The next morning, Jim awoke to the sound of knocking. When his sleepy brain managed to remember where he was, he let out a croaky, "Come in."

Pam opened the door and smiled at him. "Wow. You with bed head is outrageous."

"Thanks," he said and sat up. He rubbed his face and glanced at the alarm clock. "What's up?"

"I made breakfast," she told him. "I was just wondering if you wanted any before it became brunch."

"Absolutely," he said. "Just give me five minutes."

"Peanut butter and jelly pancakes."

"Peanut butter and jelly pancakes?"

"Peanut butter and jelly pancakes," Pam repeated as she set her plate down. "Should I be ready to repeat that again?"

Jim smiled. "I just have never heard of cuisine as creative as this. No need to mock the inexperienced, Pam."

"If I didn't know you better," Pam said, "I would swear that you were actually mocking me right now."

"Well, then, thankfully you know me better," he said. "So, what are the plans for today? Disneyland?"

"Not quite," she replied. "It's actually a surprise."

"It's Disneyland though, isn't it? I figured it out, so now you have to pretend it's not."

"I'm not sure you could be more wrong if you tried," she said and smiled. "If you ask me, it's better than Disneyland."

When Jim saw the bright red sign that read Maddie's Attic, he looked down at Pam. "Is this...?"

Pam smiled excitedly and unlocked the door. "I closed for this week for obvious reasons, but I thought you might like to see what I do all day."

She pushed the door open and switched on the lights. "It's a little crowded in here, but there's a method to the madness."

The walls were painted a subdued orange and adorned with mismatched knick-knacks. Various tables and benches were arranged to create a maze that led toward the fitting room and cash register. Lamps and what his grandmother called "closet treasures" were arranged somewhat haphazardly around the room, most perched on top of the assortment of furniture.

Jim ran his hand over the seat of a unicycle. "I guess I can see a little magic in here. Also, you know... probably ghosts."

"Now, see, sometimes I work nights," Pam said. "Why'd you have to do that?"

"Sorry," Jim said and grinned. "Did I ruin my chances of you showing me the art you have in here?"

Pam pretended to think it over. "Well... I guess I could show you, but it's against my better judgment. Come on."

Pam led Jim through the maze of furniture to a corner near the register. Three easels displaying paintings were set up and a few paintings hung on the wall behind them.

"We only just started putting it out," she said, "so we don't have a lot yet. When we start getting more interested artists we'll make more space for them."

Jim looked over the paintings carefully. There was something about art that fascinated him. He guessed it was probably because he couldn't do anything artistic if his life depended on it. Whatever it was about art that interested him, he liked it. It was just an added bonus that it was something he could talk about with her.

"That's one of yours," he said and pointed to a painting of a vase of flowers on the wall.

"Oh, uh, yeah," she said, surprised that he could pick out her work. "I finished it about two months ago. Not really one of my favorites, but -"

"How much?" he interrupted.

Pam stared at him, a quizzical expression on her face. "How much what? How much time it took me to finish it, or...?"

Jim smiled warmly. "How much money will it cost me to buy it?"

"Oh!" The dawn of realization flashed over Pam's face. She tucked her hair behind her ears. "Oh, you don't have to buy it. Come on, Jim. That's - That's really nice of you. Thank you."

"This isn't a confidence boost, Beesly," he said. "I want to buy it. Whenever Mark's girlfriend brings real flowers to the house, they die a terrible death. I figure this is a safe compromise. Not to mention, you know... it's really good. How much?"

"I can't let you buy it," she said.

Jim's face fell. "Oh. Okay, sure. That's cool."

"No, no," she said quickly. She reached up and tried to remove the painting from the wall, but couldn't reach it. "I mean, I can't let you buy it... because I want you to have it. I mean, if you like it."

Jim reached around her and took the painting off the wall. He ran his index finger over the brush strokes and murmured, "Love it."

He looked up at her and smiled. "You'll never make any money this way. You're gonna run Maddie out of business and then how will you feel?"

"I think Maddie will understand," Pam replied. "Just this once though. Let's not make a habit of it. And, I tell you what, if you really feel bad - you can buy lunch."