Page 38 of Only One Tour Bus

“Were you serving wine?”

“So much wine. I’m sure that contributed to their decision-making process. But I haven’t planned a picnic in the United Kingdom since then.” We head to the closest Tube stop. “Want to pop into the Museum of the Home? It’s supposed to show rooms decorated in different period styles. Should be interesting.”

Callum grunts. An affirmative grunt this time.

Sweet, more time to learn to decipher this man’s body language.

CHAPTER 16

CALLUM

The day is too nice to spoil with our group.

But we are here to work. So after a nice, educational visit to the museum and a too-long visit to the museum’s gift shop, we head to the Indian restaurant.

Almost the entire group arrives within fifteen minutes, enough to get the table and start ordering food.

“Why are we at an Indian restaurant for our English group meal?” Erica asks.

“Colonialism,” Asha and I both answer at the same time. We look at each other and smile, but somberly, possibly the only time that colonialism has made anyone who wasn’t a prick smile.

“England colonized India, like the imperialist gobshites they are. As a result even more Indians immigrated here than when they were just independent trading partners, bringing their delicious food, which has become the most popular food in the entire country. It did not have a lot of competition,” I say.

Asha is laughing at me, probably over the imperialist gobshite comment. Something an Irishman and an Indian-American woman have in common, I suppose.

The meal is good, especially since I’ve learned how to tune out most of the chatter around me and enjoy the delicious food on tour. Aside from my dinner, I also focus on Asha. Not in a creepy way. Just in a way that I can’t not look at her. Not only because she’s sitting across from me, but because she shines so bright in group situations like this, laughing and giving everyone equal attention, that it’s hard to overlook her.

Not that she’s giving me any of that attention. And I’m not jealous of our tourists, per se, but if I were talking to her, I would be asking less obvious questions. She would enjoy it more, is all. I’m only thinking of her enjoyment.

After dinner, Asha makes sure everyone knows where they’re going and walks people who are done for the night back to the hotel with me.

“See you all bright and early tomorrow!” She waves them off to the tiny elevator, opting to take the stairs instead. Like me.

We’re the only ones, our steps muffled on the thick carpet of the elaborate central stairs leading up from the lobby.

“Another successful day in the books. We worked together and the group learned things. Good things, too,” Asha says as we stop between our neighboring rooms. The Wee Sunshine is always looking on the bright side of things.

“It was all right. I don’t think they like it when they’re bombarded with information from two people. Like watching Wimbledon, the way they have to snap their necks back and forth.” I say it without thinking, because I’m still not one hundred percent resigned to having a co-leader, not even because I believe it. Because I think they kind of like it.

“You mean me? You still don’t think I contribute to the history part of the tour?”

“No, I⁠—”

“This is less than ideal for both of us. How do you think I feel, being told I’m not good enough to do a job that I’ve been doing for five years? A job that I actually enjoy? A job I thought I was decent at?”

The Wee Sunshine isn’t all sunshine right now. My eyes widen in surprise. I forgot that she could even get angry since she always puts on a happy face.

But she’s angry at me now. Spitting fire at me like a dragon from myth. And she’s still going.

“Just because one of us has a fancy PhD and the other a lowly bachelor’s isn’t a reason to be an ass. Some of us”—she points at herself—“want the group to have the best time they can and are doing the work to manage nineteen different personalities. While others”—she points at me in case I couldn’t see where this is going—“are overly focused on history and still not paying attention to the fact that this is a vacation, not a college class. And are not thinking about tailoring the teaching style to the group in front of you.”

She nods her head at me angrily after her diatribe, fumbling awkwardly with her bag to find her key. Once she finds it, she opens her door. I get a flash of her face before she slams the door, but I wish I hadn’t. She looks hurt.

I didn’t want to go and do that.

But what can I do to make it up to her? I follow her at a much slower pace, stopping at her closed door. I knock, so softly it can barely be counted as a knock. So softly that I can barely hear the sound, even though I’m the one that made it.

She doesn’t answer, so I call Asha’s name. But softly. I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone else in the hotel.