He has been brave and she has not and it is something he must become accustomed to. And he cannot help but remember that one time he was brave, so brave, and she was a little brave, too, and for the first time since he met her it felt like they were on the same page.

He placed the sticky note over the centre of her monitor before she got back from the bathroom, inviting her to a roof-top rendezvous. She was required to bring sodas from the break room, he had covered the rest. His hands didn’t shake as he smoothed the note against the screen. His breath didn’t catch in his throat as he took in the intimate, personal details of the photos on her desk and the arrangement of her stationery. He allowed himself a smile. He was certain. So far from how he feels now.

When she told him she had plans he believed her. Just for a moment. But she couldn’t keep her mouth straight and he tried to ignore the feeling of relief that covered him in those few seconds as he leaned against her desk. He remembers the way she held the note between her fingers as he spoke to her, unwilling to throw it away. He remembers the way she looked up at him completely unabashed and completely engrossed in whatever joke he was telling. He remembers the way he lingered for a moment too long before heading back to his desk, the way she pulled her eyes away from him. The way she looked at him and smiled from five feet away.

He climbed the ladder with one hand, balancing two paper plates in the other. He found her already standing in the cold, bathed half in the glow from the adjacent streetlight and half in the dark of 5:30pm in November. She was turned away from him and he could see the two sodas sitting on the cardboard box masquerading as a table behind her. The box he had brought up during his lunchbreak in a dazzling fever of hope.

“May I present,” he began with a flourish, and she jumped at the sound of his voice, “Jim Halpert’s famous grilled cheese sandwich. Concocted by none other than yours truly.”

He tugged off the napkin and presented her with the two paper plates floundering in his hand. She scooped them up with a giggle and placed one on each side of the box standing between two rusty pool chairs. He had found them in an old office space in the building and somewhat unscrupulously claimed them as his own.

“I didn’t know Scranton could look as dull from above as it does from the ground,” she said, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“I don’t know,” he countered, moving towards her but keeping his eyes away. “If you squint really hard and turn your head 43 degrees to the right, the streetlights kind of block everything else out.”

She laughed, nestled into one of the pool chairs, reached for the closest paper plate. “This is quite the set-up you’ve got here. Not too shabby.” He smiled with the knowledge that this was working, that she was happy, that she was not repulsed.

“Wait until you’re up here during the day. It’s even worse.”

She laughed again. His reward. “I’m serious, Jim. This is really nice.”

“I’m glad you think so, because it’s all for you.”

She turned to him, an uncertain smile lingering at her mouth. In the half-light and at this distance, he couldn’t quite read her eyes, couldn’t quite be sure how he was being received. But he forced a smile and she returned it and leaned back further into her seat. “Sure, sure. I bet you bring girls up here every night.”

“If only you knew, Beesly.” If only she knew.

“So, how have you enjoyed your first six months as a salesman with a mid-tier paper supply firm?” Her words were muffled around her mouthful of sandwich.

“It’s been one hell of a ride,” he began, thinking of her, thinking of Dwight, thinking of Michael. Thinking of her. “What with the boundless opportunities of a non-stop life here in Scranton, PA, I don’t think I could imagine anything better.”

That earned him a real laugh. She turned to him, swinging around in her seat to completely face him. “Okay, if you weren’t a salesman, what you be?”

“Professional diver. You?”

She smirked at him. “Children’s book illustrator.”

“Really, Beesly?” She nodded at him. “I’m... very surprised.”

“What, you don’t think I could keep up with the competitive industry of children’s literature?” She was mocking him, an eyebrow raised over her mouth slightly turned up.

“I don’t know, Beesly, those Spot the Dog storylines can be deceptively difficult.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Celebrity crush?”

“Emily Blunt.”

“John Stamos.” She paused. “Or Johnny Depp.”

“Best birthday you’ve ever had?”

“My parents took me to see some ice-skating version of Swan Lake when I was 9. They bought me a doll and I got to have ice-cream for lunch and it didn’t rain.” She looked over to him. Waiting.

“When I was 7, my dad took me to the Natural History Museum in New York, and we looked at fossils all day. And at the end of the day he got me a little plastic triceratops. It was awesome.”

“I would have loved to see a miniature, super dorky version of you,” she teased around another mouthful. “Not that you aren’t dorky now, just that you were more dorky then.”

“Unfair, Beesly! Miniature Jim didn’t know any better!” He looked at her, winked, smiled more widely. “I still have that plastic triceratops.”

“Pride of place among your other dolls?” He grew warm under her gaze, felt himself inhaling her presence, her laughter, her teasing.

“How many times, Beesly? They’re action figures, not dolls.”

“I think I’d need to see that for myself to determine the truth.” She opened her soda and the sound was too loud. He grew uneasy at the thought of her in his room, in his space, in the centre of his life. Wondered what she would do if she ever got there.

They were silent as they made their way through their hastily prepared meals. The air was silent around them, too, dark and stiff and unsettling. She didn’t look at him as she finished her sandwich but he looked at her, committing her to memory, noticing everything about her. She hadn’t worn earrings to work that day. Her ears were small beneath her hair.

“Best moment in the office so far,” he offered, his nervous energy forcing him to break the silence. She didn’t answer for a moment.

“Do you remember that day when Dwight left his computer open while he was on a sales call and you changed of all his file names to incorrect references from Battlestar Galactica?” He nodded. She smiled at the memory. “And then he threatened to write you up so you put his favourite pen in an unnecessarily large portion of Jell-O. I just... I guess that was the moment I knew I wanted to be friends with you.” She shifted in her seat under the weight of his gaze. He didn’t look away. “Even though you’re basically still 12 years old,” she added. She let the silence hang for a moment before prompting him. “What about you?”

He remembers thinking about the moment he saw her, introduced himself, let her lead him the five feet to his new desk. He thought about the time she introduced him to the rules of jinx over her desk. He thought about the time she winked at him while pretending to be Dwight’s mother on the phone. He thought about the time they had lunch together in the break room alone, and they went twenty minutes over time and she didn’t look sorry at all.

Her paper plate caught a breeze and leapt from her lap, crossing the air between them. She jumped from her seat and reached out an arm and he snatched at it as it flitted past him but it was too far away and he was on his feet and she was right in front of him. He could see the streetlight reflecting off her eyes when she was so close, could catch the soft rising and falling of her chest as she breathed. He could count her eyelashes if he dared to linger, dared to take her in for a moment more than was allowed.

“Do you remember,” he began, hoping to keep her there, “what I said to you when I got here on my first day?”

Confusion crossed her face but she covered it with a smile. “You said ‘Hi, I’m Jim, I’m the new salesman’. What does that have to do with--”

“That was when I knew I wanted to be friends with you.”

Her smile didn’t fade. She didn’t move away. So he took his chance and tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. He wanted to touch her but he didn’t know how, knew that this was the only way.

“I have new music,” he offered, digging around in his pockets for his iPod. Anything to keep her from stepping away from him. She held out a hand into which he carefully placed an earbud, tucking the other into his own ear. The song he chose wasn’t new. It was old and he knew every word and for the last six months it had reminded him of her. She looked down, swayed a little on her feet as if she was afraid of falling over if she moved too quickly.

“I like it.”

“Thanks. Care to dance?”

“I don’t think so. I’m a really dorky dancer.”

“Well, I have to see it now!”

“No, Jim, really--”

He took both her hands in the folds of his own and forced her into a combination of elaborate steps that he had completely made up then and there. They both looked at their feet, entirely unsure of what they were doing, holding on to each other a little too tightly.

“Jim, I honestly can’t dance!” She giggled, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t let go of his hands.

“Looking pretty good to me, Beesly.” And he had never seen her look more beautiful.

“I don’t think this song was designed for this kind of dancing,” she argued.

“This is... an interpretation,” he countered.

“Of what?” And she laughed so loudly and it was such a wonderful sound and he found himself pulling her just a little bit closer.

“Would you believe me if I said it’s a piece I’ve been working on called ‘Rain Falling on Pavement’?”

“Definitely not.”

“Okay, well I won’t tell you that, then.”

She moved a little too quickly, tugging the earbud out of her ear. She looked up in surprise, found him closer than he could remember them ever being. He didn’t know what to do with their hands hanging somewhat awkwardly between them. His breathing was fast. Her breathing was fast. He felt a little too bold as he cupped one hand around her cheek.

“I’ll tell you something else instead.”

“I’m engaged,” she said, as if he had forgotten. As if she had forgotten.

“I know.” He didn’t move his hand from her face.

“Jim...” And for a moment he thought she would say something else, but she gently pulled his hand from her cheek. “I’ve had a really nice night.” She turned, scooped up her bag from where it sat on her chair. “Thank you so much for dinner.” She took uncertain steps towards the ladder, towards the space where he wasn’t. “See you tomorrow.”

And she left him alone, alone as he is now in his new apartment across the hallway from her. And he thinks of how he cannot decide whether he has not been that brave since, or whether she simply hasn’t let him.