Pam sat in her and Jim's room, waiting for him to return with the popcorn.  Pam was looking forward to the distraction from the insanely long week of work.  Michael had arranged an egg hunt for the office on Monday morning.  However, he had planted the eggs on Friday night... and they were real eggs.

After finding all of the eggs and making sure they made it to the outside dumpster, the Scranton crew spent the day spraying air fresheners and trying to fan out the smell.  Though the smell was not much worse than the carpet incident, it had been spread all over the office, rather than just Michael's office.

The smell lasted nearly all week, and Dwight refused to let anyone light a candle.  By Friday evening, the office smelled like a mix between rotten eggs and a menagerie of air fresheners.  Each day, Pam was glad just to breathe fresh air as she walked out of the Scranton Business Park.

Now, on Friday evening, Jim was treating her to dinner (Chinese take-out) and an Arrested Development marathon.  Jim handed her the bowl of popcorn and sat himself on the bed next to her.  He let out a sigh as he crossed his legs at the ankle and reclined on the headboard. 

As the dvd loaded, Pam's eyes wandered into Jim's open closet across the room.  She crinkled her nose and looked at Jim.  "Why don't you ever play that?"

"Play what?"

"Your guitar.  You have a guitar, but I've never heard you play it," she complained.

Jim shrugged.  "I'm... not that good."

"Well, how will you get any better unless you practice?" she countered.

Jim let out a sigh.  "You're right, Beesly.  I guess I should just get rid of it."

"What?  No!  You should just practice so you can serenade me."

"Serenade you?" he chuckled.  "I can't sing, either."

"Oh, fine," she breathed.  "But I always thought it would be so hot to have a boyfriend who played an instrument..."

***

A week passed and Pam had nearly forgotten their conversation the previous Friday night.  Pam set her purse on the coffee table and kicked her shoes off.  She thought it a little strange that Jim had gone straight up to the bedroom without a word as soon as they entered the house.  Curious, she followed him up the stairs and was a little surprised to see Jim pulling his guitar out of the closet.

"What are you doing?" Pam asked, startling Jim.

"Huh?  What are you doing here?  Go back to the den!"

"Last time I checked, this is my house, too," she said.  "Besides, I was curious."

"Well, go back to the den and I'll go show you."

Pam raised her eyebrows in interest as she turned and departed.  Moments later, she was sitting on the couch in the den as Jim came to sit beside her.  He held the guitar awkwardly and furrowed his brows to concentrate and putting his fingers on the correct strings.  He strummed an off-key chord and glanced at Pam, who was smiling widely.

Jim changed chords and strummed again.  This went on for a few measures, and try as she may, Pam could not recognize the "song".  She wondered if he was actually playign a song, or if he was just playing whatever chords he knew.  Then, when she was about to cut him off with applause, he began to sing.

"You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your story to remain untold..."

Pam smiled and remained silent, allowing him to continue the song.

"But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you..."

He paused, struggling through the next chord change.  He shook his head and laughed self-consciously.  Pam clapped for him, negating the need for him to continue.  She leaned over the guitar to plant a kiss on his lips.

"You see why I don't play very often?"

"I told you," she said, "You'd be better if you practiced more."

"Well, I just wanted you to see that I really do suck at this."

"You don't suck," she said softly.  "That was... impressive."

"Really?" Jim asked, unconvinced.  He set the guitar aside and pulled her to him.  "I don't believe you."

"Just take the compliment, Halpert," she chided.  She settled into his chest and smiled.  "You really should practice more," she repeated.  "I think you'd be good."

"You're just saying that."

After a pause, she nodded.  "But at least you tried," she offered.  "So that's still pretty hot."

Jim rolled his eyes, but secretly vowed to practice and become much better at the instrument.