Page 11 of Only One Tour Bus

I don’t know how Callum does it. He must be bottling a lot up inside, and frankly, I’m afraid of what might happen when his bottle gets full. Maybe I should be a little more considerate. If he’s the pressure cooker and gets too pressurized, the explosion will become my problem.

Since the museum is small, we’re done while the group still has free time. Even after I drag him, grumbling and groaning, to the gift shop. Where I acquire some lovely postcards, a metal water bottle, and a pen that has a little James IV in a carriage, which moves up and down when you flip the pen.

Callum looks at it in disgust, but I ignore his entire mood because I am going to have so much fun using this pen. “This is crass commercialization of a noble and proud history.”

“It’s fun!” I demonstrate the pen’s charm by turning it upside down again, since he’s clearly missed the charms the first time.

“It’s tacky.”

“No. It’s whimsical and is a physical reminder of the time I came to the museum with a coworker and we had a good time. Something that I can remember every time I use it. And bonus, I can think of James IV, too. Also, as I have pointed out, the profit is going back to the museum, so I am also a job creator. I am a patron of the arts, Callum.”

His eyes widen at my fervent defense. “You feel very strongly about souvenirs.”

“Yes, I really do. And you have no whimsy in your life.” It’s the meanest thing I could think to say to him, but he doesn’t get the memo that he should be offended. I probably shouldn’t tell him.

“I’m going to have their tea. Do you want to come with me?” I ask more out of politeness than a real belief that he’s going to accept. I’m already surprised he’s spent this much time with me outside the job requirements, and he’s even made a real effort to be nice at the museum.

Nice-ish.

Nice, for him. Comparatively nice. If I’m comparing him to Shrek at the beginning of the movie.

He’s silent for longer than is customary, so he must be trying to find a way to say no that doesn’t make him sound like a joyless grump. “Yes, I will. Thank you for the invitation.”

Well, that’s a surprise. “Great.” What’s happening here? Did I walk into an alternative universe where Callum is cordial to me?

Better not rock the boat by drawing attention to it. I walk to the café and we order.

“Oh, I should check my phone. Make sure no one is in jail yet.”

“These eejits would get arrested on the first day.” Ah. There’s my little anger porcupine. With the cute face, a presumably soft underside buried deep, and some wicked spikes on his back if you rub him the wrong way.

Not that he would let me rub him anyway. No. We’ve just established a sort of peace. Where he is slightly less grumpy and I pretend he’s excited to work with me. I don’t need to confuse that by imagining rubbing him when he can barely stand me.

“It would be a record if any did. But it would make our lives harder, so let’s hope not.” I take my phone out of my backpack and check the screen, sending up a little prayer to anyone who’s listening that no one needs me.

I know it’s technically my job. And I do enjoy it. But I would also like an afternoon off.

There are no notifications from any unknown numbers. “We’re good on the group front.”

“I’m weak with relief.”

Ouch, the sarcasm is so sharp I could use it to open the packages from all the online shopping I do. “It would have made your day harder. But now we can relax.”

“It would not have made my day harder. I would have pretended not to see it and would have eaten your food and drank your tea when you left. And then let the American consulate deal with it. I didn’t give them my number.”

“It’s part of being a good tour guide! It’s not even that stressful, because most of them have limited to no international data. So it makes us look good to offer. And if there is an actual emergency, they’ll call and it’s good to know if something serious is happening before it escalates.”

Callum gasps, sarcastically somehow. “Are you telling me that the queen of happiness, the human embodiment of a unicorn farting rainbows into a pot of gold, a ray of fecking sunshine, did something cynical, knowing her poor lambs wouldn’t call?”

“If you think any of that is an insult, you are sorely mistaken.” I shake my head at his poor effort.

“A normal person would be offended, Wee Sunshine.”

I pretend to think about it while the server brings the tea and assorted necessities, as well as the tiered tray with sandwiches, scones, and pastries.

“No. I don’t think they would. You would, sure. But you’re not normal,” I say when the server leaves. And I quite like the nickname, if that’s what he’s going to call me now. “I should call you Storm Cloud. So ominous and threatening.” I make a stern face so he can see I mean business. “Or an anger porcupine.”

We both reach for the teapot and our hands meet on the handle. I get flutters in my stomach when his warm hand brushes mine and I break first, snatching my hand back. Callum lifts the pot and pours the tea for me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to think of him as an asshole when he’s gently holding a porcelain, floral teapot and pouring me tea out of it.