They spent a lot of the rest of the day relaxing, mutually acknowledging the need to rest their feet and refresh their bodies. The Australian Botanic Garden turned out to have an excellent cafe, and after drinking and eating their fill there, they gently wandered back around the bird-watching locales, marveling at the crests and colors they’d never seen before.

Pam filled up her sketchbook, and Jim noticed before she did (he, after all, wasn’t drawing in it). So he snuck back to the Visitor Centre on a pretext (well, not so entirely pretextual—cooling drinks had consequences) and came back with a new pad under his arm, this one emblazoned with a cockatiel on the cover. When Pam flipped the last page and exclaimed in dismay that she guessed she was done for the day, he slipped the new pad into her hands and leaned back against the tree they were currently under.

“Guess again.” He linked his fingers behind his head. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on any genuine Beesly originals.”

“Jim! You really shouldn’t…actually, I really appreciate it.” Pam clearly swallowed whatever else she’d been going to say. “Thank you.” She cracked the cover and began to write. He could tell, somehow, that that was what she was doing; the sound of the pencil was different than when she drew. More staccato, less fluid, less at ease. “There.” She held the book open so he could see.

“The Australia Sketchbook. A Beesly/Halpert Production.” He grinned. “I mean, I’m glad you like the book, but it’s not like I’m going to be contributing anything other than cash to this sketchbook enterprise.”

“Don’t you know that most producers are the money behind the talent? And anyway…” but he cut her off before she could continue.

“Are you referring to yourself as the talent?” Before she could take advantage of the opportunity to either confirm or deny he rushed on. “Because you absolutely are.”

She blushed. “Err…thank you.” She held up the pencil. “But I meant to say, anyway, I’m not letting you off the hook that easy.” She pushed pencil and book into his hands. “Draw, Halpert. I want my own genuine Halpert original to go with the Beeslys.”

“You sure? This is going to look like crap.” He took the pencil, because he couldn’t resist her offering him anything, but he held it like he’d never held a pencil before in his life—like he’d once seen an exterminator hold a squirrel carcass, by one toe with decided misgivings. “I’m serious, Pam, I can’t draw for beans.”

“Fortunately, beans are not on offer.” She grinned, and he softened as he always did. Though in a sense, he did something very opposite. “Just draw something, Jim. It’ll mean a lot to me if you do.”

So he did. He tried his best to render the tree they were sitting under, a spreading Eucalyptus with a long white trunk and tufts of green leaves like broccoli florets far above them.

It ended looking a lot like broccoli, when he was done. Pam took one look at it, and looked him square in the eye. “Thank you for trying.” She took the pencil back too. “And don’t think you’re out of the woods yet. I’m going to teach you how to do better, one of these days.”

“Are you saying my art is not the best art of all the art?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I did warn you it was gonna be crap, didn’t I.”

“Well, I would rate it above crap, at least.” She was back to sketching mode herself, the pencil moving over the paper as she spoke. “But wouldn’t you like to be able to draw something that means something to you and see it on the page like it is in your mind?”

“I would.” One thing—one person—in particular. “So I guess that means you’re offering me lessons?”

“I did say I’d teach you, didn’t I?” She smiled up at him and then put her head down in the book again. “After all, we have all the time in the world.”

**

But one sense in which they did not have all the time in the world was brought back to Pam when they headed back to the Visitor Centre after an hour or so of constant drawing. They went hand in hand towards the building when a very busily dressed Australian woman intercepted them.

“Are you my couple?”

“Excuse me?” Pam and Jim looked at each other. “Your couple?”

“You must not be, then. Hello. Angelica Taylor. Venue and Planning.” She stuck out a hand for each of them to shake. “But you really should consider it, even if you aren’t my couple.”

“Consider what?” Pam was thoroughly confused, and a glance at Jim said he was equally at sea.

“The wedding venue, of course!” Angelica pulled a piece of paper out of a folder she was carrying. “Here, take this, I always carry around a few spares. You two are obviously in love, and there’s nowhere better to make that love an established fact than here at the Gardens.” She looked them over briefly. “From your accents you’re American, but that’s absolutely fine. We specialize in destination weddings too.” She turned at looked behind them. “Ah, that must be my couple. No rush, dears, obviously, I can see you’re not even engaged yet, but do think it over. It’s such a lovely spot.” She hurried on and Jim and Pam looked at each other with wide eyes.

“I…don’t even know how to process that. How to begin to process that,” Jim admitted, rubbing his neck in a sign that she knew was nervousness.

In that moment she remembered, as if it had all been dammed up behind her feelings for Jim, all the craziness of the last month. She wasn’t engaged—that Angelica woman was right. She didn’t have all the time in the world with Jim—she’d only just found him again and he was working for the Stamford office. And even if she was sure this wasn’t a rebound—and she was sure it wasn’t, for her at least, and what would it even be a rebound from for Jim? Her rejection of him? She knew there was such a thing as an offensive rebound but that idea was…well, offensive—she was also sure that talking about engagements or marriage with Jim right now was a really bad idea.

“Uh…you want to check it out?” Jim broke into her reverie with a hesitant voice. “Not that…not that we’re getting married or anything, but this flyer does say it has the best view of the entire Garden complex.” If he rubbed his neck anymore he was going to give himself rope burn.

“I think I’m feeling a little tired,” she found herself saying. “Can we just head back to the hostel?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” He squeezed her hand, and she realized he’d never dropped it the whole time. “And Pam?”

“Yeah?” She fought to keep the sudden worry and world-weariness out of her voice. Honesty was important in a relationship, yes, but maybe dumping all your feelings on the other person wasn’t the right way to do things.

“You can talk to me about it when you’re ready, OK?”