Page 68 of Only One Tour Bus

I lower my voice as I speak in an attempt to lull the unhappy travelers into a nice, deep sleep. I turn the microphone off and sit in one of the front seats, not even trying to flirt with Callum. Not only do I want the whole bench seat to myself, but I don’t need to keep throwing myself at him if he’s uninterested, which he clearly is.

Callum, not getting the memo that he’s not interested in me, takes the seat next to me. I should have taken the aisle seat, not the window, thereby cutting off all opportunities to confuse me more.

His arm is warm in the air-conditioned bus, since Laura likes it chillier than the average person. And since she’s the only one we need to be alert and happy during the long drives, she gets complete control of the temperature. And the radio. Everyone else can pack a jacket. And earbuds.

But I don’t even need to get a jacket with Callum leaning so close to me. I lean in reflexively before I can stop myself, getting so close I can see the stubble on his chin.

“I think everyone’s hitting that mid-tour exhaustion,” he whispers to me as the bus starts on our long journey.

“They’ll get their second wind in Switzerland. Then Italy will exhaust them all over again, and they’ll be ready to go home by Rome.”

“They’ll make it through. They always do. And they won’t remember the long days, the tiredness from all-nighters, and the inclement weather once they’re home looking at some truly hideous glass vase they bought in Venice.”

I laugh, despite my vow not to be charmed by the hot-and-cold man. But I didn’t know he was going to pivot to jokes. I wasn’t prepared for that; I didn’t even know he could pivot to jokes. So how could I defend against it? “Why are they always the worst color combinations?”

“Apparently, it’s what sells. Now why it sells, that I can’t answer.”

“They could also look at their vacation photos and remember the good times they had on this trip.” I nudge him not-so-gently with my elbow at the idea of vacation photos, and the reminder that he dislikes them.

He rolls his eyes. “I still think they could cut down the amount of them, but it is nice to remember what you learned. And you’re right, to remember how you felt with friends and loved ones when on vacation.”

Well, I definitely don’t know how to react to this new pivot. The agreeing-with-me-and-admitting-he’s-wrong pivot.

“Can you say that again, please?” I get my phone out to record. More because I don’t really believe he said it and need to rehear it later, rather than a desire to blackmail him with the clip.

“No.” One word answered with a frown. Now this is a Callum that I’m comfortable with. I feel like I’m on more stable footing already.

“I’m still documenting this.” I turn my phone around and start the video. “Let it be known, that on this day, Callum Kelly admitted to me that he was wrong. And I didn’t even gloat.”

Callum snorts next to me, a snort I can now interpret, since I’m better at speaking Callum than I am French, a language I studied for five years in school.

This is a snort of disbelief at what I said.

“Fine. In the interest of transparency, I may have done a small gloat. But it was warranted, because, and I think you’ll agree with me, whoever is watching this, Callum acts very superior, and we peasants must take our wins where we can find them.”

I stop the recording and look at Callum, who managed to squeeze six eye rolls into the short video. “Documented!” I ruin the declaration by yawning.

“Come here, then,” Callum says gruffly, indicating his wide shoulder. “You’ll be no good in Strasbourg if you don’t get some sleep.”

“I am a professional. I have five years practice functioning on very little sleep and then getting home and sleeping for days in a row.” But I ruin that declaration by yawning again.

“Yeah, yeah. But I’m here. For this tour, at the very least. So take my shoulder while it’s on offer.”

And he’s back to being sweet. French Callum is very confusing. United Kingdom Callum was so straightforward. I shudder to think what Swiss Callum is going to be like. Or Italian Callum. Heaven help us.

Or just me.

“Whatever,” I mumble. One can’t let a shoulder like this go unused. That would be a crime, and I don’t want to find out what exactly a French prison is like.

I eye his chest. “How do you keep in shape on tour? Aside from the walking?”

“Resistance bands. Easy to pack and not a lot of space required.”

“That’s dedication.” That I don’t have. Any free time I have is working on my tour ideas, sleeping, or being out with the group. I guess he has a lot more time when he doesn’t go out with them at night.

I make myself comfortable on the hard muscle wrapped in a soft cotton shirt. Just for a few minutes, then I’ll wake up and use the bus window and a sweatshirt as a pillow like I usually do.

But no need to pass up this exemplary shoulder in the meantime.