Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“This is a terrible movie,” Jim muttered, shaking his head.

“Then why are you turning the volume up,” Pam countered with a laugh.

“Because if Brad Pitt is going to deliver bad lines, I want to hear them.”

In searching for background noise while they played the Game of Life, Jim had stumbled upon “Meet Joe Black” on cable.  Pam tried to reach for the remote, but Jim had shooed her hand away, insisting that he wanted to give it a chance.  They were a little less than an hour into the movie when Jim lost interest.

“So he’s supposed to be the devil?”

“Death.  There’s a difference.”

“And he happens to be trailing the dad of the girl he met in the diner while he was still alive?  That’s convenient.”

“I tried to tell you,” Pam teased in a singsong voice.

“Just spin the wheel, Beesly, you have yet to buy a house.”

Pam rolled her eyes, and spun the flimsy plastic wheel.  She moved her green car, with a pink and blue peg filling the front two seats, five spaces. 

“Yes! Finally!  Deal me the house cards,” she ordered, wiggling her fingers in front of her as she waited to make her choice.

Jim splayed the remaining cards out in front of her, and rolled his eyes as she took serious time to consider which one to pick.

“The cost of living is increasing by the second, Pam.  Let’s pick up the pace.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to get stuck with the split-level disaster like someone I know.”  She waved her hand over the cards once more before carefully taking one.  No sooner had she looked at her choice before she pumped her arms in the air and cheered.

“Yes! Tudor mansion!  In your face!” Pam did a small victory dance while grinning madly.

“First of all, never say ‘in your face’ again.  Second of all, that is completely unfair.”

“And you scoffed at my system,” she pretended to scold.  “Don’t worry, as you can see I have a few dozen guest rooms to spare at Casa de Beesly, and you’re more than welcome anytime.”

“Forget that, I’m just going to move in.”  Jim pretended to pout, but as the joke left his lips, his face lost any sign of amusement.  It was quickly replenished with a flush of red to his cheeks, and he avoided her eyes as he toyed with a loose thread in the carpet.

“Something wrong?”  Pam asked, trying to force the corners of her mouth to stop curling upward.

“Your turn,” he mumbled, still not looking at her.

“No, I just had my turn.  And you shouldn’t be embarrassed.  Who wouldn’t want to stay in this fine piece of architecture?”  Pam held up her card with pride, hoping humor would save the situation.  Instead, Jim got up hastily and moved toward the kitchen.

“Do you want anything?”

“Jim—“ Pam started.

“I’ve got more beer, soda…a hole I can crawl into,” he said through his teeth, sticking his head in the refrigerator, searching for beverages and trying to alleviate the increasing heat rushing to his cheeks.

Pam abandoned the game and leaned against the kitchen counter behind him, arms folded as she surveyed the nervous wreck he had become.

“Talk to me,” she said gently.

He shut the fridge door and grudgingly turned around to face her.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?” 

“For—I didn’t mean to spring that on you,” he said, resting his head against the freezer.

“Jim, it’s a board game.  I didn’t read anything into it,” Pam said gently, moving closer to him and placing a hand on his forearm.

“I know…and maybe that’s why I got weird.” He looked into her eyes now, searching for any fear or doubt.  Instead he just saw confusion accompanied with the familiar look of love that was always undeniably present whenever Pam looked at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her eyebrows knit together, creating three subtle creases of worry in her forehead.

Jim shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.  In fact,” she said with a sly grin, slipping her arms around his waist.  “It’s a matter of 'Life' and death.”

“Literally,” Jim joked, nodding toward the abandoned movie and game.

“Come on,” she prodded, rubbing his back in encouragement.

“I don’t want to have a guest room in the Tudor mansion.”

 “Okay…” Pam said slowly, trying to dissect what he was trying to say.

Jim laughed at how ridiculous the conversation had turned.  “What I mean is…I think we should live together.”

Pam’s jaw dropped a bit as she let out a small gasp. 

“Are you—are you serious?”

“Is that okay?” He had a tone to his voice that reminded Pam of a little boy asking for permission.

“I just had no idea that you were even thinking about that,” Pam said in bewilderment. 

Jim noted that she still had not answered his question, but still pressed on.  “I know it probably seems sudden, but to be honest, I’ve been thinking about this for awhile.  It’s just that my place doesn’t feel like home…unless you’re there.”  The blush crept in again as he an almost apologetic smirk accompanied with a shrug.

Pam fought hard to keep the tears forming at bay, but struggled as he looked at her with so much hope and anticipation.

“Oh right, yes!”  Pam laughed and threw her hands up.  “I was saying ‘yes’ so many times in my head I already thought I said it out loud.”  She moved her hands up to cradle the sides of his face.

“Yes.”  She kissed him as a seal to her response and when they broke apart, Jim grinned and spun her around the kitchen.  When they landed, they looked over to the TV, where Joe and the billionaire’s daughter were making “good use” of the chaise lounge by the pool.

Jim’s eyes went wide. 

“Whoa.”

Pam giggled. “I know.”

“So we’re definitely getting one of those chair-couch thingies for our place.”

Pam’s heart fluttered at the thought of their “place.”

“It’s called a ‘chaise lounge’ and where exactly would we put it.”

Jim shrugged.  “By the pool of course.”

“Of course.  You see swimming pools in all the traditional Pennsylvanian homes.”

“Well, it’d be indoor.”

“Did you win the lottery and not tell me?” Pam teased.

Jim laughed but then turned his expression more serious and determined.

“Our house can have whatever you want, if it makes you happy.”

Pam beamed.  “Will it have you?”

“That’s a given,” he returned her smile with one of his own and a small kiss on her nose.

“Then I’ll be happy.”