"And you stood at your door with your hands on my waist, and you kissed me like you meant it. And I knew, that you meant it."

First dates generally can be nerve wracking. Sweaty palms, a quivering stomach, trembling knees... All came with the territory of being in such close contact with someone that could potentially be one of three things- a friend; a foe; the person you never want to live without again.

She was pretty confident that he was the third one.
Pam had been on exactly three first dates in her entire life. Roy, when she was sixteen. Jeff Davis, when she was seventeen and she and Roy had broken up for two weeks. And Ben, the cartoonist that Kelly had set her up with when Jim was in Stamford. Three first dates. Two with men she didn't think she'd ever recognize again on the street. One with a man that she'd loved, that she'd planned a life with, that she'd been engaged to.

Three first dates.

It kind of explained why when Jim poked his head into the conference room, asking simply if she was free for dinner that evening, her heart started to race, her palms became moist, her eyes welled with tears, and she nearly collapsed under the weight of her own joy and fear.

Her fourth first date. With a man she'd longed for since she was with the man who'd been her first, first date.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared in surprise back at Dan and Melissa, the director and cameraman in the conference room with her. Their faces were alive with smiles, radiating excitement. And she was terrified.

**********

It's amazing when one is getting ready for a first date how much care and effort goes into looking perfect. Of course, when dating a new individual, one tries to keep their appearance as perfect as possible. But for that first time - for that first time that he was going to come to her apartment, ring her doorbell, and pick her up in his new Saab - For that first time that he was going to take her to a restaurant, for that first time they were going to sit across from one another as something that could realistically, potentially be more than friends - For that first time that he was going to bring her home, maybe he'd come in for coffee, maybe he'd kiss her goodnight... That first time needed to be perfection.

Pam found herself standing in her bedroom approximately seventeen minutes after she'd clocked out for the day, pulling on a simple black, cotton skirt, shorter than the ones she normally wore to work. She had no idea where they were going, going only on Jim's quick, "I'll pick you up at 6:30?" question, but Lord, she needed to look perfect for this night.

It was a worrying feel, the not knowing. What had happened with Karen? Should she dress in slacks instead of the skirt, maybe pull on a well fitting jacket and straighten her hair? Was that what he wanted? Should she wear a shorter skirt, one that Kelly had begged her to buy one afternoon at Macys that she'd never dared to drag out of her bureau? He was what she wanted. But what was he thinking right now? Should she go all out sexy? No, no, that wasn't her. The slacks weren't either. This was becoming a problem.

Maybe... Maybe he just wanted her, too.

So. Black skirt that was a good inch above the tops of her kneecaps, that flared out with a flirty lace edging. She slid on a push up bra under a pale green v-necked, short sleeved sweater, and attacked her hair with a big curling iron. She carefully applied her makeup, smoothed lotion on her legs, slid on black pumps, and sat to wait. Which seemed surreal. To be sitting on her sofa, dressed in an outfit to please the man she wanted so badly. She briefly contemplated rushing back into her bedroom to change into an outfit more like what his (maybe current??) girlfriend wore, when the doorbell rang.

**********

Her hands shook as she opened the door. He stood with his hands at his sides, his hair short. He was still wearing the suit from that morning, but he'd lost the tie, and had unbuttoned the first button of his white oxford shirt. It took everything in her not to launch herself into his arms, to squeeze him tight, to kiss him, to remind him that he'd once loved her. To remind him that maybe he did still love her.

Instead, she stood with her hand on the doorjamb, and softly whispered, "Hi."

He grinned. A smile she felt like she hadn't seen in months. "Hi," He replied.

And she couldn't stop herself.

She stepped towards him, her hand going to rest in the center of his chest. They stood so closely - much closer than they had in months, and she searched his eyes for answers. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowed, as if he didn't know what to say back to her, silently with his own eyes.

Knowing he was scared... Seeing the pleading look on his face. Understanding exactly how he was feeling without saying a word.

She stood before him and slid her other hand up to cup the back of his head, bringing it down to hers, so close she could feel his breath on her lips. His eyes were wide with surprise, but they crinkled up like the smile that registered on his face. And she kissed him.

**********

A first kiss is something special. Of course she'd kissed him once before, at the Dundies, but this time was different. A first kiss of being completely sober, of having (maybe) nothing standing in the way of their wanting to be together. A first kiss of begging and wanting and willing to give everything.

And that was what that kiss was.

Her lips found his soft and aching as his hands found her hips, dragging her closer to him, pressed right up against him, the heat of his body threading itself into her. It was new, but it was oddly familiar.

They stood locked by their mouths for what felt like a long time. Until she realized they were standing like loons in the doorway of her apartment. When she pulled back, she smiled gently at the redness of his lips, of the flush of his cheeks, of the shock and awe on his face.

She put his hand in hers and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them. And she kissed him like she meant it.

“My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me. So won’t you kill me, so I die happy.”

If wishes were pennies, he'd have thousands of dollars stashed away somewhere, hidden covertly under the floorboards of his house. And under his heart.

If prayers were quarters, he'd have been a millionaire during that summer, attributing his wealth to the days right in the beginning of June. Specifically the 1st through the 9th.

And if aching stares and silent pleas and private tears were dollars, he'd have been the richest man in the world.

But it would have all been worthless. Because he still didn't have the one thing that meant something to him.

And now he found himself driving down the interstate breaking at least 7 different traffic laws, having left his girlfriend somewhere on 8th Avenue in front of a goddamn fountain, with a stupid piece of tin foil in his hand and a phrase in his head that kept reverberating since she’s stood in front of him and a bonfire. “I called off my wedding because of you… and I miss you”. She missed him. She missed him. She MISSED him. What the hell??

It was funny to him how they never seemed to be on the same page. Ever. She’d been with Roy, and then he’d been in Stamford and then with Karen, and she’d dated that Ben kid that Kelly had set her up with but he didn’t think she’d even really liked that guy, but they’d never gotten it together enough to finally sit down and say “fuck all of the problems and fuck everyone else – we need to be together.” When that’s all he’d ever thought in the first place.

Just a few weeks prior, the morning after the Beach Day, he’d woken up with Karen’s head crushing his bicep, and he’d stared down at her sharp, but careful features and he’d willed himself to love her. Because she deserved that love. She deserved the love that he’d been keeping inside of him, locked away for a curly haired receptionist who he’d never believed in his actual wildest dreams would ever return those feelings. She deserved the love that he’d been aching to give, she deserved the love that he had been so cautious about giving to anyone because it was so special and so delicate and it needed to be handled with care. He’d given it to Pam and she’d set it down on his desk, not throwing it back at him because that’s not who she was, but eased it down his throat with unshed tears and hushed voices and apologies and a single nod to the question he’d been terrified to ask since that damn cruise. “Are you really going to marry him?” And she was.

But Karen? Karen had been his. Body, mind, heart, soul. He had her in the palm of his hand, and he could keep it to himself forever and try to be happy, but it was when he saw it multiplying into something he didn’t recognize that he didn’t know which direction to go. He had her in the palm of his hand. Because she was braver than him. Because she wanted him to have everything.

But he shied away from it. Because everything he was, was so wrapped up in everything he’d ever wanted. And everything he’d ever wanted was staring at him longingly from reception – he could feel her gaze on the back of his neck like a bee sting – while his girlfriend grinned at him over her computer.

It was exhausting.

But then there was Beach Day, and she stood in front of him wearing that sweatshirt over her polka dotted bathing suit, and her hair up in a ponytail, and she looked so young and so vulnerable and she said those words… Those words that he’d been waiting to hear since he’d started at Dunder Mifflin Paper, and he hated that as soon as she said them, he was almost ready to just stand up and take her in his arms and kiss the hell out of her. But that would have been too easy. So he went to see her, and they’d hugged simply, and she’d asked him to come back, whatever the hell that meant anymore, and he’d gone home with Karen. Back to her place. They’d been quiet all night, but when they fell asleep, they talked in their movement. Her rolling closer towards him, him shifting closer to the edge of the bed. Her head smothered his shoulder and his chest and his arm, but the spiked feeling of numbness in those pieces of his body didn’t reflect an ounce of the ache he felt in the very center of him – in the unique way his heart beat in his chest.

They’d never talked about what Pam had said, just let it lie low, and when they got to New York and they were crossing the street and Karen had said that she’d move to that great big city just to be with him and how they could never be in Scranton because of the one too many people there, he’d bit the inside of his cheek and wondered if she was right. They could never been OK in Scranton because there were one too many people there. But who’s to say who that one too many was.

He was ready for the interview, completely mentally prepared when he realized who the one too many was. And he realized that being with the other was where he needed to be.

So he’d went to find Karen, and he looked at her, his eyes searching hers, but not knowing what to say. He actually had no idea what he said, it came out as a jumble of “I’m sorry” and “I can’t be here” and “This isn’t what I want – this life isn’t what I want”. And he left her, anger in her eyes, her fists shaking, his heart pounding and his legs numb, back to Scranton.

He’d raced back to Dunder Mifflin and he’d seen her through the thick glass of the conference room, and not even thinking about the fact that she was being interviewed, he’d come in, glancing quickly Dan and Melissa, but then into the surprised face of the woman who’d had him in the palm of his hand since they’d met years earlier. The words tumbled from his mouth, and all he’d seen was her bright smile and the tears lingering in the corners of her eyes and her lips – god, those lips – forming the word, “yes”, and it was all he needed to know.

He’d said he would pick her up at 6:30, and he went to the park down the street to mentally recuperate from the afternoon. God, what had he done? He’d given up a great job (of course, it wasn’t his yet… But he could assume he’d have gotten it). He’d given up a great girlfriend (of course, he hadn’t even had the courage to give her all of him… But he could assume she’d have taken it). And now he was sitting in the dugout of a local pee-wee baseball park, his head in his hands, worry and frustration and cowardice and shame and hurt running through his veins. But then he’d glanced up and all he could picture was her smiling face, the joy and hope and trust and elation and it overpowered every little worry. It quenched every little fear. It soothed every pain. And he needed to go to her.

He’d stood outside of her door for a solid ten minutes before he’d gathered enough nerve in his body to raise his hand to ring the doorbell. He’d had every possible scenario race through his head in those quiet moments. Maybe she’d throw him out. Maybe they’d laugh, and decide that they were just friends. Maybe she’d throw him against the door and kiss him like she meant it and let him know that the past was the past and that her future was his. And oh man, how he prayed in those final moments that, that last one would be the right development.

When she opened the door, his breath caught in his throat in how beautiful she’d looked. Her hair was set on fire from the setting sun behind her, her eyes were shiny. It was as if everything in his world had collapsed in that moment, as if she was the only person on the face of the planet who knew him. She had him in the palms of her hands and in the creases of her smile and in the curve of her jaw. She had him on the smooth pads of her fingertips and in the scar on her left knee and between the taut muscle of her shoulder blades. She had him inside of her. He wanted all of her, he ached for all of her, and every cell of his body begged for her.

This was it. This was the moment. This was the defining instant in his life, where he had to either go one way or another. He was stuck at the crossroads, at the proverbial fork in the road, and this was the final decision. Left or right. Yes or no. Karen or Pam. His mind raced as her eyes sought his, searching his, looking for her own answers. His hope grew in depth, and he could feel the heat that radiated off of her small frame and this was the moment. One push and she could have killed him dead. But what a way to go.

“Hi,” She’d said, almost shyly.

“Hi.”

It was strange how two letters could be so achingly hard to exit his mouth.

He saw her come towards him, and he felt the electric touch of her palm against his chest, and that feeling spread as she cupped the back of his head, her fingers twisting in the short hair there. And when her lips came closer, when she pressed her lips to his, finally taking the chance, taking the moment into her own hands, this was what he’d wanted the entire time. For her to be the one to take the chance. For her to be the one to want it that badly.

He’d hoped. And he’d wished. And he’d prayed. He was hers. And he finally knew that she felt the same way. And that she meant it.