Page 20 of Only One Tour Bus

“You smiled!” She jumps around like I told her she just won some sort of lottery.

“Don’t make a big deal about it. I do smile, on occasion.”

“Shenanigans and lies! No, you don’t.”

“When there’s something worth smiling about.” I glare at her, not putting much heat in it. It is a wee bit amusing to see her carrying on. When I’m the one making her carry on.

“Ouch! Are you saying I’m only occasionally worth a smile? You just burned me so bad I’ll need that first municipal fire department to come render medical aid, but it’ll be worth it, because the treatment is free due to nationalized healthcare, and you smiled! And I caused it!”

I laugh, a small one that could barely qualify for the name, and could be mistaken for a cough if someone wasn’t playing close enough attention. That only sets her off more.

“And now a laugh! I got a laugh. Is this what winning an Oscar feels like? I’d like to thank the Academy…”

“It’s not that hard, I love to laugh,” I blatantly lie, because she won’t shut up about it otherwise.

She laughs at that, a lot more sure than mine, and I glare at her, this time with more heat. That works, and her uproarious laughter winds down into a chuckle. “You’re a regular comedian.”

“That is the first time I’ve been accused of that.”

“And not the last if you stick with me, kid.” She smiles at me, like that would be a good thing.

“Terrifying prospect.”

“You can’t fool me.” She wags her finger at me in a manner I dislike greatly. “I’ve seen a smile and a laugh now. There’s no going back.”

“God help me.”

She links her arm through mine like we’re on a playground for small children. If I didn’t feel so infantile, I would enjoy the feel of her warm arm entwined with mine, her body pressed against mine. And if she wasn’t so unsuitable.

She doesn’t let go until we get to the hotel, chatting about something or another. I couldn’t follow the numerous topic changes she blasted through with more speed and effortlessness than a speed skater. She started talking about her first tour in Edinburgh, and then about her roommate in university, and then somehow she was onto what she was doing for New Year’s at the turn of the millennium.

But it is nice to listen to her talk. Her voice is…pleasant.

Even if she does talk absolute rubbish.

CHAPTER 9

ASHA

“Thank you all for being so punctual!” I shoot a superior look at Callum, who dared to doubt anyone in our wonderful group. The best tour group ever. “We’re going to the best distillery in the lowlands, the Popular Pheasant, to learn a bit about the whisky-making process, and then to learn a bit about the taste, if you’d like.”

I dive into the spiel about whisky, going through the whole process, from malting, mashing, fermentation, distillation, and maturation, and then the history of the drink, including that the name means water in Gaelic. I doubt they’re paying attention to me, and some are outright sleeping. It’s fine. They’re going to get the same speech, in front of the actual instruments making whisky, in no time. From a Scotsman.

Fair. I would pay more attention to a Scotsman than me, too.

But I find repetition helps people retain more information, so I’ll go through it, too. I have no illusions that they’ll remember everything; it’s a lot of information we’re throwing at them in a short time.

An hour and a half later, having driven through the beautiful, vibrantly green Scottish countryside that about half of our travelers slept through entirely, we pull up to the distillery, which is completely surrounded by that wild Scottish countryside.

“Hiya, Fergus. I’ve got a great group for you here today,” I say as I get off the bus.

“The best one ever, aye?” The burly white redhead with a giant beard winks at me, then hugs me affectionately.

Okay, so maybe, I just might, on occasion, overuse the “best ever” descriptor. But I’m not admitting that out loud. Because I am the. Best. Avoider. Ever!

“Callum, you’re here, too?” Fergus asks.

“We’re doing a double tour.” The two men shake hands and exuberantly slap each other on the back.