After some discussion over email, they decided to go to the food court at Steamtown for lunch, figuring that it would look less suspicious than being discovered in a restaurant. When she arrived, Jim was already standing in line at the soup and salad stand.
“Hey, Beesly,” he said cheerfully, his apparently relaxed demeanor somewhat undermined by red ears and a large, goofy smile. “What’re you having?”
She forced herself to concentrate on the menu and breathe normally. “Um…I think I’ll have the grilled chicken salad. And a Diet Coke. What’re you having?”
“Chicken Caesar salad with bacon. Unhealthiest salad on the menu.”
“Mm-hmm,” she replied, distracted, looking up at him. “Gosh, your hair looks so…neat.”
“Geez, Beesly, when you say it like that it sounds like an insult,” he said ruefully.
“No, no, it’s not!” she protested. “I do like it, honestly.”
“Well, I don’t, so don’t get used to it, ‘cause it’s not gonna last. I mean, what would be the point of giving up on corporate if I can’t be free to look like a slob?”
They got their food and found a table. As they settled in to eat, Jim groaned. “I can’t believe this plan Michael’s cooked up for tonight.”
Michael had announced, shortly before lunch, that there would be “I’m baaaaack” drinks (complete with Arnold Schwarzenegger intonation) after work—after he had confirmed that several people had no special plans, including both Pam and Jim—and that he expected them to attend because he knew they weren’t doing anything else.
“I know,” she sighed. “He caught me off guard. Usually I’m faster on my feet about being busy.”
“Me too. Man, I can think of much better ways to spend tonight—“ Jim broke off in confusion, and turned bright red. She could see how embarrassed he was, but she couldn’t help it: she started to snicker. Seeing her face, Jim followed suit, and it took several minutes before they stopped setting each other off in gusts of hysterical giggling.
“Phew,” she gasped when she could finally control herself, wiping her eyes. She handed Jim a tissue so he could do the same.
“Ahem. So, as I was saying,” he continued gravely, “there’s clearly no way we can escape this plan tonight without looking totally suspicious—“
“Agreed,” she nodded.
“—so can we do something tomorrow instead?” he finished hopefully.
“Definitely,” she agreed.
He smiled. “Excellent.”
“When?” she inquired.
“How about ten?” he suggested.
“PM?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.
“AM,” he stated. “The whole day.”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “What should we do?”
“What should we do…something fun…funtivities…” he mused absently, tapping his chin. “Funtivities. How about if you pick something and I pick something?”
“Good plan. Surprise?”
“Absolutely.”
“Who goes first?”
“Ladies first, naturally,” he said gallantly.
“Check. I’ll pick something for the morning and you pick something for the afternoon….Dress?”
“Oh, casual, I think.”
“Okay,” she said. “It’s a date.”
“Yes it is,” he said with great satisfaction, and smiled widely.
“And—tomorrow night?” she asked tentatively. She could feel her face flush.
He turned red again, but retained his composure. “Why don’t we play it by ear…just take things one step at a time and see what happens.”
They were so careful at the bar with everyone that evening that they barely spoke to each other. Michael was determined to keep people as late as possible, and no one got away until well after ten. Pam was parking her car in front of her house when her phone rang. She dove for her handbag, almost forgetting to put the car in park. “Hello?” she said breathlessly. She hadn’t even checked the caller ID.
“Pam?” Yes, it was Jim. “Um…where do you live?”
