I’ve fallen in love with you.

I didn’t know that it was possible to fall in love with a man you’ve never met and never will meet, but it is. And it’s beautiful. And it’s painful. I’m sure that you were meant to be with me and I with you, but some terrible accident happened along the way and we got separated. You are the man I thought didn’t exist. Why can’t you be here with me? Why can’t I be there with you? Through this short time, you’ve given me so much. Including courage. So, I have to tell you: I called off my wedding. Because of you. Of course, no one else knows exactly why. I told Roy that I was canceling the wedding because I wasn’t in love with him anymore (which is not a lie - we are not the same people we used to be), and he actually said to me: “Well, what sort of reason is that to call off a wedding?” And I knew then that I could never regret that decision. What is life without love? My family is upset and I’m not sure that my father will speak to me any time before I’ve got gray hairs, but it’s worth it. I haven’t been happy. You have made me happy. I will continue to chase this feeling.

I only hope that you feel the same. If you don’t, I can try to understand. It’s just… well, you are “enough” for me, Jim. And then some. You are helping me to change my life. You have become the voice in my heart. You have helped me more than I can ever say.

I wish I had forever with you. Maybe one day I will. I know that we will find each other again someday. Something like this, people like us - it’s meant to be. It has to be.

Please always know that you have helped me become who I needed to be, and remember that I love you.

Love, Always Yours,
Pam

Jim reread the letter at least a dozen times. He couldn’t believe it. She loved him. She had said it was strange to love someone you had never meant, but he understood completely because he was utterly convinced that he had fallen in love with her as well.

He wasn’t sure if he would be able to find the right words, but he picked the pen up anyway.

My Pam,

I signed my letter that way on purpose. You’re not the only one who has fallen in love. I feel weird admitting that I’ve fallen for somebody that I’ve never met, but I think you understand. It’s kind of like falling in love with a shadow. But I think it’s better to have the shadow of love than nothing at all. I wish I was with you. All I can say is that if I ever find a time machine, my first stop will be 1924.

I wish I could hold your hand and help you. I know it must have been hard to call off the wedding and dealing with your family is going to be tough, but I’m proud of you. You took a chance and you’re doing something for yourself. You deserve it. You deserve love in your life. Please don’t ever feel like you don’t. I want you to be happy. You may go through some hard times, but when you do, just look at my photo and know that I’m pulling for you. Remember that there’s at least one person in this crazy universe who only wants the best for you and supports you 100%, even if he can’t be there in person to tell you. I’m not saying that this thought is going to make your hard times feel painless, but it’s a nice thing to think. I think about you when I’ve had a hard day and it gets me by. Hopefully I can do the same for you.

I kept my promise - I enrolled in those writing classes. It’s nothing compared to what you have done, but we’re both making changes. I like that. I don’t think I’m the same person that I was when I first found your letter, so thank you. You’ve helped turn me into someone I never thought I could be. I wish I could show you just how I’ve changed. And I’d like to see how you’ve changed. Well. I’d just like to see you.

Who knows if I’ll get the chance to say this again, so: I love you.

I love you.

You deserve it hear it more than once. You deserve to hear it every day. I wish I could be the one to do that for you.

I’ll be thinking about you.

Love,
Jim

He stared at his letter and wondered if he should add more. Finally, he sighed and stuck the letter into an envelope.

As he pressed down on the envelope to seal it, he said quietly, “She’ll know.”

Jim took the next week off work and spent most of his days downstairs with Mrs. Castellani, talking about life and love. On the first day he thought very briefly about telling her the story, but he knew that even a romantic like her wouldn’t believe him. Instead, he made up a few white lies that allowed him to talk honestly and openly with her.

At the end of the week, they were sitting in the living room, drinking tea and waiting for Mr. Castellani to get home from his Knights of Columbus meeting, when Jim decided to again bring up the subject of love.

Mrs. Castellani switched the television channel and picked up her knitting. “You know, Fred will be home soon. You can go have some fun.”

“No, I like sitting with you,” Jim said. “Besides, I don’t really feel like going out tonight.”

“Is something bothering you?” Mrs. Castellani asked. “You haven’t seemed yourself lately.”

Jim shrugged. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I... sort of broke up with somebody. Not really because we wanted to, but, uh, she was moving pretty far away, so it just wasn’t going to work.”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Castellani said. “But you know what they say - everything happens for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Jim said softly. After a moment, he continued, “How did you know you wanted to marry Mr. Castellani?”

Mrs. Castellani chuckled. “Well, it was… well, I don’t know. I mean, I was in love with him. He wasn’t like the other boys I had dated. We just had something special.”

“Do you think you can have that something special with more than one person?” Jim asked.

“I suppose,” Mrs. Castellani replied. “But I think that there’s that one person out there for everyone. There can be a lot of second bests, sure, and you can make it work with them, but… well, I don’t know. I’m just an old lady who’s old fashioned.”

“I like old fashioned,” Jim said.

Mrs. Castellani smiled and patted his knee. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll find her.”

“I hope so,” Jim replied quietly.

Later, after Mr. Castellani returned home, Jim went back to his apartment and sat at the desk. As he reached for the handle of the final drawer, he felt sick to his stomach. He figured that Pam would write him a final good-bye, pages and pages of flowing words about love and loss.

When he slid the drawer open, he got a surprise. There was no envelope in the drawer. Instead, he found a photograph. He lifted it carefully out of the drawer and looked at it closely.

A young woman with curly hair, about his age, was smiling brightly at him. She was sitting on an old bench with ornately carved legs. Her hair was piled neatly on top of her head, leaving her delicate neck exposed, and she wore a fat string of pearls. Long, matching earrings brushed against her jaw. Her dress was simple and hung about her loosely but didn’t hide her figure. Her slender legs were crossed at the ankles, her right foot rubbing at the back of her left, and a large Casablanca lily rested in her lap. Her graceful fingers gripped at the edge of the bench as he imagined they might also curl around a paintbrush. Her eyes sparkled like she was sharing a secret with him.

On the bottom of the photograph was her familiar handwriting: I’ll never forget.

Jim traced his index finger along her face and handwriting. He couldn’t believe this was the end. What was he going to do with himself now?

He carefully set the photo down and opened the first drawer. He was out of stationery, envelopes and stamps, but he still had the pen. He took out a piece of paper from a pack he had stolen from work and pressed the pen to the paper.

The pen wouldn’t write.

Jim shook the pen and tried again. Nothing. It was out of ink. He clenched his jaw and threw the pen down.

He took a few deep breaths then picked up the photo again.

He spoke to the photo, “Everything happens for a reason.”

Four months after he opened the last drawer, while he was out shopping for a new frame for the photo Pam had given him, Jim realized that she had one last opportunity to communicate with him.

He purchased a frame and drove back to his apartment, his mind buzzing with excitement.

While he framed the photo and hung it on the wall above the desk, he told himself not to get too excited. Maybe Pam hadn’t come to the same conclusion as he had, maybe the idea had never come to her, or maybe she had dismissed it. She had had the rest of her life to forget about him and his letters. He liked to believe that she always slept with his photo in her pillow case, but he knew that was asking a lot. A lot of life can happen in fifty years.

He thought briefly of going to the historical society or the library to try and look her up and see what she had done with her life, but he was too afraid. He knew he couldn’t bear to see her life broken down to “she was born, and she died.” Or worse, what if she hadn’t been happy?

A week after his realization, he had made progress. There was only one logical step left, and he decided that today would be the day.

To calm his nerves, Jim sat in front of the desk and stared up at the photo. He thought for a moment before pulling open the first drawer of the desk. He pulled out a crisp new sheet of paper and an ordinary Bic pen, then began writing.

Dear Pam,

I know this won’t reach you, but I hope you know:

You were loved.

He folded the letter without signing it then tucked it into an envelope and sealed it. He stood, slid the envelope into his back pocket, and grabbed his keys.

The cemetery was quiet and hushed, as if the universe had intended to mould their last private moment. Jim wandered for hours, inspecting each grave marker carefully for any indication that he was in the right spot.

Finally, as dusk was settling, he found it. It was rather unassuming and a cluster of leaves were covering most of it, but he was sure he had found her.

PAMELA MORGAN BEESLY
1897 - 1977

He carefully brushed away the leaves, and found a phrase inscribed underneath the dates:

I NEVER FORGOT.

Jim smiled sadly and pulled the envelope from his pocket then gingerly set it next to the marker.

“Neither will I,” he said softly.

After a few mishaps and an awkward incident with a caterer, Mark’s wedding finally happened and Jim acted as best man. The ceremony was nice (and thankfully short) but Jim couldn’t help feel a little depressed throughout the whole thing. Something was still missing in his life, and it didn’t matter how many times he reread Pam’s letters or looked at her picture. He was still having a hard time trying to piece everything together. The writing classes he enrolled in were helpful, but they turned out to be more painful than he anticipated because all of his main characters turned out to be thinly veiled caricatures of Pam. He wondered when he’d get over feeling this way.

During the wedding reception, he spent a lot of time by the bar with some of his and Mark’s old college buddies. They rehashed memories and talked about what they had been doing with themselves. None of it was particularly interesting, but Jim was grateful for the distraction.

Mark joined them, smiling brightly. He clapped Jim on the shoulder and said, “How are we doing here?”

“Brad was just reminding us about that time you got drunk and streaked across campus,” Jim replied, smiling.

Mark laughed and shook his head. “No, that definitely wasn’t me. In fact, I don’t remember such a thing happening. Certainly a young and responsible guy like me would never do something like that.”

The rest of the guys laughed loudly.

“Campus safety chased you in a golf cart!” Brad said.

“Nope, must’ve been some other guy,” Mark said and winked. “Hey, Jim, can I ask you something?”

Jim nodded. “Sure, what?”

Mark motioned for Jim to follow him and led him a few feet away from the bar. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing good,” Jim said. “Why?”

“Well, you’ve been pretty bummed lately,” Mark said. “I mean, you’re still upset about that girl, are you?”

“Anne?” Jim said. “No. That was over months ago.”

“Okay, good,” Mark said, “because if you were still hung up on her, I might feel bad about the favor I’m going to ask you.”

Jim looked at him skeptically and Mark continued, “Okay, so, one of Janette’s friends from work is here and since nobody else from the office showed up, she doesn’t really have anyone to talk to, and she’s a really nice girl, so we were hoping you would -”

“Mark, I don’t know,” Jim interrupted. “I’m sure she’s really nice, but I’m just not -”

“I didn’t say you had to get married,” Mark said. “Just talk to her. That’s all I want. I would have asked one of the other guys, but... well, you know how they are. Come on. I promise it’s not going to kill you.”

Jim sighed. “Fine.”

Mark grinned. “Okay, great. I’m going to send her over to the bar.”

Jim nodded and Mark walked off. When Jim walked back to the bar, he saw that his friends had wandered over to the dance floor to make fools of themselves. He smirked and shook his head then turned back around to the bartender. “Can I get another beer?”

After a few minutes, Jim heard a voice behind him. “Um, excuse me? Are you Jim?”

“Yeah,” Jim said and turned around. “Hi. You must be -”

When Jim saw the woman who Mark had sent over, he forgot how to speak. He wasn’t even sure that he could remember how to breathe.

“Pam,” she said. She put out her hand. “Pam Worley. Nice to meet you.”

“Worley. Right.” Jim nodded dumbly and shook her hand. “Y-Yeah. Like-Likewise.”

“Mark didn’t mention how articulate you were,” Pam said and smiled.

Jim closed his eyes and laughed. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. She was still there, so he hoped it wasn’t a dream.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I guess I used up my vocabulary during the toast.”

“It was a good toast,” she said. She moved to stand next to him and leaned against the bar.

“Thanks,” Jim replied. “So, you work with Janette?”

“Yeah,” Pam said. “I’m in the art department.”

Jim smiled. “That’s good. I mean, that seems interesting.”

“I like it,” she said. She watched people dance for a moment, then turned to Jim and said, “Please don’t feel obligated that you have to make small talk with me. I know Janette just felt bad that there weren’t more people here from work that I could talk to.”

“Not at all,” Jim assured her.

“Okay,” Pam said. “But if I get annoying or you decide you hate me, feel free to just, like, walk away or whatever.”

“Oh, I’m not walking away from this,” Jim said. He blushed and added, “This conversation, I mean.”

The corner of Pam’s mouth quirked up. “Right. Well, what do you do, Jim?”

“I sell paper,” Jim replied. “It’s even more boring than it sounds. I die of boredom at least five times a day.”

“Hmm,” Pam said. “Maybe you need someone to rescue you.”

Jim smiled and met her gaze. “I definitely do.”

Pam grinned and looked down at the floor. After a moment, she looked back up at him, “And what do you do when you’re not selling paper or dying of boredom?”

“Well, I started taking some writing classes,” he told her. “These days I spend most of my free time writing.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to hang out at a wedding reception with a writer.”

Jim drew a checkmark in the air with his index finger. “Well, cross that one off your list.”

Pam laughed and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I guess I can.” She paused then asked, “This might sound weird, but... have we ever met before? Ever since we’ve been talking I’ve felt like I know you from somewhere.”

“No,” Jim answered, smiling softly. “We’ve never met.”

Pam nodded then turned to look at the dance floor. She smiled widely and pointed to Mark, who was dancing wildly out of sync with the music. “Wow, look at him go.”

Jim turned to see what she was looking at. “Wow. But I won’t criticize Mark’s dancing because he really did me a favor here.”

He turned back to Pam and smiled.

Pam raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Absolutely,” Jim said, nodding. He offered her his hand and said, “Do you want to dance?”

Pam smiled and took his hand. “Absolutely.”

While they danced, Jim grinned and said, “Wow. You are... such a dorky dancer.”

“You must be mistaken,” Pam said and winked at him. “I’m the cat’s meow, don’t ya know.”

Jim smiled softly.

He had never believed in magic... until now.