It took Pam a few minutes to regain her composure, before she could go back to the front desk. When she came out of the conference room, Jim was sitting at his desk, staring at his computer. He looked up, as he always did, when she passed, and smiled at her—just a little. She smiled back—just a little, and walked to her chair, the blood pounding in her ears. She sat down, then looked at the clock. Three-forty-five. How was she going to get through the next hour and fifteen minutes? And what was going to happen after that?

He strolled over just before four, trying just a little too hard to seem casual. She had been staring at her computer, aimlessly clicking files open and closed, for the past thirty minutes, except for the two times that the phone had rung. When she had dared to look over at his desk, he appeared to be doing the same. She glanced up as he got up, shoved hands in pockets, and wandered slowly in her direction.

“So…,” he said, crossing his arms on the counter,”…should we go from here? Or make it later…?”

“We could go from here,” she suggested, after a pause that she hoped wasn’t too brief “…before it gets too crowded…”

She didn’t think she could stand to wait until five, let alone later than that.

“Yeah, good point.” He nodded. “Maybe go for a drink first…don’t want to get the Early Bird Special.”

“Yeah,” she said, with a nervous giggle, peeking up at him at the end. She knew she was blushing.

“Okay, so see you at five then,” he said. He pushed off, and wandered back to his desk.

* * * * *

The next hour was the longest she had ever endured. At four-forty-five, she attempted to stroll to the bathroom, to make sure she looked halfway decent and primp as much as she could without being obvious.

At four-fifty-nine she looked up and saw him switch off his computer. She picked up the phone to put it on voicemail, picking up the few papers scattered on her desk with her other hand. People were already gathering up their stuff, eager to escape the office and enjoy what was left of the sunny afternoon.

He arrived at her desk as Phyllis and Meredith were passing. “Ready?” he murmured. She glanced up at him and her heart stopped for a second at the expression in his eyes.

They walked out in silence, then turned towards her car.

“Where should we go?” he asked. “Someplace where we’re not going to be…interrupted.”

She thought of Roy stomping into Poor Richard’s, or Michael exploding into Chili’s, or Karen….She bit her lip and nodded.

“There’s a place over near me—Newton’s? We can stay there and get something to eat if you want.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” She nodded emphatically. “Should I follow you?”

“Yeah, yeah, good.” He nodded too, stopped; opened his mouth, closed it again. “Okay, so I’ll see you over there.”

“Okay.” She fumbled for her keys.

* * * * *

On the drive over she tried not to think about what he was going to say. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. He might just be trying to break something to her gently. Still, he had said, “It’s a date.” That had to mean something, right? But maybe not. But….And around and around, all through a fifteen-minute drive that seemed to take another hour.

She stayed close behind Jim. He drove more slowly than usual and he seemed to be looking in his rearview mirror approximately every three seconds.

* * * * *

They parked side by side at the far end of the small lot behind the restaurant, under a drooping chestnut tree. He was out of his car and standing next to her door before she had collected her purse from the passenger seat.

“Okay?” he said as she got out, indicating the back entrance.

“Great,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

“It’s pretty nice,” he replied. “Not too crowded, not too rowdy. Decent food.”

“Do they have beer?” she asked, in possibly the lamest attempt at a joke ever.

“Um, yeah, I think so,” he responded with a little half-smile.

By this time they were at the door, which he opened for her, then plunged his hands back in his pockets and followed her inside.

They seated themselves at a table near an open window, and a waitress appeared before she had taken her coat off. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”

“Pam?” Jim asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Can I have whatever light beer is on tap, please?” she asked.

“Same for me, please,” Jim added.

“Since when do you drink light beer?” she asked curiously.

“Trying to watch those calories,” he joked, patting his stomach.

She looked at his hand. It occurred to her that this might be the first time that they had ever been really and truly alone—not a moment snatched in the office, always on the verge of being interrupted. Not in a bar with a bunch of other people. Still in a bar, yes, but just the two of them.

She looked up to find him staring at her. Flustered, she blurted out the question she’d prepared earlier.

“How was the interview?”

Nice and neutral.

“Well—“ he shifted in his seat “—it was an interesting day. We were all there together, waiting for our interviews. Michael was first, then Karen, then me….”

She listened, chin on hand, as he told her the whole story about Michael and Jan, trying to concentrate on what he was saying and respond appropriately, while taking the opportunity to just look and look and look at him. He was talking faster than usual, as if he was nervous.

“…so I finally got in there about an hour late.”

He paused for a swig of beer and she thought she should say something. “Wow.” She paused. “So then what happened?”

He took a deep breath. “So we went in, and made small talk, and then he started asking questions. And about the third question he asked was about my future—you know, where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?” He took another breath. “And I had a hard time answering him, because the only thing I could think about when I thought about my future was whether you were going to be in it.”

She sat frozen, not even sure she was breathing. He glanced at her, and hurried on. “So I managed—I think sort of gracefully—to say that had really made me think, and that actually I wasn’t sure a corporate job was where I saw myself. And then I withdrew my name from consideration, and I thanked him, and I left.” Another deep breath. “And then I met up with Karen, and told her I didn’t think we had a future, and…we had a pretty unpleasant conversation. And she decided to stay down there for the night, and I drove back up here. And here I am.” He rested his chin on his hand, fist over his mouth, and looked at her wide-eyed.

She knew she had to say something. “Wow,” she exhaled. Then she chose the least important of the crowd of questions jostling one another in her brain. “How did David take it?”

“He was pretty nice about it, actually. Said if I had cold feet it was better to be upfront about it now, that I could always try again later.”

“Cold feet,” she murmured.

“Mmmm,” he responded, looking at her. “I bet Karen will get the job. I feel pretty bad about Karen…from her perspective it looks really bad…but I thought what I was doing was okay. At least I think I thought that….I don’t know.”

“Maybe it isn’t really any different than what I did,” she said carefully. “I just kept going along…because it seemed easier than taking a risk. You know,” she continued, looking down at the table, “I feel like I owe you an apology for not telling you myself, for never getting in touch last year. I don’t really know what I was doing….I guess maybe I thought there wasn’t a way for us to even be friends after…everything.”

“I can’t be your friend, Pam,” Jim said suddenly and somberly. She looked up at him, startled. “It’s too hard.”

That’s what she said, she thought wildly, and stared at him.

“I mean, I can’t just be your friend. It has to be all or…nothing,” he concluded sadly, and looked down at his hands, clenched on the table, knuckles white.

Her heart was beating so loud that she thought he must surely be able to hear it.

“Well, in that case,” she said slowly, “what about…all?”

He looked up, his expression a heartrending mixture of hope and fear. “Really?”

She nodded emphatically, afraid that if she spoke she would say the wrong thing, or else just burst into tears.

“Really?” he repeated, incredulous joy dawning in his face.

She nodded again, this time feeling the tears coming into her eyes even though she was grinning, she was sure, like an idiot.

He moved so fast she barely saw him before she felt him kiss her, hard, on the lips. Then he was back in his chair, leaning back and smiling in a dazed way.

“Wow,” he said. “Okay. Wow.” He looked at her. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said at last, and then they just sat and smiled at each other for a bit.

* * * * *

They stayed there, talking and eating and talking more, until almost eleven. He told her about Stamford and what really happened with the merger. She told him funny stories she’d been saving up, about what happened when the gaydar arrived and the bird funeral. It was almost, but not quite, the way it always had been. It was different because, every so often, she would feel a little twinge of fear and guilt, and then remember that she didn’t have to feel that way anymore. And it was different because of the way he looked at her. Which wasn’t that different really, except that he wasn’t trying so hard to hide it anymore.

When they were walking across the parking lot he said, trying again to be casual, “So, are you doing anything for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I have plans….”

A look of disappointment crossed his face.

“…with this guy Jim I just started seeing,” she finished, and he broke into a grin.

“Excellent,” he said.

“Only—can we go out somewhere?” she asked tentatively.

“You mean, like, away from the office?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to keep it quiet for a bit?” he guessed.

“Yeah…” she said again. “I mean, not for any bad reason or anything. It’s just—“

“—that everyone in the office knows enough about our business already?”

“Yeah,” she said sheepishly.

“Well, it’s fine with me to keep it quiet. I’m just as happy to have my private life be private for a change,” he grinned.

She blushed. They arrived back at her car.

“I never told you—it took a lot of guts for you to say that at the beach that night.”

“Well, once I had worked up the courage, I figured, why not say it in front of everyone?” she joked. “Anyway, it didn’t take as much courage as what you said last year.”

“I’m not sure that was courage so much as desperation.” She looked up at him and saw his eyes turn bleak for a moment at the memory.

She took his hand. “I’m so glad that it’s this year and not last year,” she said quietly.

“So am I,” he said fervently and, still holding her hand, kissed her gently. She kissed him back, relaxing into it, feeling how good and right it was. He pulled her closer, putting his arms around her waist as she wrapped hers around his neck. She had no idea how long it went on for, only that she felt dizzy and breathless when it stopped.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said softly, and she shivered at the caress in his voice.

“Could you do it again?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he said, and did.

It went on like that for some time. Finally he said, bringing his hand up to touch her face, “As much as I’d like to stay here and do this indefinitely, I think we should call it a night.”

“I know,” she sighed, and kissed him again.

He laughed and kissed her back. “Am I going to have to put you in your car?”

“Yes,” she said, gazing up at him.

He kissed her on the forehead and the tip of the nose. “You are the best thing ever.”

Reluctantly she stepped back and brought her arms down. He took her hands. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” She kissed him one last time. “Good night.”

“Good night, Pam. Be careful driving home.”

He stood there, watching her pull out and away, as he’d done so many times before, and she felt the familiar physical tug of leaving him. Half of her wanted to stop the car and say, Come with me! Stay with me! But her other half told her it was too soon for that.

* * * * *

As she was walking into her bedroom she heard her cell phone buzzing from the hall table where she’d left it to charge, telling her she had a text message. She turned back to flip it open.

Sweet dreams, Pam.

She texted back a row of X’s and O’s, and climbed into bed smiling.

When she got into work on Friday morning, she found a message from Karen that she would be taking a personal day. The message had come in at six forty-five. She listened to the tightness in Karen’s voice, thinking that she must have gotten up extra-early on purpose to ensure that no one would be there to answer the phone.

* * * * *

After some discussion over email, they decided to go to the food court at Steamtown for lunch, figuring that it would look less suspicious than being discovered in a restaurant. When she arrived, Jim was already standing in line at the soup and salad stand.

“Hey, Beesly,” he said cheerfully, his apparently relaxed demeanor somewhat undermined by red ears and a large, goofy smile. “What’re you having?”

She forced herself to concentrate on the menu and breathe normally. “Um…I think I’ll have the grilled chicken salad. And a Diet Coke. What’re you having?”

“Chicken Caesar salad with bacon. Unhealthiest salad on the menu.”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, distracted, looking up at him. “Gosh, your hair looks so…neat.”

“Geez, Beesly, when you say it like that it sounds like an insult,” he said ruefully.

“No, no, it’s not!” she protested. “I do like it, honestly.”

“Well, I don’t, so don’t get used to it, ‘cause it’s not gonna last. I mean, what would be the point of giving up on corporate if I can’t be free to look like a slob?”

They got their food and found a table. As they settled in to eat, Jim groaned. “I can’t believe this plan Michael’s cooked up for tonight.”

Michael had announced, shortly before lunch, that there would be “I’m baaaaack” drinks (complete with Arnold Schwarzenegger intonation) after work—after he had confirmed that several people had no special plans, including both Pam and Jim—and that he expected them to attend because he knew they weren’t doing anything else.

“I know,” she sighed. “He caught me off guard. Usually I’m faster on my feet about being busy.”

“Me too. Man, I can think of much better ways to spend tonight—“ Jim broke off in confusion, and turned bright red. She could see how embarrassed he was, but she couldn’t help it: she started to snicker. Seeing her face, Jim followed suit, and it took several minutes before they stopped setting each other off in gusts of hysterical giggling.

“Phew,” she gasped when she could finally control herself, wiping her eyes. She handed Jim a tissue so he could do the same.

“Ahem. So, as I was saying,” he continued gravely, “there’s clearly no way we can escape this plan tonight without looking totally suspicious—“

“Agreed,” she nodded.

“—so can we do something tomorrow instead?” he finished hopefully.

“Definitely,” she agreed.

He smiled. “Excellent.”

“When?” she inquired.

“How about ten?” he suggested.

“PM?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“AM,” he stated. “The whole day.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “What should we do?”

“What should we do…something fun…funtivities…” he mused absently, tapping his chin. “Funtivities. How about if you pick something and I pick something?”

“Good plan. Surprise?”

“Absolutely.”

“Who goes first?”

“Ladies first, naturally,” he said gallantly.

“Check. I’ll pick something for the morning and you pick something for the afternoon….Dress?”

“Oh, casual, I think.”

“Okay,” she said. “It’s a date.”

“Yes it is,” he said with great satisfaction, and smiled widely.

“And—tomorrow night?” she asked tentatively. She could feel her face flush.

He turned red again, but retained his composure. “Why don’t we play it by ear…just take things one step at a time and see what happens.”

* * * * *

They were so careful at the bar with everyone that evening that they barely spoke to each other. Michael was determined to keep people as late as possible, and no one got away until well after ten. Pam was parking her car in front of her house when her phone rang. She dove for her handbag, almost forgetting to put the car in park. “Hello?” she said breathlessly. She hadn’t even checked the caller ID.

“Pam?” Yes, it was Jim. “Um…where do you live?”

Saturday morning she was awake at six-thirty, despite having set her alarm for seven-thirty. She rolled over and looked out the window at the early morning spring sunshine, feeling sleepy and warm and happy. She stretched her toes and thought about she was going to see Jim in a couple of hours; how she was going to show him her apartment that she loved so much; and how she was going to spend the whole day just with him. She felt the Saturday-morning feeling of delicious anticipation, but multiplied a hundredfold. Then she pushed back the covers and bounced out of bed.

Full of nervous anxiety and too excited to eat, she set about cleaning and tidying the apartment. It was pretty clean already, but she wanted it to look perfect. She dusted, swept and mopped floors (since it was too early for the vacuum cleaner); washed down the kitchen sink and counters; straightened cushions; put things away; and gave the bathroom a quick once-over. Last of all, she put clean sheets on the bed.

Having showered, tried on four outfits, and dried and curled her hair, she was still ready twenty minutes early. She was sitting at her drawing table, attempting to work on a drawing for one of her classes, but mostly staring at the nearest clock. So she was watching as, approximately three seconds after the second hand passed the twelve, the doorbell rang. She dropped her pencil and hurried for the door. She could have buzzed him in, but she decided to go down to the front hall and open the door herself. She pattered down the two flights quickly, her heart thudding. She could see him dimly through the frosted glass of the front door, and her stomach clenched with nervousness. She wrenched open the heavy old wooden door and there he stood, trying to look nonchalant and failing utterly.

“Hey,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Hey,” he said, beaming back. He brought out one hand from where it had been obscured by his body, and presented her with a bunch of spring flowers, in vibrant pinks and blues and whites.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, feeling her cheeks burning. “Thanks, they’re beautiful.” She sniffed them, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Want to come upstairs for a minute so I can put them in water?”

“Sure,” he agreed, and followed her into the dim front hall. She led him up the wooden staircase to a smaller hall, painted in white, with a door directly across from the head of the stairs.

“I’m another flight up,” she explained, turning left into another door and starting up more steps.

He looked around curiously. There was a small window halfway up, with a stained-glass suncatcher, and he ducked as the underside of the roof sloped over his head. He emerged into an even smaller hall, with a shining hardwood floor and several open doorways leading off it.

“Come on in,” she invited. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Wow,” he said, looking around. “This place is amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s small, but I love it.”

The rooms, tucked up under the roof of the big wood-frame house, had sloping ceilings and odd corners, but were full of sunlight and air. She hadn’t had much she wanted to take when she left Roy, and she had grown to like her space spare and uncluttered. She had used some of her newfound free time and drive to be independent to explore flea markets, finding things that she had learned to restore and refinish herself. Only the couch and armchair were new; nearly everything else was something that she had found and made her own, re-awakening her creativity from its long slumber and finding new little ways to be brave.

“Wow,” he repeated, wandering around and looking at things, “where did you get all this stuff? I didn’t know you had all this stuff.” He ran his finger along the edge of a cabinet that she had cleaned up and stenciled a design on.

“Oh, you know, yard sales, flea markets, that kind of thing,” she replied modestly, not wanting to boast.

He knew anyway. “I bet it didn’t look like this when you found it,” he guessed shrewdly, looking at her. “You’ve sure been busy while I’ve been away, Beesly.”

“Well, you know…a person can only watch so many reruns on TV Land,” she demurred.

“Well, I’m very impressed,” he replied. He wandered over to peer at a small painting hanging near the nearest doorway. It was tiny really, just a few inches on a side, a bright swirl of color. He looked at it carefully, then back at her. “Did you do this too?”

“Yes,” she admitted, coming to stand beside him. “It was really just supposed to be part of an exercise I was doing for a class, on using color, but I really liked it, so I touched it up and kept it where I could see it.” She paused. “It makes me feel like things are…possible.”

Their eyes locked for a long minute, then she blushed and indicated the small room next to the living room. “This is my ‘studio’,” she said, with a faint mocking accent. “Where the magic happens.”

He followed her in, looking at the sloping drawing table under one window, holding the sketch she had been working on when he arrived, then to the opposite corner, where a small bookcase stood on dropcloths, in the middle of being stripped and sanded, next to a cabinet neatly stocked with DIY supplies.

He shook his head at her, his eyes full of admiration. “Fancy new Beesly’s got skills,” he murmured. “What have I got that can compete with this?”

Now she shook her head. “Don’t—don’t put me on a pedestal, Jim,” she pleaded. “I had to do something—both to keep from going crazy and—so that I would have something that was mine. I had to figure out how to be me, you know? I had to figure out how to have some courage.”

“I know,” he replied seriously. “I know, Pam.”

“I couldn’t just go running from Roy to you,” she burst out. “As much as part of me wanted to. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. And I didn’t think it was fair to just assume you were waiting around, either, after everything.”

“I know,” he said again.

“I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you,” she said earnestly. “But I can’t change it and I can’t make it up to you. All I can do is—go forward with you.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up too much, Pam,” he responded. “I inflicted plenty of pain myself the past few months, remember?” He took hold of her hands, which she was worrying the same way she had that night last year when—

“Let’s just focus on today,” he said softly. “I know it’s all there, and we can’t ignore it—but let’s just put it where it belongs, a little bit at a time. Okay?”

“Okay,” she answered, her face smoothing out.

“And remember the important thing—that we can do it together now.”

“Together,” she repeated, smiling. “Such a good word.”

He put one arm around her and pulled her close to him. He kissed her forehead. “C’mon—let’s go have our date.”

* * * * * They went downtown and she took him to a show at an art gallery. Jim followed her around, peering at things. She started to get nervous again, remembering her few and disastrous attempts to get Roy interested in art.

They stopped in front of an abstract sculpture that resembled a giant, mangled car engine.

“So—“ he indicated it “—explain.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“This. What does it mean? What does it say?”

“Well, I don’t know that it says one particular thing…” She looked at him. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely, Beesly. If this makes sense to you, I want to know.”

“Okay, well, I’ll tell you what I think, but you have to answer a question first.”

“Shoot.”

“What does it make you think about?”

“Hmmmm….” He frowned. “Chaos. Industrial wreckage. Man’s inhumanity to man.” He brightened. “Is that right?”

She laughed. “I don’t think there’s a right answer. I think it’s about the emotions that it evokes, and the difference between modern art and classical art is that modern artists aren’t trying so hard to get a particular, specific reaction. More of it is up to you.”

He nodded, then pointed to the card next to it. “What about that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t look at those so much. That’s just what the curator sees. I don’t have to agree. Besides, I’m trying to figure out what I like.”

“So do you feel any inclination to do this sort of thing?” he asked with a wave.

“Not at the moment,” she laughed. “But it helps me to think about what I do want to do.”

He pondered this. “That’s cool. And that’s what art is supposed to do, right? Make you think?”

“Stretch you,” she agreed.

“Speaking of stretching—“ suiting the action to the words “—hungry?”

She suddenly realized she was ravenous. “Yes!”

“Okay, let’s go stretch our stomachs around some lunch….What a terrible segue, really smooth, Halpert,” he muttered to himself, as they turned to leave.

* * * * * After lunch, they spent the afternoon doing Jim’s “funtivity”: they drove to Tobyhanna State Park and went for a walk in the woods.

“Not a hike,” he promised, looking at her sandal-clad feet. “Just a gentle stroll.”

He took her hand to help her over an uneven piece of ground, not long after they started. He didn’t let go.

* * * * * By the time they left the park, the afternoon was turning to evening. They were quiet, listening to the radio, as Jim drove back towards Scranton.

“So…” Jim said casually, as he changed lanes to pass a slower car, “what do you think? Ready to call it a day?”

She glanced at him sideways, trying to gauge his tone, and then decided that this was a good time to try being brave. “Um…no?”

He gave her a sidelong glance, and the side of his mouth quirked up into a smile. “Cool. So what should we do now? Dinner? Dancing? The opera maybe?”

She pondered briefly. “I’ve got a Netflix movie at my place,” she suggested. “Maybe we could get takeout? I don’t really feel like going out anywhere…unless you want to,” she finished hurriedly.

He glanced over, smiling more widely. “Beesly, takeout and a movie at your place is, like, the best plan ever.”

“Okay, cool,” she agreed, grinning.

“Except—“ he frowned “—what’s the movie?”

“I’m not sure,” she said thoughtfully. “I think it might be Gaslight.”

“Hmmm—“ he wiggled his eyebrows “—so it’s not actually going to turn out to be, say, Godzilla, is it?”

“No!” she retorted. “How could I possibly get those two movies mixed up?”

“I don’t know,” he intoned. “But if you could mix up 28 Days and 28 Days Later, I figure anything is possible.”

“Shut it, Halpert!” she commanded, swatting him on the arm.

“Hey, I’m trying to drive here!” he protested, fending her off.

* * * * * They were settled on her couch, eating Thai food off their laps and drinking beer from bottles, feet up and shoes off, when she was overwhelmed suddenly by conflicting feelings of contentment and nervousness.

Jim seemed to pick up on her thoughts, because he turned to her and said, “How is it possible to be so comfortable and so uncomfortable at the same time?”

She looked up at him and said, “You’d think we’d be used to it by now.”

“You’d think,” he said, smiling his slow smile back at her.

She could feel her face flushing again, and scooched a little bit closer to him. He lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, acutely conscious of the contact between their bodies and the solid warmth of him.

She stayed that way, huddling up against him as the movie got spookier. When it was over, it was almost eleven. She stretched, then put her feet on the floor and began gathering up the debris from dinner. He picked up what was left and followed her into the kitchen, rinsing out the empty bottles as she scraped leftovers into a plastic container.

“I’ll do the dishes too,” he offered. “Give me those. Where’s your recycling?”

“Over there,” she pointed towards the back corner. “I’m just going to run into the bathroom.”

* * * * * She looked at herself carefully in the mirror as she washed her hands: hair messy, face slightly sunburned. She felt a little tingle of nervousness as she quickly brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face, ran her fingers through her hair. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. She looked at herself one more time. Time to be brave again. She reached into the linen closet and pulled out a brand-new toothbrush, still in its package. She opened it, then placed it carefully and deliberately on the sink. She left the bathroom, turning off the light behind her. She knew he’d have to go in sometime soon, it had been hours.

She went back to the kitchen, where he was rinsing out the last of the recyclable containers. He put it in the dish rack to dry, shook his hands, and turned off the water.

“All set,” he said.

“Great, thanks,” she replied.

“Can I, um, use your bathroom?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, gesturing in the general direction. She thought about saying, “Leave a quarter,” and decided against it. Instead, she wet a cloth and began wiping down the table and counters. She could feel her heart thumping. She realized she was wiping down one end of the table over and over, and forced herself to stop and take the cloth back to the sink. She rinsed her hands as Jim had, and as she turned to take a paper towel to wipe them she saw movement in the dimness of the hall. Wiping her hands, she moved towards the doorway. He walked towards her slowly, holding the toothbrush, his eyes fixed on her.

“Hey, Beesly…are you trying to tell me something?” he asked. He was trying to joke, but his voice sounded hollow and shaky.

She put down the paper towel and kept moving towards him, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

Brave.

“Yes,” she said.

She stopped in front of him. He was staring down at her, dumbstruck, still holding the toothbrush. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself up against the length of him and, reaching up, kissed his jaw. She felt him shudder as he inhaled and his arms came around her.

Then it was like the world exploded.

* * * * * Later, lying close together in a tangle of sheets on the bed, she felt a chuckle rumbling out of his chest. “What?” she asked.

“So much for that business about taking things one step at a time,” he murmured.

Opening her mouth to shoot back a snappy retort, she surprised both of them by bursting into tears instead.

“Pam, Pam, what is it?” Jim whispered frantically, gathering her into his arms. He tried for another joke. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

She tried to respond, but choked on an enormous sob. “Don’t—don’t—“

“Okay, okay, I won’t joke, ssssshhh. What is it? Can you tell me?” he asked worriedly, cuddling her.

She tried to calm down and wondered. Could she tell him about the tangle of conflicting emotions? That she had been afraid that this was never going to happen and that, now that it had, she was afraid of having something that she wanted so badly? Afraid they’d mess it up somehow, hurt each other again? Or that even if they didn’t, it just wouldn’t be right, would fall flat somehow? That there were so many ways it could go wrong. That it was such a chance to take, such a big risk to feel this way about another person. That she was ecstatic and terrified at the same time.

She tried, still gasping with tears. “It’s been—a long—few—weeks. Like—an—emotional—roller—coaster. And—“

“I know,” he said, and he pulled her closer, so that their bodies were pressed together, and he held her, her face buried in his neck and his arms tightly around her.

“I’m scared,” she said, her voice muffled against his skin. “I’m so happy, but I’m so scared.”

“I know,” he said again, quietly. “I am, too. Getting something you want so much is really scary.”

They were silent for a bit. Then he said, “But being scared—like this—is so much better than being miserable. Hmm?”

She nodded against him, and felt another chuckle rumble deep in his chest. “You have to take a chance on something, sometime.”

This time, she managed a teary, hiccupy giggle.

She woke up first, slowly swimming up to consciousness from a heavy, contented sleep. She felt cool air coming through the open windows against her bare shoulders and opened her eyes to see early morning sun just touching the bedroom wall. She squinted at the alarm clock—seven-twenty—and then turned her head carefully to look at Jim. He was still sound asleep, his face half buried in the pillow, his hair rumpled and the sheets pulled tight over his shoulders. She lay and looked at him without moving, not wanting to disturb him. She thought about the night before, wondering if that last time had really happened, or if it had been a dream….She felt her face flushing again, and smiled. She snuggled up closer to Jim, smelling his skin. He stirred then, opening his eyes drowsily, and slid his arm around her waist. He saw her looking at him and smiled, a small, shy, happy smile she hadn’t ever seen before. It was as if a mask she hadn’t even known he was wearing had fallen off overnight.

“Morning,” he said. “How’d you sleep?”

“Morning,” she replied, smiling back, also feeling shy but shiningly happy. “Great. You?”

“Like a baby,” he agreed. She waited for him to follow that up with a joke, something to put things back on their usual level of casual banter, but he just lay there and looked at her happily, completely unguarded. Finally he said, wonderingly, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy before.”

She considered this. “I know what you mean,” she agreed. She looked at him some more. She knew that sooner or later, they’d have to move, to be distracted, whether it was by another wave of intense emotion, or just by the concerns of everyday life, and this moment would be over. There’d be others—with any luck there’d be many others—but as she lay there, brimming with joy, part of her consciously noted this perfect moment as it happened, and tucked it away in her heart to remember forever.