Chapter 29
ASHA
The thoughts run through my head after I close the door, staring at it in confusion and more than a little frustration. I’m still thinking about it when I get ready for bed and when I’m in bed, staring at the bit of door I can still see. Trying to figure out what the hell happened.
Sleep is elusive, so I’m tired when my alarm rings. And also, still confused about the lack of kiss situation. Which doesn’t help my brain function at all.
But I have a job to do, and this tour is more important than any other besides my first one where I was being evaluated and could have been fired if it had gone too badly.
So I pull on my big girl backpack, the one with the English bulldog visiting a pub on it, and march down the stairs with as much dedication as any child marching the streets on Halloween.
Or any parking enforcement person on the streets of LA.
Seriously, I once got a ticket when I got to my meter ten minutes late.
If only I had a glitter cannon I could shoot at Callum for all this frustration. Nothing that would seriously hurt him, but something that would irritate him immensely in the moment and later when he kept finding glitter everywhere. For a month. For six months. Seems like enough revenge.
Revenge for the way he irritates me by being weirdly sweet when he forgets he’s supposed to be angry at the world.
The righteous indignation helps me get through greeting him in the morning, and then the group starts coming down to help buffer us.
I can distract myself with getting everyone checked out and loaded onto the bus when all they want to do is crawl back into bed.
Or a couch. I think they’d take a small, hard, uncomfortable plastic chair at this point and they would happily sleep on it.
With nightlife in Europe being what it is, I doubt some of them even got back to the hotel until minutes before they walked down here.
I’m just happy they’re all accounted for. Uninjured and un-arrested, if not entirely happy right now.
“Is everyone ready for today?” I say it quietly and less enthusiastically than normal, knowing no one wants to see a happy person right now.
The fact is confirmed when the only responses to my question are grunts. Unhappy grunts, not like Callum, whose grunts range the gamut from acknowledgment to joy to displeasure, depending on context.
“I get it. I know this seems like a punishment and I’m not a morning person either, but we’ve got a long day of travel, and we want to start early so we get a nice break at Strasbourg to get some food and stretch your legs while you see some sites. Then we’ll end the day in the Swiss Alps!”
No one is mollified by that, but that’s okay. That means they’ll probably sleep on the bus and we (the tour guides) will get some peace…to also sleep on the bus.
I wasn’t kidding about not being a morning person.
Once everyone is on the bus, I get the microphone. “All right, we’ve got four and a half hours to Strasbourg, and I invite everyone to take a nice nap. We’ll be there by eleven thirty, with a quick stop somewhere along way for restrooms and gas station snacks.”
I lower my voice as I speak in an attempt to lull the unhappy travelers into a nice, deep sleep.
I turn the microphone off and sit in one of the front seats, not even trying to flirt with Callum.
Not only do I want the whole bench seat to myself, but I don’t need to keep throwing myself at him if he’s uninterested, which he clearly is.
Callum, not getting the memo that he’s not interested in me, takes the seat next to me. I should have taken the aisle seat, not the window, thereby cutting off all opportunities to confuse me more.
His arm is warm in the air-conditioned bus, since Laura likes it chillier than the average person. And since she’s the only one we need to be alert and happy during the long drives, she gets complete control of the temperature. And the radio. Everyone else can pack a jacket. And earbuds.
But I don’t even need to get a jacket with Callum leaning so close to me. I lean in reflexively before I can stop myself, getting so close I can see the stubble on his chin.
“I think everyone’s hitting that mid-tour exhaustion,” he whispers to me as the bus starts on our long journey.
“They’ll get their second wind in Switzerland. Then Italy will exhaust them all over again, and they’ll be ready to go home by Rome.”
“They’ll make it through. They always do. And they won’t remember the long days, the tiredness from all-nighters, and the inclement weather once they’re home looking at some truly hideous glass vase they bought in Venice.”
I laugh, despite my vow not to be charmed by the hot-and-cold man. But I didn’t know he was going to pivot to jokes. I wasn’t prepared for that; I didn’t even know he could pivot to jokes. So how could I defend against it? “Why are they always the worst color combinations?”
“Apparently, it’s what sells. Now why it sells, that I can’t answer.”
“They could also look at their vacation photos and remember the good times they had on this trip.” I nudge him not-so-gently with my elbow at the idea of vacation photos, and the reminder that he dislikes them.
He rolls his eyes. “I still think they could cut down the amount of them, but it is nice to remember what you learned. And you’re right, to remember how you felt with friends and loved ones when on vacation.”
Well, I definitely don’t know how to react to this new pivot. The agreeing-with-me-and-admitting-he’s-wrong pivot.
“Can you say that again, please?” I get my phone out to record. More because I don’t really believe he said it and need to rehear it later, rather than a desire to blackmail him with the clip.
“No.” One word answered with a frown. Now this is a Callum that I’m comfortable with. I feel like I’m on more stable footing already.
“I’m still documenting this.” I turn my phone around and start the video. “Let it be known, that on this day, Callum Kelly admitted to me that he was wrong. And I didn’t even gloat.”
Callum snorts next to me, a snort I can now interpret, since I’m better at speaking Callum than I am French, a language I studied for five years in school.
This is a snort of disbelief at what I said.
“Fine. In the interest of transparency, I may have done a small gloat. But it was warranted, because, and I think you’ll agree with me, whoever is watching this, Callum acts very superior, and we peasants must take our wins where we can find them.”
I stop the recording and look at Callum, who managed to squeeze six eye rolls into the short video. “Documented!” I ruin the declaration by yawning.
“Come here, then,” Callum says gruffly, indicating his wide shoulder. “You’ll be no good in Strasbourg if you don’t get some sleep.”
“I am a professional. I have five years practice functioning on very little sleep and then getting home and sleeping for days in a row.” But I ruin that declaration by yawning again.
“Yeah, yeah. But I’m here. For this tour, at the very least. So take my shoulder while it’s on offer.”
And he’s back to being sweet. French Callum is very confusing. United Kingdom Callum was so straightforward. I shudder to think what Swiss Callum is going to be like. Or Italian Callum. Heaven help us.
Or just me.
“Whatever,” I mumble. One can’t let a shoulder like this go unused. That would be a crime, and I don’t want to find out what exactly a French prison is like.
I eye his chest. “How do you keep in shape on tour? Aside from the walking?”
“Resistance bands. Easy to pack and not a lot of space required.”
“That’s dedication.” That I don’t have. Any free time I have is working on my tour ideas, sleeping, or being out with the group. I guess he has a lot more time when he doesn’t go out with them at night.
I make myself comfortable on the hard muscle wrapped in a soft cotton shirt. Just for a few minutes, then I’ll wake up and use the bus window and a sweatshirt as a pillow like I usually do.
But no need to pass up this exemplary shoulder in the meantime.