Page 104 of Only One Tour Bus

I slump. “Yes.” I never thought I would be able to run my own company. Who am I? Not a business major. I studied art history and spent five years traveling Europe, drinking too much, not getting a lot of sleep, and teaching history. But in between applying for the few jobs that are out there, I’ve been getting excited about planning my own tours with no one to answer to but me and the client.

I’ve planned seven more potential specialty tours in between eating all the aerosol toppings in Scotland. A habit which has gotten so bad I’ve had to go to the next closest grocery store to avoid the judgement from cashiers with too good of memories.

And there’s universal healthcare here, so it’s the best place to get wild and start a business with no guarantee of profit anytime soon.

So just talking to my cousin couldn’t hurt anything.

CHAPTER 46

CALLUM

I run my hand down the front of my shirt as if I have ironing powers that will catch all the excess wrinkles, forcing my other hand to loosen so I don’t crush the flowers I’m holding.

It’s been over a month and a half since I’ve seen Asha, and since I thought I would never see her again, I want to look my best.

Since the last time I’ve seen her, I’ve been glued to my laptop, applying to as many jobs as I could. And teaching jobs, too. Proper teaching jobs, which is what I studied for in school. I even applied to a program to get my professional graduate diploma in education so I could possibly teach in secondary schools. I let a convenient job offer distract me from that goal, but this last tour, with its threat of termination, made me realize this isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life.

So far I’ve only applied to Scottish schools and programs. All in and around Edinburgh. I know why I’ve limited the geographic scope. I’m not ready to admit that things are over between me and Asha, despite the fact that I left her. Despite the fact that she’s probably moving back to the States soon. Since I left her and took her job from her, indirectly.

I even joined social media so I could follow her, in a non-stalkery, legal sort of way, which is how I know she’s still in Edinburgh. It’s also how I know she’s throwing an event in the park today. It’s the culmination of a few mysterious social media posts, inviting everyone to see the beginning of their “next best adventure.”

And then a post inviting everyone to the launch of Best Trip Ever, with a picnic in the park. I can guess what Best Trip Ever is, and I hope for her it’s a giant success.

Walking into that same park today, I brace myself for whatever is going to happen. I can tell where her thing is because there’s a section of the park with booths arranged in a square, with people wandering around, food and drink in hand.

And all happy. This must be an Asha production. I don’t know anyone who has left her presence without a smile. Well, except for Rob, but that eejit doesn’t count.

But as easy as it was to find where the event is, it’s surprisingly hard to find the Wee Sunshine herself.

I wander the booths looking for her. Each of them represents a different country, with brightly colored informational posters with pictures, food, drinks, and cheesy souvenirs from that place. The decorations scattering the lawn are all travel related, stacked suitcases as tables, map blankets to sit on, and small planes, trains, buses, and cars set up on the tables as centerpieces.

There’s a stage with a table next to it, but the most important thing about that area is that I finally see Asha. She’s at the table in her natural habitat, laughing at something or another in the center of a crowd, and I take a minute to appreciate how the sun is shining off her long, wavy, black hair. Hair that has a hint of blue in it, from this angle and in this light. And the way there’s…I squint. There are bulldogs with top hats on her dress. It’s a dress that hugs her curves on top and then flares out to flow around her calves. And her pub backpack.

There’s my Wee Sunshine.

I know when she sees me because when she looks in my direction, she stops laughing, looking at me like I’m a ghost from the past. And not a Casper type who she’d be happy to see, but more of a Dickens-type ghost meant to haunt her.

Less than ideal.

But I also can’t turn around now, so I raise my free hand and walk toward her.

“Hi.” It’s not an adequate greeting, but even with so much to say between us, it’s the best I can think of.

“Hello, Callum.” She opens her mouth to say something else, like maybe ask me why I’m here, when we’re interrupted.

“Excuse me, can I see a brochure of the sample tours?” An obnoxious woman in clothes that probably cost more than my (former) annual tour salary steps in front of me.

I grind my teeth but Asha smiles, because her tolerance for bullshit is so high.

“Of course. Here’s the brochure, and we also have the website and social media all up, with the links listed in the brochure. I’m going to step away for a second, but if you need me, I’ll be around later to answer any questions you have.”

Asha smiles, a dim facsimile of her usual smile, and sidesteps the woman, pulling me along with her. She walks until we’re behind one line of the booths, and the noise of the party is muted with the plastic of the booths’ tents.

“Hi,” I say again. Because despite the interruption, I haven’t thought of anything better.

“Hello, Callum.” She’s also taken to repeating herself.

“What’s happening here? It’s quite the party.”