Pam watched the entire episode of Jeopardy after Wheel, whooping when she got an answer none of the contestants did, shrugging when she had no idea on a daily double, and generally having a good time. Despite what she would admit was a subconscious expectation by this point, no category touching on jam came up: no “In a Jam,” no “Jamming Out,” not even—what had Dwight called it?—“Jellied Comestibles.” She had a great time. And she was pretty sure she would have won—if she had ever done something as frivolous and self-indulgent as try to get on Jeopardy. Not that she hadn’t tried the online test, but her home dialup connection had punked out halfway through. Twice.

She looked up at the clock and noticed it was already 7:30. Her stomach rumbled. She went to the kitchen to fix something for herself. Just a sandwich or something. Nothing fancy. Maybe PB&J, given the theme the day seemed to have acquired. But when she opened the fridge she saw:

A case (24 cans!) of Natural Ice.

A jar of sour cream.

An unopened jar of pickles.

Two sticks of butter. Well, two and a quarter.

And a few half-empty condiment bottles. No jam, though. It really wasn’t her favorite.

Well, maybe toast? But then she looked on top of the fridge and saw there was only the other half of her bagel from the morning.

“Roy” she muttered under her breath. He hadn’t just forgotten the cream cheese, had he? He hadn’t gotten anything but that beer and (she looked around) the chips and Twizzlers sitting by the toaster oven. Nothing substantial. And he’d acted so proud that he’d remembered to do the shopping.

She sighed, grabbed her car keys, and headed back out to get some groceries, and maybe something to eat on the way. She decided on the fly that this was a Wegman’s night, instead of Price Chopper; after all, they had a good deli, and really a good ready to eat section in general, so she wouldn’t be caught spending an hour cooking after she got home again. And besides, she loved those little chocolate chip muffins they sold. It was definitely a muffin kind of night.

She pulled into the Wegman’s parking lot, picked up small cart, and pushed her way through the aisles. She swept through the ready to eat section, grabbing some salad, a sandwich, and (on a whim) a four-pack of California rolls. As she walks by the cash registers on the way to the grocery section, she grabs a $25 Amazon gift card from the impulse buys—she can use it to buy art supplies later, and Roy will just see it as part of the grocery budget (if he even cared enough to look). She grabs peanut butter and debates between two kinds of fancy jam before choosing raspberry Smuckers because it reminds her of elementary school lunches her mom used to pack. Thinking of this afternoon, she also grabs a fancy lemon curd (from England!) for Angela. She loads up on staples (pasta, freezer meals, rice, some produce) before heading for the aisle that has the cheese and packaged bread. She’s deciding between Wegman’s generic and Wonderbread when she hears a voice behind her:

“I always prefer the King’s Hawaiian myself. Goes great with ham and cheese. Or” (a hand reaches around her to point at the contents of her basket) “peanut butter and jelly, if that’s more your speed.”

She turns around with a grin and finds herself smiling up at a pair of bright green eyes from a very short distance.

“Hi, Jim.”