It's not a date, because he has a girlfriend.

This is Jim's mantra between laughs and looks at lunch with Pam the weekend following her art show. They made tentative plans that Friday, without really verbalizing or solidifying anything at all, other than the fact they were both Reno 911! fans and didn't that movie look funny? It was all in that language they used to speak, in vague agreements and nods and looks, that Jim was sure he had forgotten.

But he had understood, and evidently so did she, because on Saturday afternoon he's sitting at a table in the diner closest to the Steamtown 8, and Jim feels a pleasant jolt ripple down his spine when he sees her slip into the restaurant. She's gorgeous, he thinks involuntarily when she strolls in, her head whipping this way and that to find him amid the midday crowd. He waves a hand to her, signals her over, and he's not prepared for the illumination of her smile.

He makes a conscious effort to avoid cataloging everything different about this Pam and the Pam he knows at the office. Like the way her hair is less haphazard, the way her clothes fit her better … and that they most certainly do. She leans in for a friendly, quick embrace and sits across from him at the table, a beaming grin full of white teeth and anxiety that he definitely shares.

But this is not a date, because he has a girlfriend. Who Pam is asking about, right now, reminding him of the guilty storm cloud lurking in his middle.

"Oh, Karen?" Jim comes to and shakes his head, working his straw in and out of his fountain drink. "She decided to head down to Maryland for the weekend. She hasn't seen her mom since the merger, so—"

"Oh, oh," Pam nods her understanding, and Jim takes note of the interesting knit of her brow, the glance down at her food that she really hasn't touched since they ordered. "Well, that's good. Visiting her parents, I mean. Why, uhm," she looks up abruptly, letting the rest of her question tumble out awkwardly, "Why didn't you go?"

Jim inadvertently bends the top of his straw, breaking it. "That's…"

Karen had asked him to go. He remembers her flushed face – the one right after eager movements and heavy, staccato breathing – and the harmless way she had posed the request that he simply let fade into the darkness of his bedroom. He also remembers a similar redness flooding her features during their consequent argument the next morning, over the same request, when he had much more forcefully shot her down.

His mouth turns up and he doesn't meet Pam's eyes as he supplies, "It's not really the time, y'know? I don't think we're really at 'parents' yet." He peeks up at her, only to find her watching him with such rapt attention that he's positive she can see right through him. But if she does, Pam's courteous enough to let it go, and her smile and nod of acceptance sate the irregular pounding in his chest.

--

She'd call the fluttering feeling inside her stomach 'butterflies' when they stride into the cinema and ogle movie posters together, but that would imply that this is something that it's not.

See, Pam's buying her own movie ticket, and he's just getting her a Wild Cherry Pepsi out of courtesy. They sit close to a group of obnoxious teenagers who are texting and chatting noisily throughout the whole film, and this movie is overflowing with delinquent humor that Pam almost feels bashful to watch alongside Jim.

So, yeah, even though her hands are feeling antsy and there's a fleeting moment where she's tempted by the flicker of the movie screen across his face and neck, and even though his arm feels so warm when it brushes hers on the same rest, Pam just has way too many reminders of what this really is (that is, not a date) even when neither of them can exactly remember that one girl from Maryland with long brown hair.

--

"Don't you dare," she brandishes her finger up at him as they cross the parking lot, people filtering in and out around them. They pause so she can look determined and so he can take her all in. "We do not speak of Paul Rudd in such an ill manner, Jim."

"We? " He repeats on a chuckle, raising an eyebrow up at her. "Like, the Royal 'we' or—"

"No, like the Scranton Legion of Paul Rudd Fans 'we'," she counters and he coughs out a laugh at her upturned nose and feigned appropriateness. "I can't believe you've never heard of us. We are a very proud group."

"Wow, " Jim murmurs as their feet set to motion again and his hand rakes through his hair. "I can see that. You seem … very dedicated in your mission to protect Mr. Rudd's name."

Pam twirls on her heel and walks backwards as they near her baby blue Prius, a cheeky little smile turning at the corners of her lips. Jim finds his breath taken away at the sheer adorability of her tiny dimples. "You're damn right. So, I won't have you sullying it. Besides, really, how can you not like him?"

"It's not that I don't like him, it's just … the appeal? From women? I don't see it, Pam," Jim gestures toward her and Pam shakes her head at him, almost pityingly. "No, seriously! The guy's like, 50--"

"He is not—"

"—And the only good movies he's ever been in are Anchorman and The 40-Year-Old Virgin. In which," Jim holds up his forefinger, stifling Pam's readied contest, "he didn't even really star."

Pam narrows her eyes playfully and Jim lets himself have this moment with her in a way he hasn't in months. He relishes in the way she fights her smile, the way her cheeks are pink and bright even under the dullness of nighttime, and he soars with recognition that she's playing along with him unthinkingly. It feels almost like winning.

"You," she points at him, "are forgetting Clueless, one of the single greatest movies ever, in which he was the lead romantic, and--"

"A pedophile," Jim addends fluidly, and she laughs sharply and looks scandalized. "But, please, continue."

"You are just—" She gapes openly at him, her eyes sparkling so that, god, it just makes him ache all over and she's like the sweetest thing he's ever looked upon in the world. Even when she's defending movie stars who don't even make his top ten list. "He totally was not a pedophile in that movie! He was in love with her, and it was cute!"

He folds his mouth and squints hard in speculation, playing this game and missing it sorely. Jim's got to lean against the side of her hatchback to keep upright as wave after wave of adoration for her and the need for her laughter keeps crashing down on him. "I will only absolve him because it was Alicia Silverstone, and no man can resist--"

"Here we go," Pam drags out a sigh, her hands thrown in supplication to the sky. "Not you too, Jim!"

"Oh, wait, wait!" Jim stands on his own and braces a hand on her car, leans in closer to her as though to examine her, and he tries hard to disregard the pink blotches staining the fair skin at her collar. "So, you can preach about the amazing, albeit non-existent, talent and attraction of Paul Rudd, but the moment I say something about Alicia Silverstone, who is certifiably gorgeous—"

"Certifiably? I'm sorry to do this, Jim, but: as if, " Pam cheeks and arches her brow significantly. Jim groans as the reference clicks, and they both laugh loudly and clearly. It choruses above them and, long after it dies out, it's still ringing in Jim's ears.

Their chests are still heaving from the warmth of it, and Jim is feeling oversensitive, hyped up on something like a cocktail of adrenaline, infatuation, and the pretty color of Pam's eyes. "You are… something else, Beesly," he chuckles lowly and ducks his eyes to the ground, skipping out on the look of wonder that briefly crosses her face. He steals a glance at her, and his smile softens. "It has been very cool, hanging out with you today."

Pam blushes and sets her hip against her driver's side door, a bashful smile peeking at the front of her lips. "Yeah, yeah, I think so, too. I'm really glad you invited me out," she meets his eyes and yeah, it's still there, so she tilts her line of vision to the side, just past his ear. "If you hadn't, I'd probably be taking HG-TV's advice on how to better access the full, potential space of my living room."

They share another, much shorter-lived laugh, because now it's hitting that point in the moment where it's all real and in full color, and Jim's left standing there, looking at her, feeling at a loss. He thinks that at about this time, he'd be rescuing her from their awkward lull, from the definite way he looks at her, from himself; like now. But this Pam is staring at him certainly, like she willingly walked into this instance, and he just doesn't know what to do with that.

His pocket weighs heavily, and all at once he's aware of his cell phone settled against the inside of his pant leg and the first name under 'K'. Jim gulps down air, his cheek hitching with an attempt at a new, uncomfortable smile. "Uh, but anyway, I should probably get going—"

"Oh," Pam breathes, and he doesn't know how he feels about the way her face breaks a little. "Yeah, me too," she agrees in a voice that doesn't sound sure to him, but like she's just saying it because it's the appropriate thing to be said. He isn't conscious of it, but her hazy agreement makes his temper rise and his nostrils flare. "I have to, uhm, get up early tomorrow, anyway, so—"

"Yeah," Jim just nods and pushes back a step, the urgency to put distance between them catapulting upward in his body. "But today was fun, Pam, we should definitely—"

"We should, we should," Pam's nodding before he's finishing, one hand fishing blindly in her purse for her keys and the other already around the car door handle. "Thank you, again, Jim."

He pauses in his backward march from her, caught observing the space he's put in between them. Jim thinks himself kind of stupid for his hurry and for his paranoia. His phone isn't ringing, Karen's not in Scranton (much less Pennsylvania), and Pam's looking at him with eyes that he half-imagines are telling him things he's wanted to know from her for a very long time. But this is really fucking silly, and he shouldn't be here - not yet and not with her.

Jim clears his throat and bows his head, trying to slow down his overworked mind to where thinking about her doesn't become such a hassle. He tips his face up and he sees her still hesitating, and he is, of course, inundated with everything about her. It never fails. "I'll, uh- I'll see you on Monday, though. Have a good Sunday?"

She nods and smiles kindly at him, and he's thankful and disappointed all at once. The smart thing to do would be to leave then; it's the perfect moment to turn and walk away. Pam's already ducking into her car and her ignition sounds, but even so, he is struck terribly with the need to have that last, final fix before he lets her go. Just one last smile, one last look.

Somehow, Jim manages to hold his tongue as she pulls out of her parking space, as she waves a hand out her window and he just settles on waving back. Her back lights flood the ground and wash over his feet with a bright, vibrant red, and it stings his eyes.