Page 56 of Only One Tour Bus

“Did you know—” Callum starts.

“That the bodies were moved here because the Parisian cemeteries were overflowing?”

“Ah, right. Going places with another historian.”

“You’re off duty for now, Callum. Especially because we have a professional tour guide coming to take us through the site.”

“This must be what chefs feel like when they go out to eat. Do you have trouble on other people’s tours?”

“Not really. Not unless they get something wrong. But I figure what they chose to include and what they left out is what makes each individual tour special. And if they’re passionate about what they’re talking about, then it’s going to be fun for everyone. I get madder when the tour guide gives no energy, like they don’t want to be there. But it’s always a unique experience at the same historic sites with different guides. The tours are like snowflakes.”

“Ah. I do not feel that way.”

“I know.” I laugh at the understatement. Then my smiles fades. “Neither does Rob, apparently.”

“He doesn’t much like the by-the-book approach either, if you’ll remember.”

“But we’re both learning from each other. I’m including more boring shit in my tours.”

“Thanks for that,” he says dryly. “And I’m trying to care about guests’ needs outside of knowledge.”

“And soon, you’ll even sound happy while doing it.”

“One thing at a time,” Callum deadpans.

I laugh, then shush him (even though he wasn’t making noise) when the guide comes. Have to give respect to a peer.

Unless that peer is Callum. It’s too much fun annoying him.

CHAPTER 24

CALLUM

I open Asha’s hotel door for her after she presses the key card against it, but don’t follow her in. She stops just inside her room and turns to look at me.

Expectantly, maybe? Does she want me to come in?

I want to. But then she blows her nose and I remember that she should be resting. Not only because I miss having her as my co-leader, but because I don’t want her to be in any pain or discomfort.

So she needs to rest. As much as I wish that we could do something that is the opposite of restful. Our day out was probably taxing enough.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for Versailles?” I ask instead of kissing her. It’s not a suitable replacement activity.

“Yes. I felt good today, aside from a little congestion, so I should be ready to be back at work tomorrow.”

She’s still looking at me expectantly. I need to leave before I take up the invitation written on her face and in her body language. The invitation that my body is already responding to by taking a small step toward her.

No! I stop the wayward foot. I am looking out for her well-being, because she is incapable of doing it herself.

“Keep feeling better,” I order abruptly as I turn on my heel and walk to my room. I would prefer if that walk took me up at least six flights of stairs and down a mile-long hallway, but the short jaunt five doors down is going to have to be enough.

If one more person tells me about their day, I will grab the closest vase and drop it on my own head. Only because I’m not legally permitted to hit anyone else with it.

So says the Gardai, anyway. Not that the Irish police are in France, but I’m sure their Gallic equivalent wouldn’t be too keen on the idea either.

I mean, why do they think I want to hear this? I can see that they’ve arrived at this lobby on time and unharmed; I don’t need to know about their personal lives beyond that.

I try not to glare at them, not managing a smile either, but keep my face neutral in a way that I feel is an improvement over what it would have looked like if anyone had tried to tell me all this nonsense on the last tour.