“It was terrible.”

“You’re not frowning anymore.”

“I had no idea you could flirt.”

“First time for everything.” He turns back to his keyboard, inordinately pleased with himself.

I busy myself around the campsite, flustered for no good reason. I make a cup of tea, forget about it on the Land Rover trunk ledge, and when I find it a half hour later, I force it down cold since I don’t have enough left to waste. I visit the latrine, brush my teeth, throw the quilt over the mattress and arrange the lumpy pillow.

Preston ignores me, focused on his screens. He’s different here. Maybe it’s the absence of an...