Page 24 of Only One Tour Bus

I have so many questions to ask, but Laura interrupts. “We’re coming up on Fountains Abbey. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Asha jumps up from next to me, looking chagrined that we were talking about sleeping with tourists with a bus full of them behind us. Kevin better not have heard her. A quick look shows he’s laughing obnoxiously in the back, so we’re probably fine.

Asha gets the mic. “You’re all in for a treat here: our stop for the day is gorgeous. And I’ll give you the history of it in front of the abbey instead of in here, so you can have a nice view of some ruins if you want to tune me out.”

The bus stops as the group laughs at Asha’s joke. How does she do it? I would never have thought to add that, because history is interesting by itself and doesn’t need jokes or distractions.

They should be grateful that despite the American obsession with capitalism, they were able to take three weeks off to travel around Europe to learn this history in person.

But they’re sitting up straighter in their seats than they would be with me, already shaking the lingering signs of sleep from their faces as most chose to nap on our ride down. A decision I was very on board with after the attempted flirtation, or whatever that was.

Still, it’s infuriating that I’m—I mean, that history—is not enough to keep their attention. When Asha has no problem on that front.

Asha claps her hands. “Let’s get off this bus and do some exploring!”

CHAPTER 11

ASHA

I stretch when I get off the bus, my body protesting the long drive that is only half over. The days of walking tours are great, when I have no problem getting my steps in. Not so much on travel days, when my back has started to protest more and more the long hours sitting in one position.

That combined with the great food options in these amazing cities means I spend a lot of my time off working out and eating vegetables so my body gets some balance.

Callum doesn’t seem to have my problems. His body looks as hard and unyielding as his personality. Not that I’ll ever know, because unless the bus moves when we’re both standing, throwing me into him so I can cop an accidental feel, I’m sure I won’t be finding out.

Callum gets the group’s attention to start his lecture on Henry VIII dissolving the monasteries when he separated from the Vatican in 1534. I see eyes start to glaze over, and I feel compelled as a tour guide to interrupt.

“And do you know why Henry VIII separated from the Vatican and became the head of the Church of England?”

“He was horny!” Thomas yells at me from the back.

“Yes, he was! So horny! The Vatican wouldn’t give him a divorce, and he wanted out of his marriage to his former sister-in-law so he could marry the younger Anne Boleyn. And he wanted a male heir, which he had not had with Catherine. And does anyone know why that is especially infuriating?”

“Because sperm determines the baby’s sex,” Maria yells.

“Yes! And Anne Boleyn, who was his mistress’s sister, because that’s how good ol’ Henry rolls, refused to become his mistress when he started sniffing around her skirts.”

“And that’s why we have all these monastery ruins up here,” Callum says firmly, getting us back on track to the history and not the scandal. “Because Henry took all their land and money, kicking the monks out. And in a lot of cases, he let the buildings go to ruin. You can go get your pictures now.”

“You can go explore, however you want to, with no judgment from us.” I glare at him. Why is he always trying to insult our paying customers? “If you’re hungry, there’s a café and restaurant. I recommend getting something here, because it’s going to be only gas stations and fast-food options until London, which is another four hours away. Feel free to bring food back to the bus to eat if you want to spend more time exploring and see you back here in two hours.”

“Can you stop insulting them?” I whisper-yell at him once the group leaves to get a better view of the ruins.

“They make it so very easy.”

“Not everyone has to vacation like you to be right. For the millionth time, there is no right way to vacation! In fact, making rules for vacation kind of defeats the purpose of a vacation.” We start slowly after the group, not focusing much on the majestic ruin next to us, both having seen it plenty of times before. But I’ve never spent this much time with Callum.

He snorts at me. “You never went on vacation with my mom.”

I rub my hands together. “Ah! Now we’re getting to the root of what makes you, you.”

“As fun as this pop psychology is, maybe we should leave any diagnosis to a professional?”

“What if I thought about being a therapist, would that count?”

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” I shrug. “What’s your mom like?”