Page 17 of Only One Tour Bus

“Are you sure? I think there’s at least one combination of people you haven’t captured for posterity.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. Smile.” I get out my phone and flip the camera around. Before Callum can grouse at me some more, I snap a couple of pictures of us with the castle and then I move to the other side of him and change the angle so the city is our backdrop. One photo is of Callum looking irritated and another is him, mouth open, mid-complaint.

Ah, the memories. I’ll look back on this and feel some sort of way, I’m sure.

Callum winds up for a lecture, but I cut him off. “We better get going, Callum. There’s still so much to cover before the lunch break.”

Storm Cloud glares at me some more, but an efficient glare, and soon he’s back to leading the group. Because we do have a lot to see.

I interrupt the tour multiple times for the good stories and more picture breaks, and somehow Callum manages to restrain himself from grabbing one of the Lochaber axes in the Great Hall and chasing me around the castle hill to shut me up.

He does still send me looks that are meant to feel like a blow from an axe, but if he thinks a look is going to deter me, he must not realize that I am a tour guide who has led too many disgruntled tourists to be affected by a mere look. If I was, I would be defeated every last morning of the tour, when everyone is exhausted from too much fun, but there’s still one more walking tour to go.

Instead, I smile even wider to counter his glares, which only irritates him more.

Finally, the tour is over, and we release the group for a lunch/afternoon break.

When the last person is heading down the hill, after getting last-minute directions and recommendations, I cut off Callum before he can yell at me.

“Do you want to go to the Witchery for lunch? I know it’s not a casual meal, but I never get to go because I’m not at a place in my life where I can eat by myself in a restaurant. I’m working on it, though. And I haven’t exactly had the time to make friends here in Edinburgh who could come with me.”

His face is more deer caught in headlights than I would prefer for someone I asked to spend time with me, but at least it’s not angry anymore. “Oh. But how do you eat on tour?”

“I get takeout and take it back to the hotel or find a park. Picnicking by myself feels different than a restaurant. It’s a whole thing. So, do you want to come with?”

“I guess we’ve still got a lot to cover, with how we’re going to split up the work. I don’t want the tour to suffer.”

“A working lunch. Think we can get it comped?” I joke since Rob is so tight with money, he would never let us dine out at a fancy restaurant. Or even expense a chippy. Or even a pasty on the go. I say it even though I know Callum is allergic to the very concept of joking. True to form, he looks uncomfortable and wary, like he’s worried I’m going to grade him on his reaction.

I take pity on him and turn, walking to the restaurant, not waiting to see if he’ll actually come with me. Guess there’s a good chance I might eat alone in a restaurant today whether I’m emotionally prepared for it or not.

CHAPTER 8

CALLUM

I don’t know why I agreed to this. I never even took my ex to places like this. If I had, maybe we would have stayed together, despite the distance with her back in Ireland and me in Edinburgh.

But maybe no amount of nice dinners would have helped, and the demands of my unconventional job would have ended it regardless of where she lived.

I follow Asha into the dark, Gothic space. Not Gothic in some misguided romantic use of the word, but in the accurate sense of the word where there are pointed arches. The wooden paneling on the walls makes the space unusually dark, even for a gray Scottish day. The red leather booths and the white tablecloths add some brightness to restaurant, and the occasional medieval tapestry and heavy curtains add to the atmosphere. Lit candles on the tables, a few wall sconces, and one window valiantly try, not very effectively, to battle the low light.

“I think the first couple of tours went well, myself,” Asha says after we order lunch.

“We were late finishing both of them, which was one thing yesterday, but it’s quite another today, when they have to get lunch and maybe see a museum before the whisky tasting, meaning they’re more likely to be late.”

“I thought you would have appreciated less time at the distillery. It means less time for the group to get absolutely sloshed.”

“I might not think it’s good craic to take a bunch of tourists desperate for a good time out to a distillery, but it is a scheduled event and we need to be on time to it. They’re waiting for us. No dillydallying.”

She starts to laugh at me, and then quickly and not convincingly turns the laugh into a cough when I glare at her.

“What have I said now?” It’s always something with this woman.

“Nothing. It’s just you’re so grumpy and then you say things like ‘dillydallying,’ and it’s hard for this American to reconcile.”

“It’s a legitimate expression.”

“I’m sure.”