“Let’s pretend we’re at the beach,” she said, getting up. His eyes followed her to the doorway, where she disappeared and then reappeared with two bags of certified fair trade Colombian dark roast from his freezer. She smiled and started sprinkling coffee grounds at his feet. Thirty-two ounces of coffee didn’t make much sand but it was cold and gritty beneath their feet, and he rewarded her by rising to make them each a fresh drink. “Let’s fuck and make babies. Why not?” His voice was thick with alcohol and summer and he repeated himself: “Let’s fuck and make babies. See how romantic I can be?” He grinned down at her, holding his empty glass and swaying slightly. “I think I love you,” he said, she-didn’t-know-how-many G&Ts later. His words inside the tent were almost puzzled, soft around the edges like watercolor smudges; her legs wrestle-wrapped round his waist. Sometimes he cried when he was really drunk; sometimes he was mean. This time he bruised her neck with kisses. Georgia Bellas is the fiction editor at Atticus Review. Her work appears in Sundog Lit, WhiskeyPaper, Cartridge Lit, The Collapsar, and [PANK], among other journals. You can follow her teddy bear, host of the Internet radio show Mr. Bear’s Violet Hour Saloon, on Twitter @MrBearStumpy.