Page 50 of Only One Tour Bus

“Put me on video!”

“This is a double Michelin-starred restaurant and you want me to turn on the FaceTime?”

“Yes.” I munch on my baguette and hold my phone up, already starting the video request.

“Jesus wept,” Callum mumbles, but he accepts the video call. I spend the next few minutes watching him in an opulent setting, surrounded by works of art on every surface that I can see, while he tries to reposition the phone so it’s less obvious, furtively looking around like he’s committing some reconnaissance for a heist instead of…well, I guess we are spying on the customers.

But they’re my tour babies. I have the right, like every overprotective mother across the globe. Or at least like they say they do.

“Henry and Doris are doing well, as expected. Move the phone to Camila and Roshni.” I don’t know how he managed to get primo seating in between both couples, but he is right in the middle of it all.

“Well, they have been a couple for fifty years.”

“How did Roshni and Camila react when you told them about the night?”

Callum sighs and lowers his voice. “I’m so glad I had earbuds in my backpack.”

“Answer the question!” I don’t have to modulate my volume alone in this hotel room.

“Camila looked happy and Roshni looked tentatively hopeful. They’re having a nice meal.”

“No! I want passion. We’re in Paris, I deserve passion!” I ruin the effect, yet again, by sneezing.

“You’re not well enough for passion.”

Drat. So Callum heard the sneeze. I even put it in my elbow.

“Send them some wine on us.”

“Wee Sunshine, do you know how much we get paid?”

“I’ll reimburse you. This is for love!”

Callum gets a waiter’s attention and tells him to send the table a bottle of wine whose name I’ve never heard of—not that that means anything; I do not have a sophisticated palate and I have a budget to match. And he does it in perfect French. I’m impressed again.

Callum keeps me on the line for the rest of dinner as Roshni and Camila loosen up. This may just work. I’ve already seen them laugh together on tours and smile close together for the photos I offer to take for them.

Hand me a diaper and call me Cupid, because I’m rekindling love!

Okay, me and Europe are rekindling love! And they should probably talk to a therapist at some point. But first they need to remember what they’re fighting for.

The couples both finish dinner and walk out the restaurant, arm in arm, smiling softly at each other. Callum turns the camera around to show his unamused face, and asks, “Are you happy, then?”

“Ec-static.” I draw the word out.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Good. I’m coming to the hotel to check up on you. Take your temperature.”

“I’m fi—” Hung up on is what I am. But he kept the phone on the entire dinner so I can’t complain too much at the unceremonious end of the conversation.

I turn back to watching reruns of The Office in French, waiting for Callum to come back. When he does, I’m ready for him this time, with a new pair of pajamas that I had delivered via app today. With no stains to speak of. Thank god for apps.

“I have dinner for you.” Callum announces without flourish, setting the bag on my table.

“From Le Train Bleu? You didn’t need to get me fancy food.”

He shrugs. “I was there. There was food. You need to eat.”

“Well, thank you.”