A/N: Another little idea that popped into my head. =)

The thing about hot weather is, it brings out the worst in people.

The thing about office jobs is, they also bring out the worst in people.

So, combine the two—Jim tugs at his collar for the third time in five minutes, flicks a gaze towards reception, and sighs.

Pam has momentarily disappeared.

It's a bad day all around. An unbroken July heatwave of two weeks, A/C on the fritz—and Michael keeps wearing shorts to work. Everyone's complaining, Stanley keeps leaving early, Meredith is—more inappropriate than usual, and frankly, that's all Jim is willing to think on that subject at the moment.

Dwight is wearing his mesh-ventilated work shirt today—"It's appropriate office-wear, Jim"—and Jim just…can't. So he gets up, meanders towards the kitchen, and finds Pam, who slams the freezer shut with a guilty look.

"Intriguing," he murmurs, leaning against the doorframe. "Raiding our supplies?"

"No," Pam protests, but her cheeks are turning pink. Jim lifts an eyebrow—he's pretty sure there aren't any freezer-burned ice-cream sandwiches hiding in there. Kevin cleaned them out last Tuesday.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on," he says, and he tells himself he's just dawdling because Dwight is at his most unbearable in July—fretting over beet season, of all things ("They need cool weather, Jim. Cool weather. Weather like this is a blight.")—but in reality, he's always going to go where Pam goes.

"Ok, fine," she whispers. "But you can't tell anyone. I don't want to share."

"Share?"

In answer, she holds up a melting ice cube. "I just—rub them on my neck. I know it's weird."

"You're a freak," he returns, with an expression of horror. "Wow."

She lifts up her hair with one hand and runs the ice across the curve of her neck. He's watching, but he's—supposed to be? It's educational?—and he figures it's OK. Just this once.

"It feels really good," Pam says, and opens the freezer. She pops a cube out of the tray and hands it to him. "Try it?"

"You'll have to instruct me," Jim says, raising his hands. "I'm new to this."

He's lucky she's so unassuming, sometimes. Either she doesn't pick up on his signals or she's fine with them. The first option is safer. He'll go with that. For now.

"You just go like this," Pam explains, reaching up, so that her arm is practically slung over his shoulder. The kiss of ice makes him inhale sharply. At least, that's on the record. It might have something to do, too, with the trace of her fingers against his skin.

He doesn't mind the weather after that.