How she has let grading get so out of control, again, was anybody’s guess. Last term Pam vowed she wouldn’t let papers pile up on her desk, ungraded and menacing. Now, only after three weeks of classes, she has to force herself to do something about it or die trying.

Only, her head is not on the task. How could it? Not when her ears are full of his laughter, and her lips are still warm where his kissed her. Not when her mind is rebelling to her own command: do not think about him. He is taken.

It started that first day, unexpected and unwanted. Pam looked down at the shamrock green of the file she was holding, and at the sign in front of her. It was a nice change from OSU’s colors that always made her think about halloween… a joke none of her former colleagues had appreciated. Marywood University seemed to focus a little less on football and a little bit more on the academic aspects of education. She was not complaining.

As the student walking her to the office kept her monotonous speech about the campus’ landmarks and benefactors, Pam made a mental map of the features more important to her: coffee shop 1, bookstore, coffee shop 2, secluded garden… yeah, it was not going to be bad to start here.

Finally, after some unnecessary turns to see that hall and that auditorium building, she was lead to the faculty lounge at the school of Graphic Design. It was empty but for one person, apparently engrossed on something on his computer. Pam suppressed a groan. It shouldn’t be like this, but she was always nervous before a first class and it was better if there wasn't any old professor to mock her or made her feel small. With little enthusiasm the student bid her a good term and left her, clutching the green file.

The man had raised his head, and now he said a friendly “good morning” that she echoed. Even though she had other things in her mind, she couldn’t help but notice that there was a relaxed air around this young professor that made her forget the image of the serious old guy at once.

As she sat, he closed his computer and stretched on his chair.

“You new?” he said pointing at the green file. It was a staple for everybody who had had to take the introductory seminar, and Pam made a mental note to stop displaying it.

“Yes. First day and all.”

“Yeah, I thought I saw you in orientation. Jim Halpert.”

“Pam Beesly.”

He stood up and leaned forward a little to shake her hand. She couldn't say she remembered him, and now she was not entirely sure if she wanted him to be friendly or to leave her alone to check on her class material for the umpteenth time. Not that she could avoid him, really.

“What are you going to teach?” he asked, resuming his relaxed posture.

“Art history. You?”

“A class, business related that, believe it or not, I always forget the name of.”

“Really?” she chuckled.

“Something large and pompous. It’s just business administration for graphic designers, really.”

“Call me old-fashioned, but you could always look at those bold letters in the first line of the syllabus.”

He looked properly scandalized. "What? And miss all the fun of not knowing? How boring!”

“Well, I do hope none of your students asks you what’s the name of the class.”

“If they do, I’d just say it’s an idiotic question that can be answered if they look at the syllabus.”

Pam rolled her eyes, but she was sure he could see she was amused.

“So, have you met all the colleagues yet?”

She nodded. “Mostly.”

“Well,” he said, now looking at his watch and starting to put his things inside a leather bag. “Enjoy this moment, because you're never going to go back to this time before you met our associate dean, Dwight.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“Just trust me. He was on leave during last term, but I've met him a while ago." He grimaced and she chuckled. "Got to go, because of course, I’ve got the class that is farthest from this place. The privilege of being the new guy.”

Pam couldn't help but envy how relaxed he looked. "Funny. How come I’m the new girl and my class is right around the corner?”

“That’s just feminist privileges,” he said, with a clearly fake frown. “See you around.”

The next time she saw him, it was between classes and he was standing in front of a vending machine, deep in thought.

“You know they won’t test you in your beverage choices?” she couldn’t help but tease him a bit. She doubted if she should call him Jim or do the whole “Professor Halpert” routine some of her colleagues seemed to be fond of, but somewhat he didn’t struck her as the formal type.

“You talk all you want, but you never know what goes in your portfolio if you are on tenure track.”

She chuckled, as he made his choice and pulled out a bright purple can.

“If that is the case, Grape soda is totally going to make you fail.”

“That’s prejudice. See you later, Beesly.”

By lunchtime she was tired, and the only thought that kept her on her feet was that it was good it was a small school and she had not too many students. Still, she felt worn off, and the prospect of the paperwork she had ahead of her for the afternoon was not a very encouraging one.

Pam was just getting into the elevator and thinking about it when the closing of the doors was stopped by a rather large hand that was followed by Jim.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Did you survive your first morning?”

“I think I did. How about you?”

He shrugged. “The artsy type is rarely interested in business, but they’ll get there. Or else. So, where are you having lunch?”

The change of subject and the elevator arriving at the ground floor surprised her.

“No idea.”

“What about we go to that fake Italian place in the economics building?”

He looked friendly, and careless, and was she reading him completely wrong or was he even acting a little flirty?

“Lead the way,” she said. If he really was going to try and chat her up, that would only add a bit of a nice distraction to starting a new job.

Fifteen minutes later, if she had been her usual lucid self, she would have had to admit that “a distraction” was a gross understatement. Only, because it was so much more than that, and she was completely focused on the man sitting across the table, she was unable to admit to anything. Jim was fun, witty, and now that her initial jitters were gone, she was able to appreciate how really attractive he was.

They talked about past works, other universities, common and not so common interests and funny stories about students. He took the check and ignored her protests, and when he held the door for her on their way out, his other hand brushed her back and she felt a warmth she had almost forgotten.

This was no little distraction, but a very welcomed layer of interesting.

Her thoughts went there during the entire afternoon, and even though meeting Professor Dwight K. Shrute had been one memorable experience that might haunt her for the rest of her life, her brain was perfectly content to recreate Jim’s smiles and to try to put a name to the exact color of his eyes.

That was, until the day was over and they exited the Art Department building together. The brunette woman dressed in a formal business-like fashion approached them and, completely ignoring Pam, put her arms around Jim Halpert’s neck and gave him a kiss on the lips. Pam’s eyes didn’t miss the gleam on the ring finger of her left hand, nor the way Jim’s hands went to her waist.

And that was precisely the moment her problems started.