After Pam showed him to his room, Jim unpacked his things and tried to take a nap. His nerves had kept him from sleeping on the flight and they were doing a good job of keeping him tossing and turning in the guest bed, too. He managed a few bursts of restless sleep before finally giving up and getting dressed for dinner.

He stared at himself in the mirror above the dresser and whispered, "It's not a date. Idiot."

Once he calmed his nerves, he took a deep breath and went to the living room. He turned the television on and was about to sit down when Pam called out his name.

"Jim! Come in here, I want to talk to you."

He turned the television off and made his way to her bedroom.

Pam was standing in front of a full-length mirror, straightening her hair and humming along to the radio. She had traded her paint-stained jeans for a pair of plaid pajama shorts.

Jim fought the impulse to stare at her legs. "What's up?"

"I haven't seen you in months," she said. She carefully ran the straightener through her hair. "I want to actually speak to you. I know television is riveting, but General Hospital isn't on right now, so I have no idea what you could be interested in watching."

She turned to smirk at him then focused her attention on herself in the mirror again. "So, tell me what you've been doing with yourself."

"Well," he answered, "just the same old stuff. Fighting crime, writing romance novels, experimenting in my underground lab - nothing unusual. What about you? Your life has got to be more exciting than mine."

"You know how in Scranton I spent my days at the office, doing work all day, and then Roy would give me a ride home?" she said. "Well, imagine that, but with more sun and Roy doesn't give me a ride home."

"Sorry to hear that," he said. He watched her set down the straightener and run her hands through her hair. "So, how is, uh, Roy?"

"Oh, um... good," she replied and plugged in the curling iron. "The same. He works and - well, he doesn't really like the beaches here, so he usually goes to the bars and whatever."

She frowned and hoped Jim couldn't see it in the mirror. "But, uh, hey - do you... do you really like that painting I sent you?"

Jim had seen her frown and had felt the tension in her voice, but he wouldn't push. If she wanted to talk about something, she would talk about it, wouldn't she? He tried not to think about it... which wasn't that hard to do because he got caught up in watching her start to curl the ends of her hair.

"Love it," he said. "But come on, you knew that. Why are you doubting yourself?"

"Not doubting, just... okay, doubting," she said. She sighed and began curling the next section of her hair. "I mean, it's not making me any money and it keeps me from doing stuff around the house and it is just a hobby. It's not -"

Nothing that was coming out of Pam's mouth sounded remotely like what she would actually believe, so Jim interrupted. "But do you love it?"

Pam set the curling iron down and turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

"Do you love doing it?" he said. "You can never give up on something you love."

She smiled and picked up her eyeshadow. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead turned to face the mirror again. She started putting on the eyeshadow. She said quietly, "You must be bored watching me doing my hair and everything. Sorry."

"Nope," he replied. "I'm picking up a lot of information. I need some pointers though. Am I a summer or a winter?"

Pam laughed and turned to face him. She smiled warmly and said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making me laugh," she said. She paused. "And believing in me."

He shrugged and said sincerely, "Impossible not to."

She turned around to hide the blush that crept onto her cheeks.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said and rose to his feet. "I got something for you."

Before Pam could tell him that he shouldn't have, Jim had left the bedroom. He came back in the room, his hands behind his back.

"Don't make me die of suspense," she said and tried to peek around him to see what he was holding.

Jim grinned. "Well, I remember you said you had wanted a puppy..."

"You didn't..."

"No, I didn't," he said. He pulled a stuffed animal from behind his back. It was a light brown puppy with shiny black buttons for eyes. "I saw it in the airport and I figured, you know, even someone as busy as you could take of this guy."

Pam took the stuffed animal from him and ran her index finger over its heart-shaped nose.

She looked up at Jim and smiled a smile that she hoped said everything she couldn't.