Deniece Trying to Get Back into Life Ch. 03

Chapter 3

The following Saturday morning, Deniece was dropping her kids off at Jaclyn's house for the day so she could focus on getting the rooms ready for her new tenants. David clutched his favorite action figure while Wendy dragged her stuffed unicorn behind her, both children excited for a play date with Mason and Lily.

As Deniece handed over their overnight bags, Jaclyn leaned in close with a theatrical whisper. "So, you'll be all alone in that big house while Paul moves in? Just you and the chess master and all those... empty bedrooms."

"Pam is moving in today too," Deniece reminded her, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, but she's not coming until after three," Jaclyn countered with a knowing smirk. "Which gives you and Paul plenty of alone time for him to... position his rook properly."

"For the love of--" Deniece glanced at the children to make sure they weren't listening. "We will be assembling furniture and unpacking boxes. That's it."

"Mmm-hmm. Just remember, if he says 'checkmate' and winks, that's definitely code for something."

"You are impossible," Deniece hissed, her cheeks flaming despite her best efforts. "It's a strictly professional landlord-tenant relationship."

"Oh sure, very professional," Jaclyn agreed with mock seriousness. "Just like in those documentaries that come on after the kids are asleep. 'Dear Landlady, I seem to be having trouble with my bed frame. Could you come upstairs and help me tighten some screws?'"

"I'm leaving now," Deniece announced, turning toward her house. "Before my children learn things they absolutely should not learn from their honorary aunt."

"Just text me if you need an emergency rental contract clause about fraternization!" Jaclyn called after her. "Or if you need me to keep the kids overnight!"

Deniece responded with a gesture that was decidedly not appropriate for the children to see, Jaclyn's laughter following her all the way out the door.

******

As she approached the front door, a silver compact car pulled into the driveway. Paul stepped out smiling, looking boyishly excited in faded jeans and a university t-shirt. He waved enthusiastically before reaching back into his car to gather his belongings.

"Good morning, Mrs. D!" he called out, using the nickname they'd agreed upon during the lease signing. "Hope I'm not too early."

"Not at all, right on time," Deniece replied, watching as he began unloading his possessions.

Paul's belongings painted a clear portrait of his life: a weathered chess set in a handcrafted wooden box tucked carefully under one arm; a milk crate overflowing with dog-eared mathematics textbooks and spiral-bound notebooks; a desktop computer and monitor wrapped protectively in bubble wrap; and a guitar case covered in stickers from various chess tournaments around the country. From the trunk, he pulled out two duffel bags of clothing and a small box labeled "KITCHEN" in neat block letters.

Most endearing was the small potted plant--some kind of succulent--that he balanced precariously on top of his stack of books. It sat in a pot painted with mathematical equations that swirled around its circumference.

"Let me help you with some of that," Deniece offered, moving toward the car.

"Thanks, Mrs. D," Paul replied with genuine gratitude. "The rest can wait for a second trip. I travel pretty light--most of what I own fits in my car, except for my chessboard collection. That's coming with my mom tomorrow, if that's okay?"

There was something refreshingly straightforward about his possessions--no questionable items, no surprises, just the honest belongings of a dedicated student with clear passions and simple needs. As they walked together toward the house, Deniece felt a wave of relief wash over her. Maybe this new arrangement would work out after all.

******

Before they could move Paul's belongings into the house, a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the curb. Pam emerged, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, wearing paint-splattered jeans and a vintage band t-shirt. She waved enthusiastically before popping her trunk, which appeared to be stuffed to capacity.

"Mrs. D! Paul! Perfect timing!" she called out, jogging up the driveway. "I thought I'd be fashionably late as usual, but the traffic was miraculously light."

Paul grinned at her. "I just got here myself. Haven't even picked a bedroom yet."

"Speaking of which," Pam said, turning to Deniece with a hopeful expression, "I was wondering if I could possibly have the blue room with the clawfoot tub? I have this whole vision of evening baths with candles and my sketchbook. Total design student cliché, I know, but..."

"That works perfectly for me," Paul interjected. "I'm more of a quick shower person anyway. Five minutes in, five minutes out."

Deniece smiled at how easily they worked things out. "Then it's settled. Blue room for Pam, gray room for Paul."

What followed was a choreographed chaos of move-in activity. Paul's belongings were modest and methodical--everything in labeled boxes, furniture limited to a desk chair and a small bookshelf that he assembled with impressive efficiency. His room was functional within an hour, populated primarily by books, electronic equipment, and his prized chess sets that he arranged on the bookshelf in what appeared to be chronological order of acquisition.

Pam's possessions, by contrast, were an artistic explosion. Her car disgorged what seemed like an impossible amount of items: rolls of fabric samples; art supplies in colorful cases; string lights and tapestries; framed prints and canvases; and several plants in ceramic pots she had clearly designed herself. Her clothing arrived in three large suitcases that she explained contained separate wardrobes for "design studio days," "client meeting days," and "creative expression days."

The blue room transformed under her touch, emerging as a bohemian studio space that somehow looked both professionally designed and comfortably lived-in. She hung lights around the vintage mirror, arranged her plants on the windowsill to catch the morning light, and immediately started sketching ideas for a small desk area that would "honor the room's natural flow."

Throughout the process, Deniece found herself moving between rooms, providing tools, answering questions about the house, and occasionally stepping back to marvel at how quickly these two young people were making themselves at home. There was something refreshingly natural about their presence, as if the rooms had been waiting for precisely these occupants.

By mid-afternoon, when they all took a break for the pizza Deniece had ordered, she watched Paul and Pam chatting easily about campus and their classes. She realized that her house suddenly felt fuller--not just with belongings, but with energy and possibility--in a way it hadn't since before Michael died.

Deniece led Paul and Pam down to the basement with the pizza box, each of them balancing paper plates and drinks as they carefully descended the stairs.

"So this is command central for my mornings," she explained, gesturing toward the home gym setup in one corner. "The kids don't wake up until seven.... breakfast and off to school around eight, "I'm usually down here by eight-thirty on weekdays.

Paul nodded appreciatively at the well-organized equipment. "Nice setup. I usually run in the mornings, but it's good to know I have backup on rainy days."

"Feel free to use anything here," Deniece offered. "Just maybe tell me first so we're not both trying to use the same equipment."

Pam was more interested in the workspace Deniece had set up in the opposite corner--a large table with storage bins underneath, currently holding various craft supplies and children's art projects.

"This is where the kids do their projects when the weather's bad," Deniece explained, setting the pizza on a clear space on the table. "And where I occasionally pretend I'm going to take up scrapbooking or some other Pinterest-worthy hobby."

"It's perfect," Pam said, eyes lighting up. "Would it be okay if I used this space sometimes for my bigger design projects? My room is great for sketching, but when I need to spread out materials..."

"Absolutely," Deniece agreed, pleased by the request. "Just be warned that anything left unattended might get incorporated into a second-grade art masterpiece."

As they settled around the table with their pizza, Deniece outlined the rhythms of the household: early morning routines, school drop-offs, typical dinner times, and the weekend variations.

"The kids will be back tomorrow afternoon," she explained. "David's usually up early watching cartoons on Sundays, and Wendy sleeps in but then comes downstairs like a tornado of energy around nine. Just so you know what you're getting into."

"Sounds like my little brothers," Pam said with a smile. "I'm used to dodging human tornadoes."

"And I promise not to challenge David to chess before he's had breakfast," Paul added with a grin. "Learned that lesson with my sister the hard way."

As they continued eating and talking, Deniece found herself relaxing. The basement--like the rest of the house--felt different with these new presences. Not intruded upon, as she had feared, but somehow expanded, as if the walls themselves were breathing more easily with new life inside them.

******

Paul's mother dropped by later that afternoon with the master chess set, announcing her arrival with a series of enthusiastic honks from her SUV. Paul groaned good-naturedly at the sound.

"Fair warning, Mrs. D--my mother has zero filter," he said, heading for the door.

Deniece watched from the porch as a vivacious woman in her fifties with Paul's same warm eyes and a shock of prematurely silver hair emerged from the vehicle. She carried an ornate wooden case with brass fittings under one arm and immediately enveloped her son in a bear hug that nearly lifted him off the ground, despite her being several inches shorter.

"There's my genius! Already settled in with a beautiful landlady, I see!" she called out loudly enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. "Paul Alexander Evans, you didn't tell me she was gorgeous. I would have worn my good bra!"

"Mom!" Paul hissed, his face turning scarlet. "This is Mrs. Wilson. My landlady."

"Call me Deniece," she offered, extending her hand.

"Margaret Evans," Paul's mother replied, bypassing the handshake for a warm hug. "But everyone calls me Maggie. So this is where my boy's going to be living! Much nicer than that roach motel the university calls 'graduate housing.' And with a real adult to make sure he remembers to eat something besides ramen."

As they walked inside, Maggie handed the wooden case to Paul with ceremonial gravity. "The family chess set, as requested. Try not to use it to seduce your landlady, dear. At least not during your first week."

"MOM!" Paul looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

"Oh please, as if you haven't been texting me about the 'cool Mrs. D' for days," Maggie said with a dismissive wave, then stage-whispered to Deniece, "He's brilliant with numbers, hopeless with women. Gets that from his father."

Deniece bit back a laugh as Paul carefully set the chess set on the entry table and muttered something about checking on his room.

"So," Maggie continued, linking her arm through Deniece's as if they were old friends, "single mom with two kids taking in college students? Either you're a saint or you're as crazy as I am. Either way, I approve. Now, does that kitchen have coffee? I need to make sure you know all of Paul's embarrassing childhood stories before I leave--it's my maternal duty."

By the time Paul ventured back downstairs, Deniece and Maggie were settled at the kitchen table, laughing like old friends over coffee as Maggie described teenage Paul's disastrous attempt to impress a girl by solving complex equations at a party.

"Mom," Paul interrupted, "please tell me you're not sharing my entire awkward adolescence with Mrs. D."

"Of course not, sweetie," Maggie replied innocently. "Just the highlights. I was saving the story about the science fair explosion for Christmas."

Paul groaned again, but Deniece noticed the affectionate smile he couldn't quite hide. There was something infectious about Maggie's unapologetic humor and obvious pride in her son that reminded her so much of Jaclyn that she couldn't help but feel at ease.

"Your mother was just telling me about your championship match in Chicago," Deniece said. "It sounds impressive."

"It wasn't that big a deal," Paul demurred.

"Not a big deal?" Maggie scoffed. "He beat a grandmaster! While running a fever of 101! I had to practically carry him from the tournament hall to pump him full of Tylenol."

As Maggie continued regaling Deniece with Paul's accomplishments (interspersed with mortifying personal details), Deniece caught Paul's eye over his mother's head. Instead of seeing embarrassment, she was surprised to find him watching the interaction with something like contentment, as if seeing his mother and new landlady bonding was exactly what he'd hoped would happen.

******

After everything was moved in and in place, Deniece had gone to the kitchen and was fixing supper. She'd decided on a simple welcome meal of homemade lasagna, garlic bread, and a fresh salad--nothing fancy, but comforting and substantial after a day of moving. As she layered noodles and spread ricotta cheese, she could hear the sounds of her new tenants settling into their routines.

From upstairs, the gentle strumming of Paul's guitar filtered down--he'd mentioned during move-in that playing helped him unwind after intense study sessions. The melody was something classical that Deniece didn't recognize, but it flowed through the house pleasantly, giving the space a peaceful ambiance she hadn't realized was missing.

Meanwhile, Pam had set up her sketchbook on the kitchen island, close enough to chat with Deniece but respectful of her cooking space. Her pencil moved across the paper with practiced precision as she worked on what appeared to be a design concept for a local coffee shop's rebrand--the internship project she'd mentioned earlier. Occasionally she would pause, tilt her head thoughtfully at her work, and then dive back in with renewed focus.

"That smells amazing, Mrs. D," Pam commented, looking up from her sketch. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You could set the table if you don't mind," Deniece suggested. "Plates are in that cabinet there."

As Pam gathered dishes, she explained her weekend routine--Sunday mornings were for what she called "creative recharging," which usually meant visiting local art galleries or farmers' markets for inspiration, followed by afternoon sketching sessions. In the evening, she typically joined a virtual design critique group with friends from her program.

The guitar music paused upstairs, and soon Paul appeared in the kitchen doorway, drawn by the aroma of baking lasagna.

"Something smells incredible," he said appreciatively.

While helping to finish dinner preparations, Paul shared his own weekend pattern--Saturday mornings for running and errands, afternoons for chess club, and Sundays dedicated to preparing for the coming week's tutoring sessions and coursework. He admitted with a self-deprecating smile that he had a standing Sunday night video call with his mother and younger siblings, "to prove I'm still alive and eating vegetables."

As they worked together in the kitchen--Pam arranging a simple but artistic table setting, Paul carefully filling water glasses--Deniece was struck by how naturally they all moved around each other, like pieces finding their places on a board. There was none of the awkwardness she had feared, just the pleasant hum of new routines beginning to take shape.

******

The first dinner with Paul and Pam went better than Deniece expected. They sat around the table eating lasagna and talked about their lives. Paul told funny stories about his chess tournaments, and Pam showed everyone sketches of her latest design projects.

Deniece felt weird at first - she hadn't had new people in her home since Michael died. But watching Paul and Pam laugh together made the house feel alive again. She realized how quiet things had been with just her and the kids.

"So what's the weirdest design project you've ever done?" Paul asked Pam while reaching for more garlic bread.

"Oh, definitely the cat café logo," Pam laughed. "The owner wanted her sixteen cats ALL included in the design. I had to make this crazy cat circle with all their different faces!"

Deniece found herself laughing too. It felt good. Really good.

After dinner, they cleaned up together. Paul washed dishes while Pam dried them, and Deniece put away leftovers. It felt like they'd been doing this forever, not just for one day.

Later that night, after Paul and Pam went to their rooms, Deniece sat alone in the living room. She could hear soft music from Pam's room and the occasional sound of Paul moving around upstairs.

"This might actually work," she whispered to herself. For the first time in forever, she was excited about tomorrow - especially when the kids would meet their new housemates. The house didn't feel so empty anymore.

******

Paul sat upstairs in his new room, looking out the window at the gathering clouds. Weather app on his phone confirmed what the darkening sky promised - heavy rain starting around 5 AM and continuing through most of the morning. That ruled out his usual morning run.

He considered his options while organizing his textbooks on the small bookshelf. The basement gym Mrs. D had shown them earlier would be perfect - she had a decent treadmill, some weights, and even that stationary bike. But what time would be appropriate? He didn't want to disturb anyone too early, especially on his first full day here.

Paul checked the time - just past 9:30 PM. Mrs. D was probably still awake. He could go downstairs and ask her about the gym schedule rather than guessing. That would be the sensible approach, establishing clear boundaries from the start.

Pushing back from his desk, he headed for the stairs, hearing faint music drifting from Pam's room as he passed her door. The house was still unfamiliar, each creaking step and shadowed corner new to him, but somehow it already felt more welcoming than the sterile graduate housing he'd left behind.

******

Deniece curled up on the living room sofa with her favorite mystery novel, a cup of chamomile tea steaming on the side table beside her. The house had settled into that peaceful evening quiet she treasured, when the day's chaos had ebbed, but true night hadn't yet descended. The soft lamplight created a warm glow around her as she flipped another page, deeply engaged in the detective's latest revelation.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, noticing Paul hesitating at the entrance to the living room.

"Mrs. D? Sorry to interrupt your reading," he said, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Not at all," she replied, placing a bookmark between the pages. "Everything okay with your room?"

"The room's perfect," Paul assured her. "I was actually wondering about the treadmill in the basement. I usually run in the mornings, but it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Would it be okay if I used it? I wouldn't want to wake anyone if it's too early."

"Of course," Deniece smiled. "I'm usually down there by 8:30 on weekdays, but weekends are different. What time were you thinking?"

"Around 6:30? I'm an early riser," he admitted, looking slightly embarrassed.

"That's perfectly fine. The basement's pretty well insulated--you won't disturb anyone. The kids sleep like rocks on weekends anyway."

Paul nodded gratefully, but instead of heading back upstairs, he lingered, glancing at her book. "What are you reading?"

"The latest Harlan Coben thriller," she replied, holding up the cover. "I'm a mystery junkie."

"My mom loves his books," Paul said, his posture relaxing as he leaned against the doorframe. "She always figures out the twist before I do."

Their conversation drifted naturally from books to college, to Paul's family, and eventually to his passion for chess. Before they realized it, an hour had passed in comfortable conversation, the rain beginning to patter softly against the windows as the night deepened around their newfound connection.

******

"So the kids aren't coming home tonight?" Paul asked, glancing at the quiet hallway that led to their bedrooms.

Deniece shook her head. "They're at my friend Jaclyn's house--she lives next door, her kids Mason and Lily are David and Wendy's best friends. We arranged a sleepover so I could focus on getting everything ready for you and Pam moving in."

"That was thoughtful," Paul said, settling into the armchair across from her. "Must be nice having close friends nearby with kids the same age."

"Jaclyn's been a lifesaver," Deniece admitted, her expression softening. "After Michael--my husband--died, she was there for everything... bringing meals, taking the kids when I needed space, listening to me cry at two in the morning. The kind of friend who shows up without being asked."

Paul nodded, his eyes reflecting genuine interest. "How long ago did you lose your husband, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Four years now," Deniece said, running her finger along the edge of her teacup. "David was just three and Wendy barely a year old. Some days it feels like forever ago, and others..." She trailed off, looking briefly toward the family photos on the mantel.

"I can't imagine," Paul said quietly. "My dad left when I was twelve, but that's not the same thing at all."

"Loss is loss," Deniece said with a gentle smile. "Just different shapes."

"How do the kids handle it?" Paul asked, leaning forward slightly.

"David remembers him a bit--little flashes, mostly. He asks questions sometimes. Wendy was too young, so for her, it's just always been us. That's part of why having you and Pam here might be good for them," Deniece explained. "More adults in their world, different perspectives."

The rain had intensified outside, drumming against the windows and creating a cozy backdrop to their conversation. For a moment, they both sat in comfortable silence, listening to the storm.

*****

"David and Wendy will be thrilled that you and Pam really moved in," Deniece said, recalling how excited they'd been after meeting the potential renters. "David will probably challenge you to another chess match the moment he walks through the door. He hasn't stopped talking about how you let him capture your knight last time."

Paul's face brightened with recognition. "That's right! He has a good instinct for the game. Most beginners get distracted by the obvious moves, but he was thinking ahead even then."

"He's been practicing with this little magnetic travel set my father-in-law gave him," Deniece explained. "I've found him asleep with chess pieces scattered across his bed more than once this week."

"Sounds familiar," Paul laughed. "My mom used to confiscate my chess set after bedtime because I'd stay up analyzing positions until midnight."

"Well, prepare yourself," Deniece warned with a smile. "David's already announced that he's going to be a grandmaster by third grade. And Wendy has been carrying around her sketchbook hoping Pam will teach her to 'draw like a real artist.'"

"They sound like amazing kids," Paul said sincerely.

"They are," Deniece agreed, unable to keep the pride from her voice. "Though fair warning--David will definitely try to convince you that his bedtime is 'whenever he wants' on weekends, and Wendy might attempt to recruit you for her imaginary unicorn protection squad."

"I'd be honored to serve on any unicorn-related security detail," Paul replied with mock seriousness.

They both laughed, and Deniece realized how natural this conversation felt--how quickly Paul had shifted from stranger to something that felt surprisingly like family.

******

A creak from the second step from the bottom drew their attention, and they turned to see Pam standing in the doorway, her dark hair now pulled into a messy bun, wearing oversized pajama pants covered in paint splatters and a vintage concert t-shirt.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said with a sheepish smile. "I got bored sketching in my room. Would it be okay if I joined you guys? Unless this is a private conversation..."

"Not at all," Deniece replied, gesturing to the empty spot on the sofa. "We were just talking about the kids coming home tomorrow."

Pam settled onto the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. "I can't wait to meet them properly. That little girl--Wendy, right?--seemed so excited about my unicorn drawing."

"She's probably planning to commission an entire unicorn art gallery from you," Deniece laughed.

"Speaking of art," Paul said, turning to Pam, "did you finish that coffee shop logo you were working on earlier?"

"Almost," Pam replied. "I hit a creative wall with the typography. Sometimes I need to step away and let my brain reset."

The conversation flowed easily between the three of them, jumping from topic to topic with the comfortable rhythm of people who seemed to have known each other much longer than a single day. Pam described her internship challenges at the marketing agency, Paul shared stories about his most memorable chess tournaments, and Deniece found herself talking about her pre-motherhood career in publishing that she hadn't thought about in years.

"I still can't believe this house," Pam said, glancing appreciatively at the high ceilings and built-in bookshelves. "Most landlords I've had were either absent or breathing down my neck. None of them made lasagna."

"Or showed me where to find the good coffee mugs," Paul added with a grin.

"Well, this is new territory for all of us," Deniece admitted. "I've never been a landlady before."

The rain continued to fall outside, creating a cozy backdrop to their conversation as they continued getting to know each other, the initial landlord-tenant formality gradually dissolving into something that felt remarkably like friendship.

******

The conversation flowed comfortably until a sudden, explosive crack of thunder shook the house, followed instantly by a brilliant flash of lightning that illuminated the living room in stark white light. The storm had intensified dramatically, no longer a gentle rainfall but now a full-fledged thunderstorm.

Pam visibly jumped, her hand flying to her chest as she let out a startled yelp. Her eyes went wide, and she immediately looked embarrassed by her reaction.

"Sorry," she said, her voice slightly shaky. "I've never really gotten used to thunderstorms. Growing up in Arizona, we had monsoons but nothing like these Midwestern storms."

Another flash lit up the room, followed by a rumbling boom that seemed to roll through the house. Pam flinched again, though she tried to disguise it by reaching for a throw pillow to hug against her chest.

"These old houses make everything sound more dramatic," Deniece said, rising to check that the windows were securely closed. Rain now lashed against the glass in angry sheets, and the wind had begun to howl around the eaves.

"The storm wasn't supposed to get this bad," Paul remarked, checking the weather radar on his phone. "Looks like it intensified right over us."

"Does the power go out often here?" Pam asked, trying to sound casual though her knuckles were white where she gripped the pillow.

"Sometimes," Deniece admitted, returning to her seat. "But we're prepared if it does. Flashlights in every room, and I have a generator for essentials."

As if on cue, the lights flickered ominously, causing all three to look up at the ceiling fixture. Outside, the wind picked up another notch, whistling through the trees and sending a small branch crashing against the side of the house with a thud that made Pam jump once more.

"I could make some hot chocolate," Deniece offered, noticing how Pam seemed to tense with each new sound from the storm. "Always helps me when the weather gets like this."

"That sounds amazing," Pam said gratefully, visibly relieved at the thought of a distraction.

******

Paul noticed how Pam's hands trembled slightly as she clutched the pillow, her eyes darting nervously to the windows with each flash of lightning. He exchanged a quick glance with Deniece, both of them recognizing Pam's discomfort.

"I think I'll stay down here for a while," Paul said casually, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. "Maybe just until the storm passes. The Weather Channel always has those storm tracker maps that show exactly where it's headed and how long it'll last."

As he turned on the TV, deliberately keeping the volume slightly louder than normal to mask the sounds of thunder, he added, "My little sister has the same reaction to storms. We used to build pillow forts and tell ridiculous stories to distract her."

"I'm not scared," Pam protested weakly, then flinched as another boom of thunder rattled the windows. "Okay, maybe a little uncomfortable."

"You know what might help?" Deniece suggested, standing up. "While I make that hot chocolate, why don't you sketch something? You mentioned that helps you focus."

"My sketchbook's upstairs," Pam said, looking reluctant to move.

"I have some paper and colored pencils in that drawer," Deniece pointed to the sideboard. "The kids' art supplies, but they work just fine."

Paul nodded enthusiastically. "You could design us the ultimate storm shelter. Something with a glass ceiling so we could watch safely."

"Or draw the angriest storm cloud with a face," Deniece suggested from the kitchen doorway. "Art therapy."

As Deniece disappeared into the kitchen, Paul moved to sit closer to Pam on the sofa. "I could also tell you about the time I accidentally set off the fire sprinklers during a lightning safety demonstration at science camp. Turns out metal rods and classroom ceilings don't mix well."

Pam's tense expression softened slightly. "You didn't."

"Oh, I absolutely did. Soaked three classrooms and the principal's brand new suede shoes," Paul continued, launching into the full story with animated gestures.

By the time Deniece returned with three steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows, Pam was sketching and laughing at Paul's disaster stories, the storm still raging outside but no longer the center of her attention.

To be continued: