January

*

She used to love winter, but in the early mornings when she spends twenty minutes scraping snow and ice off her windshield, she thinks about warmer climes. Even though her car is new, it takes a couple minutes for the heat to kick in, and she spends it involuntarily shivering and trying to brace herself so her teeth stop chattering. She rubs her arms and stomps her feet at the red lights, finally feeling the warm blast of heat when she puts her hands up to the vent. Just as quickly though, she's pulling into the parking lot and dashing inside. Her nose tingles and she can feel the flush in her cheeks as she rides up in the elevator.

She's catching up on her email when Jim walks in the door.

"Hey," he grins. "Did you have a good break?"

She can't help but smile back, even though it hurts a little, reminding her of how excited Jim had been to see her after she and Roy had spent a week in the Poconos. "Yeah," she replies. "How—how was yours?"

"It was okay," he shrugs, ambling over to his desk. She watches him for a minute, wondering if she can tell anything from his body language, but she knows how Jim can hide things, how he can compress things so well. For years, he compressed how he felt and she had no idea.

Karen comes in a few minutes later and greets her, but doesn't linger by reception. She notices Karen barely makes eye contact with Jim as she settles in for the day.

For some reason, she's surprised by the sameness—the quiet clacking on keyboards, the occasional muffled cough, a phone ringing, the printer gearing up for another task, the murmured voices of the office. Of course, Michael doesn't let things stay quiet for long, interrupting his employees' flow with something inane. She rolls her eyes and sort of hides behind her desk, hoping she won't be called out to participate. When she glances up, she can see Jim turning her direction in his chair, giving her a knowing smirk.

Later, when she comes back from the supply room, she finds a bag of York peppermint patties next to her keyboard.

*

At lunch time, she hesitates before walking back to the break room. She hopes Jim and Karen aren't sharing furtive glances over a shared bag of chips. Instead, when she walks in, Jim and Toby look up from their lunches, and both smile at her. She ducks her head, setting her stuff down and gets a drink out of the machine. She doesn't bother to inquire where Karen is, just enjoys the staggered chatter between Jim and Toby about goings-on. Toby's going to train for another race. Sasha is doing really well in first grade, but Toby's ex-wife is probably going to get remarried. She doesn't know the details of Toby's divorce: if his wife left him for another man and if her new husband is that other man, but she knows that Jim knows, so she sympathizes and lets Jim ask the questions.

They talk a little about Phyllis's wedding; they all got their save the date cards over the holidays. Under the table, her right index finger and thumb find the place where her ring used to be. She doesn't regret it, but it strikes her as a little weird that last year at this time, Roy had re-set the date for their wedding and she had started to worry about her dress, the invitations, and all the little details she had made herself forget for the past three years. It's like some odd game of fate played by the universe. When she looks up, she notices Jim watching her, and she wonders if he's thinking the same thing. Toby cleans up his trash and waves to them before exiting to his cubicle in the back of the office.

*

For a few days, she eats lunch with Jim again. It's sort of nerve-wracking at first, having to put thought into when to chew and when to talk, so she doesn't accidentally pull the old "You know what my favorite food is? See-food" joke, because she's so eager to have him actually converse with her, ask her questions, and tease her.

On Friday, Jim comes in and shoots his empty water bottle into the trash. "Good shot," she comments. "But if you're evolving, shouldn't you know how to recycle by now?"

"I do recycle, but this office doesn't have a recycle bin. Imagine that, a paper company not recycling."

"Well, we should. Have one, I mean."

"Al Gore taught you well." Jim teases.

"Think about it. They've been teaching us this since we were, what, five? And people still don't do it."

"I never knew you were an environmentalist." He raises his eyebrows as he scoots out one of the plastic chairs, sitting down with a sigh.

"I guess it's rubbing off," she ducks her head. "There's this group of girls in my art class that are always talking about new stuff they've found that's made of recyclable material."

"Cool. Are you still taking classes at SCC?"

"Nope. I started going to the Penn State campus in Dunmore. It has evening programs for a bunch of stuff. I'm just taking classes now, getting a feel for it, but I like it a lot." She shrugs.

"That's great! I kind of, uh, am doing my own version of the art thing." He blushes and drops his head.

"Oh, really?" She tries to muffle her smile, but she lets it peek out, inordinately pleased that they are sharing things again.

"Yeah, I started coaching a basketball team. It's just for Parks and Rec, but it's a lot of fun."

"Jim!" She smiles; she can imagine him yelling good-naturedly from the sideline. "What age?"

"Seven and eight-year-olds." He sits forward in his seat. "These kids are hilarious. I mean, they're like three feet shorter than me and they're out there giving me crap."

"Oh, that's priceless." She giggles. She hears someone walk in behind her, but she doesn't turn to see who it is until Jim looks embarrassed and starts cleaning up his trash. Pam glances around to see Karen punching one of the buttons on the soda machine and she turns back around, pretending to finish her lunch. She nods at Jim, who gives her an apologetic look before he follows Karen out to the office. She stays in the break room for a minute, staring at the wall so she won't see Jim leaning against Karen's desk, trying to make up for whatever's gone wrong.

On Monday, she feels her stomach drop when Karen follows Jim into the break room, both of them all smiles. 

*

She doesn't pretend to be overly friendly with Karen, and their discontinued girls' nights are never mentioned. It's evolved into a game. The thing is, Pam's good at playing games, at keeping a straight face when she's pulling something over on Dwight or trying to be earnest with Michael, but she's not sure she's ever been good at playing games with Jim. They both seem to lose, picking themselves up only to start again.

She thinks about hosting a party for her new friends from her art classes, but she realizes it would be pretty obvious if he's one of the only guys there. Instead, she shows up to one of his games on a Saturday morning. Parents litter the stands, but she tries not to be too self-conscious and is pleased when Jim notices her during warm-ups, a ball almost hitting him in the face. He gives her a wave and she waves back, smiling. They go out for coffee afterward, laughing over the kids' efforts. She wishes she could ask questions about him and Karen, but she likes this rhythm they've fallen into, and she can't let on that she's curious. But sometimes she looks at up at him smiling over at her and she thinks, maybe.

They pause outside the little café and Jim's quiet, his shoes scuffing along the sidewalk as he walks her to her car. He asks her if she thinks she'll come to anymore games.

"Oh, I don't know," she laughs softly. "You're great with them, though. Natural."

"Thanks," he blushes and tucks his chin to his chest before looking up at her. She holds her breath, because she recognizes the look in his eyes.

"What?" she asks in a puff of breath.

"Nothing," he shakes his head. "Have a good weekend."

"Yeah," she nods, opening her car door. "You too." She leaves him standing in the icy parking lot, the mixture of snow and salt and ice a slushy gray mess at his feet. As she drives home, she bites her lip and wishes she had asked him to dinner.

*

When the RSVPs are due for Phyllis's wedding, he sends her an email: You better come to this thing, Beesly. I am not crying over Bob Vance (of Vance Refrigeration) by myself.

She rolls her eyes and writes him back: Sure thing, Halpert.

tbc...