Page 2 of Only One Tour Bus

He sounds like his mind is made up, especially since the customers have already been contacted. No use trying to negotiate out of this. “Right, boss. Will do.” I smile and salute him as we exit the cramped office, before he can make the tour even harder.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

Callum and I have two very different personalities, but maybe the tour will benefit from our different perspectives. And maybe I’ll learn something from this serious man. Not a complete personality change, but if people are complaining in the reviews, I can be better. And if I get better at the job I love because of this torture, then it’ll be worth it.

“Don’t think this tour is going to be as decadent and hedonistic as the last days of Rome,” Callum warns as we walk down the stairs and out the building into the bustling Edinburgh street.

I take a second to soak in my love for my home of the last five years. The beautiful stone medieval buildings, gorgeous greenery, and the gray Scottish weather make me think I’m in a fairytale. And I love it. It’s the perfect mix of living in my art history textbook, while not being as large and as anonymous a city as London. It’s intimate and makes me feel like I’m home in a way that no other city has since I left my hometown.

And I’ve seen a lot of cities in this job.

“But we do have to talk about the last days of Rome. And the first days. Since we’re going to Rome and all.” I smile innocently at him, knowing it will only piss him off more. For as long as I’ve known him, all five years we’ve been at the company doing tours, Callum has had the most contrary reaction to happiness. Which is to scowl at it.

I’m not disappointed now.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! We still don’t need to relive it.”

“If you insist.” I sigh deeply, so he knows what a sacrifice it is. “Do you want to grab some food and talk about how to combine these tours? We could go to the pub?”

He sighs even deeper back at me, his sigh sounding a lot more put-upon than mine. Must be all the extra practice he has. “Fine.”

“Great.”

“Grand.” His tone is less enthusiastic than the word would suggest.

Since it’s Edinburgh, we don’t have to walk far before we hit the closest pub. And since it’s Edinburgh, and being just after quitting time, everyone else in the city has the same idea. We have to squeeze our way through a sea of business casual to place our orders at the bar.

I order a pint and am not disappointed at the pointed look Callum slides its way. But he does refrain from saying anything about it. See, we’re already improving on our working relationship.

“All right, Co-Tour Guide. Ready to make some dream vacations happen?”

He grunts. Not an actual response, but a start, I suppose. After all, he could have said something mean.

“Okay. Let’s double check we’re going to the same places.”

“Good first step.” He brings up his tour on his tablet and hands it to me, and I do the same with mine.

Edinburgh, London, Paris, Strasbourg, Lauterbrunnen, Milan, Venice, Florence, and Rome. The same tour, but one offered for families and those wanting a quieter tour and the other for youngish singles and friends who want a little more excitement.

“One less thing to worry about,” I say as I hand him back his tablet. “Now we can divide up who gives the walking tours.”

“I’ll take those for you.”

“Wait a minute, I like doing those, too. You can’t have all of them.”

“Oh, do you enjoy pointing out the best souvenir shops?”

“No. Not just that.” Although if we pass the best place for Scottish wool or gelato, I’m not going to not tell my group. “You know, I was an art history major in college. Sorry, at uni. I do like telling people about architecture and history. But we can still make it fun! History has enough juicy stories to rival the best scenes in Real Housewives. I mean, in historic popes alone, there’s fodder for the most salacious shows on HBO and Showtime. Like the five salacious shows they’ve already made about popes.”

“You were an art history major?”

“I’ll choose to ignore the disbelief there and just answer the question: yes. I love art and even history. And the occasional pint. There’s nothing wrong with liking all of those things.”

“What’s your favorite type of art then?”

“Oooh, gatekeeping at the pub. It’s one of the nicer places I’ve been gate…kept? What would the past tense of that be?”

“I don’t know.” Callum scowls with the words, and I don’t know if it’s because he hates not knowing something, or because he feels the conversation is beneath him. Or a fun combination of both.