It was the next day. He was midway through the bushes. She was already laughing at him.

“I’m bringing you Starbucks!” he shouted.

“I’ve heard that before,” she said.

“Ha ha!” He kept working his way through, letting the thorns catch in his sleeve. He’d intentionally worn his cheapest sweater.

“Even when you get past the hedge, you’re going to have to slosh down through mud.”

“It’s okay. I wore my worst clothes.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Ugh, sorry. I’m just—” He felt his foot land in the mud on the other side of the hedge. “Ha!” He pulled his other foot through the shrub. “Aha!”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! I’m good. I’m—” He was off the road. He couldn’t see it anymore. It was just on the other side of the hedge. He could go back. Maybe he should go back?

“You didn’t spill the coffee.”

He turned toward her voice. He could see her better now. Could see her person-like shape, leaning on a rock at the edge of the old riverbed.

He walked toward her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said.

He was standing above her now. “I, um—”

She reached her hand-like thing toward him.

“Plain or vanilla?” he asked.

“Give me the one you’d want yourself,” she said.

He laughed and gave her the vanilla. “That’s very selfish of you.”

“Oh, please, you get Starbucks every day.”

I could bring you coffee every day, he almost said. (And the thing is, he really could. It wouldn’t take much. This hadn’t taken much.) (He didn’t say it.)

“You could sit down,” she said.

He looked down at the mud.

“Go on, you’re already wearing your worst pants.”

“That’s true.”

He sat down carefully, a few feet away from her, away from the center of the riverbed, where the mud was dark and thick. She wiped some sludge away from her lips to sip her coffee. She had lips.

He’d hoped the mud was just good, clean mud. But the smell was terrible now that he was sitting in it.

“The river smelled better,” she said. He must have been making a face.

“No,” he said, “it’s fine.” He sort of remembered the river. They’d needed it for the road. Whatever the road needed, they took.

She took another sip of the coffee. There was whipped cream on her lip. And mud on the lid. “That’s really lovely,” she said.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said.

She took another drink. “It’s seriously good.”

“I know.”

“It’s amazing that you can have it every day.”

“Some people say it’s a waste of money,” he said. “But I always feel like it’s worth it. Small, good things are worth it.”