Jim had mailed the letter the same night he wrote it to prevent himself from backing out. It was too late now. Trying to break into the mailbox at the post office was a federal offense and that was probably the last thing he needed at this point.

He requested his vacation days and somehow by the end of the day everyone knew he was going to California. Except for Creed, who wished him luck on his trip to Cambodia and offered "to call a guy."

Jim spent a week and a half packing and unpacking his suitcase while trying to figure out how a T-shirt could scream 'trying too hard.' After three days of being asked for an opinion, Mark's girlfriend got tired of it and offered to just pack for him (after first telling him, "You're such a woman, Jim"). After Jim agreed, she looked up the weather on Google and packed the suitcase in less than half an hour.

When the night of his departure rolled around, he felt sick. Mark dropped him off the airport with a simple "Good luck."

Jim's plane landed right on time.

He felt sick to his stomach but couldn't be sure if it was from the plane ride or his nerves. He guessed a combination of both and collected his carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment. The knots in his stomach tightened as he got off the plane and went through security.

This was really happening.

He collected his luggage and thought about running. He took a few deep breaths and walked as calmly as he could to the exit.

As he wound his way through the crowd in the arrivals gate, he tried to ignore the fact that his stomach was doing backflips. He tried to think of this like any other vacation: no expectations, no subtext, just fun. It was just troublesome that he knew better.

When he finally spotted her, his feet froze unexpectedly.

She was standing in the arrivals line, grinning like a fool and holding a sign with his last name written on it. She was wearing paint-stained blue jeans and a white tank top that showed off just how tan she had gotten, but it was the sunglasses perched on top of her head, pushing back her curls, that killed him.

She let out a squeal and ran to him. She bounced up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. Her words were muffled against his shoulder when she spoke, "You're here! You're finally here!"

He could feel her wedding ring on the back of his neck. It was like a cross to a vampire, burning and telling him to run. He untangled her arms from around his neck and plastered on a smile. "Alert the media - Jim Halpert has arrived!"

She laughed and wrestled his suitcase from him. "I'll take it! You're probably tired after the flight and it's on wheels, Jim. I think I can handle it."

She winked and smiled and he wanted to say how good (great) it felt to hear her say his name, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he just laughed and let her lead him to the car.

The drive to Pam's place was pleasant. There was no time for silence; they caught each other up on their lives and told funny stories. It felt like old times, times before parking lot confessions and awkward good-bye parties.

Pam showed off her home with a kind of pride Jim had never seen in her before. California was certainly doing something good for her.

"This is my art room," Pam said as she pushed open a door. "This place is pretty big for a bungalow - it has four bedrooms. Obviously we didn't need that many, so we have the master bedroom, the guest room, my art room, and Roy has a den. At first he wasn't so sure about the art room, but - sorry, this is boring. You don't want to hear about decorating."

"Nah, no," Jim said. "Whatever you want to say I want to listen to. What's under the sheet?"

"Oh!" Pam said. She carefully lifted a plain white sheet off an easel, revealing a half-finished painting of the bungalow. "I really love this house, so I thought - well, it's not finished yet so it's probably not that good, but -"

"Pam," Jim interrupted and smiled, "it's great. Even half-finished, it's great."

Pam let out a breath. "Sorry, I'm just... well, nervous. Is that weird? I guess it's just 'cause I haven't seen you in so long. I don't know what to talk about first, you know? I don't want to waste a minute of this week."

"Me either," Jim agreed quietly. He cleared his throat. "So, when do I get to meet the infamous Maddie?"

"Oh, tonight," Pam told him. "We're going to go to dinner at a great place, The Firehouse. I mean, if you want. We can stay in and have grilled cheese or something if you're tired."

"No, I'm good," Jim said. "Something in the air has my energy up."