Pining for Paris/Jim Halpert
It happened very slow - he was nothing special either, but the way he looked at me reminded me of how I imagined my father looked at my mother when they first met. He had messy brown hair and a collared white shirt and blue tie. His eyes were wide-set and set on me, his hands wrapped around a phone pressed to his ear. I wanted to know what color those eyes were; I think my cheeks flushed at the site of him. The longer I looked, the handsomer he got. Little did I know, I was looking at the love of my life.
