Pam and I continued to set up chairs for the speech. There were few words spoken between us as we mechanically pulled each chair off the rack and placed it into rows that spanned the pavilion. We had put out a good two hundred chairs and I hoped as many would arrive for the speech. Pam continued to work diligently, but I slowed my pace, watching her as she made sure the chairs were aligned in a perfect straight line. The longer I waited to ask her out, the more difficult it became. More reasons for her saying no jumped into my head, so, while the question was at the tip of my tongue, I asked another.

"Um, so tell me about this speaker, who is he again?" I asked. She had briefly spoken about him earlier, but I was still unsure as to who he was.

She placed a final chair down before answering. "Well, his name is Jack Riggle- Captain Jack Riggle actually. He was this captain in the navy during Desert Storm and after he got out, he decided to go into art. He's from Scranton originally, but has been quite a success in Philadelphia between his metal work and clay sculpting."

"Do you know what he's speaking about today or-"

"I have no idea," she responded. "But, I'm really looking forward to it. His wife, Brenda, was an art teacher at the college where I went back to school. I had her for one of my classes. She works mostly with acrylics and oil paints, but sometimes she works with pencil. Her stuff was all over the walls of the college art building. Anyway, she had to speak with my professor as well, so while we waited, we chatted a bit. She said the most inspiring thing anyone has ever said to me." She paused, a wistful look in her eye.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I was struggling with this one project," she continued. "I told her that I loved art, but sometimes felt it was only a hobby, that I didn't feel like I could make a career out of it. She told me that if I really loved it, that I shouldn't be scared to try finding a way to make art and a career work. There are a million reasons that I'll find not to do something, but taking the chance on yourself and following your dreams takes courage. That always stuck with me, you know? I held that thought with me when I applied for the museum and eventually when I was able to leave my husband."

"Wow, she sounds great," I said. It was clear how influential this woman had been in Pam's life by the glow in her eyes. "Why isn't she speaking?"

"I don't know," Pam said, tilting her head to think about it. "I mean, we asked her, but she said she'd be out of town at the time. Funny that her husband didn't go with her. I guess it doesn't matter, because she always spoke so highly of her husband and if he speaks anything like his wife it will be great."

"So," I started curiously as I grabbed another chair, only a few more rows before we covered the entire pavilion. "Why didn't you take her advice and follow a career in art? I mean, I know you work for an art museum and the position opened right up for you, but don't you ever want to go back to creating art?"

She looked at me strangely, as if not able to comprehend what I was getting at. "This woman helped me move forward in my personal life," she said a tad defensively. "I know being in public relations isn't the most glamorous life style, but it's a steady job that I'm getting to be confident in. I don't really want to throw that away on a gamble of the possibility of an art career. I mean, I have to be practical, Jim and following a pipe dream as an artist isn't really practical."

That didn't sound like the Pam I had spent all day with. I got the feeling that someone had had this conversation with her before. "Well, how do you know what's right unless you've tried it?" I asked. "You said yourself, there's a million reason not to do something. Have you ever tried taking a chance with your art?"

Pam didn't take my words to be as kindhearted as I had hoped. Instead, she aggressively took another chair from the rack and unfolded it. "Jim, I'm happy with my job. Really. Art is just- this hobby that I enjoy, but have never seriously considered as a career option. You know, I spent a lot of time being told what to do and I'm just now figuring out where I want to be in my life-"

"Pam, I'm sorry," I said sincerely, trying to fix the damage I had done. "I didn't mean to imply anything, I just-" I just wanted to encourage her to live the best possible life, I finished in my head. I wanted to support her ideas. I wanted to help her grow. But I had momentarily forgotten my place. I was a reporter. She was public relations. The line had been drawn.

"I know you didn't," Pam said, her voice softer than the moment before. She gave me a shrug. "Sometimes actually starting your life over isn't as easy as it sounds," she explained. "You said you've been in Scranton your whole life. Is there ever anything you've wanted to chase after, Jim? Or are you content with the way things are?"

It's hard to chase after dreams when you don't have any. Truth was, I've always been satisfied with my choice to come back to Scranton after college. I had the job that I had always wanted, still kept in touch with the same old guys, never had a steady girlfriend, but my luck might be changing there if I ever got up the nerve to change the status quo. I guess my life had always been stable and maybe I took that for granted, but it didn't mean I couldn't want her to go after something she wanted to do.

"I think it's a different situation, Pam," I started. "If I had anything to go for I probably would-"

Pam's cell cut me off. She pulled it out of her pocked, scrunched her nose when she read the name and hit a little button on the side to cease the ringing. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" she asked as she put the phone back in her pocket. No sooner had she pushed it in, the phone rang again. She rolled her eyes when she read the screen again and let out an annoyed sigh. "I'm sorry, I have to take this," she said as she flipped open the phone.

She turned away from me before she started speaking. "What?" I noticed that there was no kind greeting. "I told you, please stop calling, I don't want to talk…Because I don't think there's any else to say…no don't come here, I'll-…Alright, alright, if you can keep your end of the bargain, at the end of the week, I'll come visit you…Ok…Ok…bye." She slammed the phone shut and looked a little lost. She leaned onto one of the chairs for support.

"You ok?" I asked coming closer.

"Yeah, it's just- Roy," she said shaking her head. "He's been calling me for a while, I think I should just go see what he wants."

"Well, is that a bad or- dangerous thing?" I remembered clearly how she hid from him yesterday.

"No," she answered slowly, "It's just that- He won't let it go. Granted, three months ago, he was barging into my apartment at unwanted times, so at least he's calling now, but I've worked so hard on putting that part of my life behind me and- I don't know, I just don't want to deal with it any more."

I desperately wanted to put my arm around her to comfort her, but instead we stood there silently.

* * *

"Hi, Pam," came a sweet voice, breaking our silence. It was Phyllis, walking past the pavilion with a very large, chocolate brown Teddy bear on her back, "Hi, Mr. Halpert," she nodded at me, smiling kindly.

"Hey, Phyllis," Pam said warmly as she walked towards her. "What do you have there?"

Phyllis slid the bear off her back and onto the ground, blushing a little when she looked at it, "It's from my boyfriend, Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration." She explained looking positively giddy over.

Pam's eyes widened, "I didn't even know you were dating."

"Oh, yes," Phyllis said, her grin widening. "Do you remember that Christmas Party we had last year? Well, Bob was visiting a friend, Tom, you know the Preparator who works on the second floor." Pam nodded. "Well, he set us up. I thought that I was past that point in my life where I'd ever find someone, but he's such a sweet man. And hot too." She had no reservations about stating that out loud.

"Well, good for you," Pam said, not sure what to say.

"Anyway, it's my birthday and Bob has been sending me things all day," she explained, looking down at the bear.

"Happy birthday," Pam and I said in unison.

"Thanks guys," She said, turning a deeper shade of red. "He's already sent me candy and chocolates and flowers. This morning he gave me perfume that he purchased in Metro Orlando. He was at a refrigerator convention." She held out her arm for Pam and I to sniff.

Pam and I exchanged awkward looks before both leaning into to take a whiff of Phyllis's new perfume. One deep breath of Phyllis's scent was enough to make me nearly vomit. It smelled like a mix between sweat, smog, and floor cleaner. I forced a smile on my face, "Nice."

Pam scrunched her noise, but managed to get out the word, "Musty," in the most complementary tone she could manage.

Phyllis didn't seem to notice our bad reaction. "I think it brings out my wild, feminine side," Phyllis purred. I wasn't sure how to take that and didn't ask.

"It definitely brings something out," Pam said, taking a step back from Phyllis.

"How's the interview going?" Phyllis asked, with a smile and a wink towards Pam.

Pam pretended not to notice, "Oh, it's great. We'll be getting a good story out of it."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Phyllis assured as her eyes lingered on me. Suddenly, she didn't seem like a sweet lady anymore. There was a dark look in her eyes and it made me slightly uneasy that this older woman had no shame in checking me out, especially with Pam standing right there, especially when she had a boyfriend who didn't hesitate to buy her anything imaginable.

"Um, do you need help with that?" I offered, pointing to the bear, anything to change the subject.

"Oh, thank you," Phyllis said breaking off her stare, "Would you mind taking it my car? It's just out in the parking lot. We have a few minutes before the speech starts."

"Not at all," I responded and the three of us traipsed out to the parking lot, a short walk away. Phyllis and Pam chatted about the turnout of the festival while I lugged the bear, a step behind them. Phyllis's car was at the front of the lot and it she opened the trunk so I could place the bear on the layer of flowers, boxes of chocolate and candy that filled the bottom of her trunk.

"Wow," Pam commented when she peaked at the gifts, right before I squished the bear in. Phyllis didn't seem to care that I had to distort the stuffed animal, possibly permanently creasing it, to get the trunk to shut. "You weren't kidding about the gifts."

"I told you he was a sweet guy," She said with a smile. "Well, thank you both. I'm going to be taking off now. Jan let me have the evening off so that Bob Vance can take me to that new Indian restaurant up on fourth. He also got me this new book about the Kama Sutra so afterwards-"

"Alright, Phyllis," I said, giving her a pat on the back. I think that was one conversation I never needed to have.

Pam's concentration had been turned to other places. "Jan's let you out early this evening?"

"Oh yeah," Phyllis replied. "I asked for it off weeks ago."

"She said I could go early too," Pam said in disbelief. "Who's taking care of clean up?"

"My guess would be Ryan, Kelly, and Angela," Phyllis said, she leaned towards us, as if adding some big secret, her potent perfume engulfing us again. "Angela's going to be pissed, but I don't really care because ever since her cat died she's been bitchier than usual."

"Maybe I should stay," Pam contemplated.

"I should get going," Phyllis said, unlocking the front door to her car. She gave me a twisted smile, "And nice meeting you Mr. Halpert." She ran one hand slowly down my arm, stopping a moment to squeeze my hand. It gave me an uncomfortable shiver.

"Bye Phyllis," I said, glad that she was finally getting in the car. We both waved as she took off.

"Um, should I worry that she sort of just hit on me?" I asked as we started back towards the pavilion.

Pam let out a laugh. "I think she's harmless, mostly."

"Mostly is not reassuring."

"Eh," Pam said with a shrug. "I can't believe how wonderful her boyfriend is. Did you see all that stuff in the back of her car?"

"Well, some of us do go overboard," I said thinking of the basket that currently hid in the trunk of my own car. "But I'm sure he is well intending."

"Yeah, I guess I'm just not used to it," Pam explained, "I mean on my birthday, Roy would get me something cheap like a sweater, that usually didn't fit or something that he had my mom pick out. Then he'd give me a card with a coupon in it for the best sex ever." She stopped in her tracks, blushing when she realized her words. "I can't believe I just said that," she said, putting a hand to her mouth.

I let out a laugh, knowing that her ex-husband was a complete loser somehow made me feel a little better. "It's alright," I said. "What are friends for?"

She gave me an odd look, which quickly turned into a half smile. "Yeah," she stated simply. "Let's get up to that speech."

* * *

By the time Pam and I made our way back to the pavilion, there was already a line formed of patiently waiting people. Kelly sat behind a table situated at the front of the line. People were getting antsy as they waited for Kelly to start taking their money for tickets.

"Kelly, why haven't you started letting people sit down?" Pam asked as we walked up to the table.

"No one was here to give the ok," Kelly responded. "Do you want me to start taking money?"

"Yes," Pam said, a little frustrated. "Where's Captain Riggle?"

"Who?"

"The speaker, he was supposed to be here by now," Pam explained. "Is he with Jan?"

"I haven't seen Jan in a while," Kelly said as she waved the first person forward to take their money and give them a ticket.

"Well, where's Ryan or Angela?" Pam asked, rubbing her head. She was beginning to look worried.

"I don't know where Angela is," Kelly said, handing a woman and her daughter a couple of tickets. "Ryan is with Michael in the medical tent because you guys bailed on him. Seriously, that wasn't cool, Michael's still in a lot of pain. But Ryan can deal with it. I had to go wandering around with him looking for trees to climb."

"I don't care about that right now," Pam said, she looked up at me panicked and I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what to tell her.

"Hey, isn't Phyllis supposed to be here helping me do this?" Kelly asked, annoyed as she grabbed money out of an elderly man's hand.

"Um, I think she just left," I informed Kelly.

"What?" She screeched, making the old man jump back. "That old wench skipped out."

"It's her birthday," I offered.

"Oh please," Kelly went on, completely ignoring the young couple that came forward next. "She thinks she's all great because that fridge dude will buy her anything-"

"Kelly," Pam interrupted, "We have to find the speaker. Are you sure no one has come up to you saying that he's the speaker? A man named Captain Riggle. Captain Jack Riggle?"

"God, Pam, chill out," Kelly said, as if this were no big deal. "You are so bumping your real age ten years. And when are you going to let me figure out your real age for you? I've been bugging you about that forever. Seriously, Pam, you have some serious wrinkles going on and the real age test I took will help you."

Pam was blocking Kelly out, instead pacing back and forth, arms across her chest, biting a fingernail. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, thinking it was pointless to just stand here. "Do you want me to try and find him?"

"You don't know what he looks like," she said. She stopped pacing to give me a serious look. "Do you think you can stall them for a few minutes?"

"Stall?" I asked, not sure if I was hearing her right.

"Yeah," she took a deep breath in. "I can go find him and you just stop people from leaving."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said rubbing her forehead, "Will you just please-"

"Yeah, go," I insisted. I had no idea what I was going to do, but Pam was so worried that I feared she was going to go crazy if she wasn't able to take off. The minute I told her I would, she sprinted towards the entrance of the park.

I went up to the podium. Crowds didn't usually make me nervous, but I was very aware that I currently stood in front of nearly one hundred anxiously waiting festival-goers. The pavilion was half full and the line in front of Kelly didn't look like there was an end to it. A few of the faces looked familiar and I realized that a few of these people were in the same crowd when Michael and I were up here dancing and acting like idiots singing to 'Islands in the Stream'. I suddenly felt very self-conscious.

"Is this working?" I asked into the mike. I didn't think it was, so I tapped it a few times. The mike squeaked, making the people in the front row jump back. "Sorry about that." I said, my tinny sounding voice reverberated around the pavilion. "My name is Jim Halpert." The audience stopped its chatter to focus on me. "Uh, I am not, uh, the speaker tonight. He's- he's not here at the moment." Pam was nowhere to be seen and I couldn't stop stumbling over my words. "I'm not even part of the museum- not apart of the museum staff. I'm actually a reporter, from the Scranton Times." The audience wasn't amused. "Don't worry, Mr. Riggle, I mean Captain Riggle will be here shortly. So, art is…cool."

In the distance, I could finally see Pam racing across the grounds accompanied by a middle-aged, dark-haired, casually dressed man. "I am here to introduce Mr.- I mean Captain Riggle," I said out stretching my hand in their direction. The crowd wasn't sure whether to applaud or not, so there were a few staggered claps.

Pam and the man I assumed was Captain Riggle reached the pavilion. Captain Riggle jumped on the stage and pushed me out of the way without a word. I left the stage to stand next to Pam, who had stopped at the sound controls to catch her breath. As the crowd applauded the speaker, Pam ushered me to follow her around the chairs and to the back of the pavilion. There were a few empty seats in the next to last row.

"What happened?" I whispered in a hurry.

"I don't know," she said back, shaking her head. "We didn't talk, I just found him and ran over here."

"Art," Riggle began. I had anticipated some sort of introduction, but he just started talking with a harsh, loud voice, causing everyone in the audience, especially those who weren't paying attention, to sit up straight. "What is art?" he asked while the crowd remained silent. "You may think that art is a simple reflection of the mind's eye, but it is not." He used his hands to illustrate the points he was making. "Art is an exquisite, physical, tangible, expression of thoughts too provocative, too emotional to describe using the mere words of a language. And real art, yes real art, is by far and away the crown jewel, the most sensual, the top of all the art."

My jaw dropped a little. After everything Pam had told me I hadn't expected a speech that sounded so bizarre. I wanted to joke with Pam about how pompous the guy was sounding, going on about the wonders of true art, but she was hunched forward a little, one hand clutching the chair, trying hard to concentrate on the guy's speech, so I decided it best not to say anything at all. Even if it wasn't my cup of tea, maybe these people were getting something out of it.

"…I don't expect the common person to understand true art," Riggle was saying. Part of me believed he was making this up on the spot. "To understand true art you must have a firm understanding, an embedded natural knowledge of how each and every little thing, object, emotion is connected to each other. The true artist captures that in a single moment but cannot do its beauty justice. Instead, we true artists struggle through art to form meaning and bind what cannot be bound, define what does not want to be defined only to fail at producing the mere thing we were trying to create…"

The rest of the speech continued in the same vein, a long, drawn out, love letter to 'true art' and it's purpose, and while I credit his intentions, the militant style and shunning of every other type of work seemed a bit obnoxious. As a writer, even if it was journalism, the preaching that his type of art was the only 'true' type of art was a little hard to swallow.

I had a hard time concentrating the first hour, between his wordy descriptions of what real art is and how it compares to what people do on a regular basis, he began to lose me. I wasn't the only one, apparently, because when I looked around, I saw many people shifting uncomfortably in their seats, a few with their heads resting on their hands, forcing them to pay attention.

By the second hour, he had completely lost me. He delved into technical art speak that was much higher than my level of comprehension. For a moment I caught a few names I recognized when he began his comparison between classical art to new art, but all the art I learned as a kid was what I had to go off of and his discussion of even the famous artists was beyond me.

I wasn't the only one having a hard time. Besides a few intent listeners, Pam being one of them, the rest of the audience was shifting around, a few of them whispering amongst each other. Captain Riggle was so engrossed in his words that he wasn't even aware what was going on. Being in the back, I noticed a few people sitting on the sides of the pavilion sneak off. Kelly had attended for only ten minutes before she found something better to do. I knew it wasn't my problem, but I worried, for the museum's sake, about people demanding their money back.

By the time Riggle was wrapping up, I had slumped down in my chair, forcing myself to keep awake. Occasionally, I would sneak a glance over at Pam, who had a very grim look on her face. She eyed me back a few times, but never said a word, just turned her head quickly in the other direction.

"…and that is the true meaning of art," Captain Riggle came to an abrupt stop.

He stood at the podium for a moment or so, hands clutched on the sides of it, looking as if he were to be ill. The audience wasn't sure how to respond, so there was only a scattered applause. Pam pursed her lips and shook her head, but did not say a word. After a moment's silence, the crowd began to stand, everyone stretching their legs from the tedious talk, and filtered out of the pavilion before the guy was even off the stage.

Pam bolted up to reach the guy before he could go very far, me quick on her heels.

"Captain Riggle," she called out as he came off the podium. We had to fight against a flow of people headed off the pavilion, which made it difficult to get to the speaker. "Captain Riggle!" He didn't hear her so I called out his name.

"I don't do autographs," he barked as we approached him.

I held out a hand, blocking his path. "No, I'm Jim Halpert from the Scranton Times-"

"I don't do press either," he interrupted.

"I'm Pam Beesly, I'm PR for the museum," Pam jumped in, trying to be as kind as possible. "I walked you over here?"

He squinted his eyes for a second, trying to place her. "Oh," he finally said, though his tone didn't change. "Do you have any water, my voice is sore after talking for two hours straight." It bothered me how rude this man was being, excellent artist or not.

"Um, well, I don't have any right here, but if you don't mind coming with me to our Food Tent, we'd be happy to get you some food and drink," Pam explained.

"Don't bother," he said rolling his eyes. "I have to be going anyway."

"Wait, you're not going to stay?" Pam asked hurriedly.

"I have to be at the airport in an hour," He said harshly, "I'm going to Australia, then off to New Zealand. I'm going to walk the 'Lord of the Rings' trail. It's the one thing I've always wanted to do and now I have the time to do it."

Pam looked at him confused, "Oh, alright," she finally said. "Are you going with your wife?"

He looked up at her, irritated that she'd even bother with that question, "We got a divorce." He said sharply. "I'm sorry I couldn't be much better, Ms. Beesly," his tone softening only slightly when he saw Pam's shocked face. "But I can only say what I have to give and right now, it's not a lot." With that he went on his way, leaving Pam speechless.

I came over to her and put a hand gently on her back, hesitant about doing so, but I just wanted to comfort her. "Pam, I'm so sorry, I-" I wanted to say the right thing, but nothing helpful was coming to mind. Instead, I slipped my arm fully around her shoulders, grateful that she didn't pull away.

"Thank you," Pam said simply, "But, Jim, it's ok. You don't need to say anything."

* * *

Pam remained silent long after everyone had left the pavilion. I wanted to ask her if she was alright, but I wasn't sure if it was my place to. I really wanted it to be my place to, but I wasn't ready to cross that line yet, not with her feeling the way she was. So, I remained standing there, one arm lose around her shoulders, waiting for her to say or do anything.

"There's a young girl sitting by herself," Pam observed. I let out a sigh of relief that any words were better than nothing. She pointed to the back of the pavilion, near where we were previously sitting, to the girl no older than twelve, sitting along and reading a book. "I wonder where her parents are." She broke away from me heading towards the girl and due to my newly formed habit, I followed.

The girl was a little heavier, but had a pretty face. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a simple jeans, plain purple t-shirt, and tennis shoes. She was reading a book by Judy Blume.

"Hi," Pam said, her voice high and kind.

The girl barely looked up from her book, "I'm not supposed to talk with strangers," she said dismissively. She wasn't scared of Pam, but she didn't want to be bothered either.

"My name is Pam Beesly," Pam said, holding out her hand, but the girl didn't take it, "I actually work for the museum and for the festival."

"Oh, that's nice." The girl said, not looking up.

"Where are your parents?" Pam asked.

"My mom went to the bathroom," the girl said simply, "She said I'm old enough to just stay put, so I am. My name is Abby, by the way." She gave Pam a half smile before returning to her book.

I thought I'd take a stab at communicating with the girl, so I sat down next to her, "Hey Abby, I'm Jim Halpert, I write for the Scranton Times."

She gave me a skeptical look, which I found unusual for a twelve-year-old to have. "You're a reporter?"

"Yup, and I'm doing a story on the art festival. Could I do an interview with you?"

She gave me a side-ways glance, but her book was now shut, at least she was now interested. "How do I know you're really a reporter?"

"I can prove that," I pulled out the tape recorder I had been using all day and explained that I had been giving interviews, which I recorded on to the small tape inside. Abby examined it and played a small portion back.

"Would my name be in the paper then?" she asked curiously as she handed me back the tape recorder.

"It definitely would," I responded, "We just have to make sure your mom is alright with it when she gets back."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Oh, she'll be fine. She basically lets me do what I want."

Pam, who had been silent during the whole exchange, but watching happily, took the seat in front of Abby and turned so that she could face us.

"What brought you to the art festival," I asked.

"My mom in her Volvo," Abby answered smartly.

Pam gave me a look that suggested I had that coming. "Do you like art? Was it her idea or your idea?" She asked for me.

"Her idea," Abby said, "She wants me to get cultured or something. Plus my teacher at school said we'd get extra credit if we came. I'm an A student. I don't need it, but mom insisted. Art's alright, if you like that kind of stuff. I prefer books. They're much more interesting."

"Yeah, I love reading too," I agreed, "But I love reading about facts and sports and stuff. That's why I became a writer."

"That's different," Abby stated, "You write non-fiction, I prefer fiction. I write fiction stories sometimes."

"Do you? That's awesome," Ok, so it was a little bit of a show, but the girl was sweet and I'll admit to liking kids. "Well, I'll bet you're already better than I am. I can't write fiction at all. I can only write things that really happen."

"It's not so hard," Abby insisted, now fully engaged in the conversation, "You just have to use your imagination."

"You should use your imagination with art, too," I explained I looked up at Pam and smiled, but Abby didn't seem to understand, "I mean, there's a lot of cool art out there. You don't have to understand it, just use your imagination and pull out of it whatever you want."

"Don't the artists want you to think it is something specific?" she asked, trying to grasp the concept.

"Sometimes," I said, "but most of the time, you just have to pull your own conclusions."

"Cool," she said smiling, "I think I'll have to have another look around when my mom comes back. I can look at the art and then…use my imagination to come up with a story."

"Exactly!" I said excitedly. "So, have any other comments on the art festival, anything you'd like to add that I could put in my article?"

"Yeah, I didn't like the speech guy," she said, quickly with her answer.

"Really?"

"No, I found him obnoxious and pretentious. He didn't say anything remotely interesting to get me to want to be in art."

I was a little dumbfounded by her vocabulary and observation skills. "You know what, I kinda felt that way too, but I don't think we can put that in the article. We want to make it a positive one so people will want to come to the festival."

"Ok, well then you can say," she leaned back to think about it, "the festival is pretty cool."

"Great," I said grinning, "That I can use."

"Abby! Abby!" A small, blonde haired woman in a business suit came running up to the pavilion. "I told you not to talk to strangers."

"They're not strangers mom," she said, an air of annoyance in her voice. "This is Jim and he's a reporter for the newspaper. The Scranton Times," she reiterated as if it was as important as the Washington Post, "And Ms. Beesly works for the museum."

Abby's mom looked a little relieved, "I should have taken you with me."

"I'm fine mom," Abby said rolling her eyes.

"Thank you for looking out for her," Abby's mom said, glancing at me then to Pam. "You really work for the museum?"

"Yes, I do," Pam assured her. "I work in public relations. I saw your daughter alone and I just wanted to make sure she was ok."

"They were just making sure I was alright," Abby repeated, still looking at her mother as if she was freaking out over nothing. "And Mr. Halpert wanted a quote for the newspaper, which he said they could do if it was alright with you."

"Well, how about that," she eyed her daughter, "You're gonna have your name in the paper." Abby smiled brightly. "My name is Stacy by the way." She said holding out her hand, I shook it. "You probably think I'm a horrible mother, leaving her alone, but she's a good kid and ever since her dad left…" She stopped short, thinking that it was probably too much information.

"It's alright, she seems like a very intelligent child," I said kindly.

"We should invite Mr. Halpert over for dinner," Abby said matter-of-factly, "And Ms. Beesly too," but Pam was more of an afterthought.

"Abby," her mother was embarrassed, but I don't think she wanted to discourage the invitation. Pam shuffled her feet and stared at the ground.

"You know what Abby?" I said gently, "I would love to have dinner with you at some point, but right now is not a good time. Ms. Beesly and I have plans for tonight, but you should definitely come back to the art festival tomorrow and look at some more art. I know I'd like to come back," I gave Pam a wink.

That seemed to settle it. Stacy thanked us again and told Abby that they needed to go. Abby shot me a friendly look and waved as they ventured out into the park.

* * *

"Well, I think I just got the cutest interview I'm going get today," I commented after Abby and her mom left. "I mean how adorable was that kid?"

"You are really good with kids," Pam complimented. She was looking much brighter than she did after the speech.

"Well," I started trying to be modest, "I have two nieces and a nephew, so, you know, that helps."

We smiled at each other, but the pause lingered, neither of us knowing what to say next. "I think she was into you." Pam said quietly.

"Oh, the kid?" I purposely joked, "Of course, 12-year-olds love me."

Pam rolled her eyes and smiled, "No, I meant the mom. She wanted you to have dinner with her."

"Oh right," I didn't know why she was bringing up such an awkward thing,. "Well, I don't think I'm ready to be apart of a kid's life yet. It was a nice gesture and I'm always up for food."

Pam looked a little relieved by my answer, "Yeah, speaking of dinner, I should really get some. I haven't eaten since, well, you got here, which was," she glanced down at her watch, her eyes widening, "a lot longer ago than I suspected."

"Yeah, I really should get some dinner too," I added not aware I was hungry until I said it. Looking back, I could have asked her to dinner right then, but my nerves got the best of me so I kept on talking, "And I think I have what I need for the article, which, I promise will be brilliant. And, I have to do some shopping tonight too, you know, stock up on necessities and stuff. I know I'm completely out of fabric softener."

She raised an eyebrow, "You use fabric softener?"

"Yes," I said slowly. I may have been on my own for ten years, but my mother did teach me a few things. "Who doesn't?" I asked.

She shrugged, though looked up at me as if I were the biggest dork on the planet. "Well, I probably should announce the festival will be over soon." She said, walking up the pavilion to the sound equipment.

"Did you ever think of announcing something completely silly into that mike instead of what you're supposed to?" I asked as she started fiddling with the sound equipment.

She turned around and rolled her eyes. "What are you, twelve?" she said with a laugh. "Actually, I turned it on once when Kelly was chattering away yesterday after you left, just because. Jan chewed me out for an hour."

It was my turn to laugh, "And you think I'm juvenile."

"Actually, I just want to get this done and sneak out of here," she said on a serious note. "Even though Jan said I could go early, if I stick around, I know some one is going to throw a fit, and I've had such a long day. Sleep sounds really good right now."

"Yeah, I guess I might be roped in too if I don't leave soon," I added.

"Jim, you've done so much already," she said sincerely. "I can't ask for anything more. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"Well, I could at least, walk you to your car or something," I said clinging on to these last moments.

"I took the bus."

"Oh, right."

"Well, thanks, Jim, for everything. The article, I'm sure, will be amazing." She hesitated before she spoke again. "I'm really glad that I got to know you."

"Yeah," I said softly, not wanting this day to end, "me too."

"You know it was…" She began.

"I did have…" I started.

"…a good day," we ended in unison.