Tracking outbreaks was her life’s work, but it was also her way of life. Viruses were predictable: they could be tracked and understood. People were different. They were irrational and hurtful and never around when they should be. People were a blind spot for her. And a sore spot. Men in particular.
Peyton knew she was on the verge of making the biggest decision of her life: whether to settle down and have a family, or dedicate herself to her work. She still wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she knew being here, in Africa, in the middle of this outbreak, felt right to her. At the same time, however, she felt an emptiness inside of her. Being here didn’t fill it, but it did make her forget about it for a while.
Jonas threw the tent flap open and ducked to enter. He stopped and squinted as he inhaled the vapors from the rub. “Whoa, that stuff is strong.”
“Sorry. I can do this outside.”
“No. Stay. I want some myself. My back is killing me.”
Without asking her, Jonas took the tube from her hand. “Here, let me.” He squeezed some of the gel out. “What have you covered?”
“Legs and arms,” Peyton said.
“Let’s do your back.” With his dry hand, he guided her to sit on the floor, positioning her back to him. Peyton sat cross-legged, her back arched, shoulders pushed back. Jonas’s legs stretched out flat on the floor of the tent, the skin on his calves resting against her knees.
When his hand with the gel touched her back, Peyton inhaled sharply and arched her spine.
“Sorry,” Jonas said.
“It’s okay. Little warning next time.”
Slowly, Jonas massaged the soothing gel into Peyton’s lower back, working his fingers first into the soft tissue above her bottom. She could feel him pulling her shorts down, then tugging the drenched white tank top up as he moved higher.
“You’ll never get the smell out of your clothes.”
Without a word she slipped the shorts down her legs and tossed them aside. She pulled the tank top up over her head and laid it on the cot. It wasn’t the first time Jonas had seen her in her underwear, but she still felt a tingle of nervousness.
His hands moved from her back to her stomach, massaging the gel into her abs. His hands pressed into her in large, rhythmic circles, lightly touching the underside of her breasts.
Peyton felt butterflies rise in her stomach.
“That was very smart work, finding the village,” Jonas said quietly. “We might be close to solving this thing.”
“It was just a guess.” Peyton tried to keep her voice even, despite breathing faster.
“You guess right a lot, in my experience.”
He massaged the analgesic into her sides, coating her ribs all the way up to just under her armpits. “You know, as long as we’ve worked together, you’ve never really talked about yourself. I know almost nothing about you—personally.”
“Not much to tell.”
“I don’t believe that. Tell me something I don’t know about you. What do you do for fun?”
“Not a lot. I work all the time.”
“And when you’re not?”
“I read. I run.”
Peyton heard Jonas squeeze more of the gel from the tube, felt his hands moving up her back, applying pressure, slipping under her bra strap, pulling it tight against her chest.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure,” she whispered.
“I think you’re an amazing person. Smart. Funny. You’ve got a wonderful heart. Why haven’t you settled down?”
Peyton felt his hands stop at her shoulders, him waiting for her to answer. For a moment, she thought about her brother. Then her father. And finally, about the man who had left all those years ago. “I’ve never met a man who was there when I really needed him.”
“I’ve always been there when you needed me,” Jonas said.
“That’s true.”
Jonas pulled his legs back and moved around in front of her. They sat in silence in the tent for a long moment. He searched her eyes, asking a question Peyton was completely unprepared for. When his lips moved toward hers, she felt a completely new type of fear.
In the next tent, Hannah Watson was busy applying an anti-inflammatory to her own skin. She had stripped down to her bra and panties for the task; her sweat-drenched clothes hung from a string she’d tied across the tent frame. She expected them to be dry soon. The rest of her items were unpacked, aligned neatly on her side of the tent. Her roommate’s side was a sharp contrast: Millen’s personal effects were strewn about like the aftermath of a raid by a family of bears.
She stood in the middle of the tent, bent over, her legs spread, using both hands to rub the white paste down her thighs and calves.
Behind her, she heard the tent flap open, and she peeked between her legs to find Millen, his face a mix of shock and fixation.
“Oh. Sorry,” he said, his voice strained. He was turning to leave when Hannah straightened up.
“It’s okay. Just… turn around for a sec.”
She finished applying the last bit of gel and slid under the covers on her cot. “Okay.”
He turned, and she held the tube out to him. “Want some? It helps.”
“No. Thanks, though. I’m too tired.” Millen opened a bottle of ibuprofen and took four.
“Me too,” Hannah said. “I’m too tired to even read.”
“Same here. But I feel like I can’t go to sleep.”
Hannah nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’m too keyed up.”
She stared up at the canvas tent. “I know. I’m completely drained, but I can’t quit thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
Millen held up his phone, showing Hannah the Audible app with a book pulled up. “I was going to listen to The Nightingale. Haven’t started yet.”
Hannah propped herself up on an elbow, her eyebrows scrunched in surprise.
“What, have you read it?”
“No. But it’s been on my TBR list for a while.”
“What’s a TBR list?”
“A to-be-read list.”
“Oh. I don’t have a list,” Millen said. “I just pick a book and read it.”
That didn’t surprise Hannah one bit, but his choice of books did, and she must have been showing it.
“What?”
“I didn’t, you know, think you would like that kind of book.”
Millen glanced at his phone, scrutinizing the cover. “Wait, what kind of book is it?”