Just as Pam’s head hit the desk for the third time that day—she really needed to get some tips from Jim, she though, on how to do it without hurting her forehead—the object of her thoughts made his way through the door.

Backwards.

This permitted Pam an excellent opportunity to appreciate a view she all too rarely got to observe freely, and she was almost so distracted by taking full advantage of that opportunity to wonder why it was that Jim was walking into work the wrong way. Almost was an important distinction, she told herself, because it’s not like she was completely and utterly transfixed by the backside of her best friend who was very emphatically not her fiancé. She just had a right and proper appreciation for a pleasant view, like anyone might. The fact that she bristled slightly when she noticed Phyllis leaning over for a similar view was simply a result of her innate dedication to productivity and worker safety. After all, Phyllis had to turn away from her computer and dangle off her chair to get a good look, while Pam…well, it was her job to keep an eye on anyone coming into the office. Two eyes, if possible. Which, it turned out, it was.

And besides, it’s not like she didn’t notice the giant tree Jim was carrying. So what if it did take her a good two seconds to register that particular detail? No one was complaining. Jim even thanked her as she bolted upright and grabbed the door for him. No harm, no foul.

Well, maybe not no harm—not because of her own momentary distraction, but because of the massive fir that was threatening to strip the paint off the hallway walls and possibly break the glass doors themselves. As Jim stumbled into the office proper she caught a glimpse beyond the branches of Michael and Dwight clinging mightily to the bottom of the tree before Michael’s grip slipped and the trunk slammed sideways into the doorframe.

This in turn set off a cacophony of shouts—she was pretty sure she heard Dwight yell something about “time-tested German tree-maneuvering techniques” over Michael’s yelp, which years of experience allowed her to instantly file under “not hurt, just wanting attention”—as well as a literal cascade of paper as a box of reams that had been placed by the door for reasons that now escaped her fell victim to the rolling trunk. The entryway, which had been relatively orderly given the utter absence of clients the Friday before Christmas, was now an unholy mess. And she knew who would be tasked with cleaning it up.

“Smart tree.”

She looked up from examining the wreckage to find Jim’s eyes on her, and she almost blushed (almost was doing a lot of work for her today, she thought. Or at least in the last two minutes). Instead, she quirked an eyebrow interrogatively.

He grinned as their eyes met and continued his thought, gesturing at the tree. “Making a last ditch break for freedom. Someone must have told it where paper comes from.”

She giggled, and his grin grew wider. He bent down and whispered in her ear. “Remind me to tell you about Dwight’s farm sometime.”

She mock-gasped and covered her mouth with one hand. “Tell me you didn’t go all the way out there.”

He nodded. “Apparently he grows more than just beets out there.” A quick glance at the fallen fir. “Or else this is just the most impressive set of beet greens I’ve ever seen.”

“Ohmigod. Can you imagine?” Pam giggled again. What was with her today? She never giggled this much at work. OK, maybe sometimes. But something felt different today. She shook it off. There were more important things to think about. “A beet that large…you could practically live in it!”

Jim shrugged. “What do you think the farmhouse is made of? Anyway, he said something about how Douglas firs were the only crop worthy of supplanting beets in one of his fields, and Michael apparently convinced him to donate one of his last trees to the office for today’s ugly sweater party.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you it’s today.” He winked. “Because of course there are so many other days left before Christmas to choose from.”

She grinned. “If he asks, I’ll pretend to be suitably surprised.” Together they lifted the front of the tree again and pulled it inside, as Michael and Dwight seemed to have finally sorted themselves out on the bottom end. At a gesture from Jim they dragged it into the break room—Pam subtly angling the tree so that it didn’t interrupt her view of the teapot cabinet—and left it diagonally draped across the table, as it was much too large to stand up in the confined space.

The tree squared away, Michael stood up and brushed himself off—only to have to push Dwight away as his overly enthusiastic lieutenant began to brush him off as well. This would have been bad enough, but for some reason Pam could not figure out Dwight’s hands seemed to stick to Michael’s jacket, and the frantic brushing quickly became reminiscent of a Houdini-style escape act until Michael and Dwight were somehow standing in front of her embracing in a pose she seemed to recall having been photographed in by Roy’s mother before prom.

Her confusion was quickly cleared up when Jim turned from the break room sink where he’d been busy doing something, bent down by her ear again and whispered one word: “sap.”

She looked up, startled, and realized that Jim was entirely right. A real tree meant real sap, and real sap was sticky. The mystery activity Jim had been doing was washing his hands: Dwight and Michael had neglected that step, and their hands were absolutely covered with the stuff. A glance at the tree itself showed that even the natural possessor of the sap was not immune to its more amusing side-effects: the tree itself was now covered in sticky paper (Natural White, 20lb).

Jim noticed the direction of her glance and nudged her shoulder with his. “A gruesome sight.”

She grinned up at him. “Extremely.”

“Wearing the dead bodies of its friends.” He shook his head and shot his eyes in the direction of Michael and Dwight, who were now stripping off their jackets and shirts in full view of the entire rest of the office. “Some people just have no sense of decency.”

This time it wasn’t a giggle—it was a full belly laugh.