Page 19 of Only One Tour Bus

I can hope, at the very least.

“But we are having a nice lunch.” There she goes, finding the silver lining in everything. Even this mess of a tour.

We have a leisurely lunch, lingering over the food, desert, and wine. Then Asha looks at her phone. “Wow, the time flew. We should get back to the hotel to get ready for pickup. Let me just get a few shots to memorialize this…” She gets up and turns in a circle, getting her photos.

“Right.” I get our server’s attention and extend my card when she brings the credit card machine.

“No, I’ll pay. I invited you.” She puts her phone down and fumbles in her ridiculous backpack—this one that has a book shop printed on it.

“Where do you get these bags?”

“A company I discovered in London. They’re great. There are all sorts of fun designs and sometimes cats and dogs are involved and don’t think I’m distracted out of paying. At the very least for my own portion, if you’re going to be stubborn about being treated.”

“It’s already done.”

“I can pay you back.” She puts her card away and gets out some cash.

“Keep your wee money.” I wave her away awkwardly, hoping she’s not going to make a big deal about it.

Then she smiles, lighting up the space more effectively than the lone candle on our table could.

Grand, she is making a big deal about it.

“Well, thank you for lunch! I’ll get the next one. Or I’ll keep you in whisky tonight so you don’t have to fully feel how irritated you are with our lovely tour babies.”

“Lovely is one word to describe the group.”

“Not the one you would use for them?”

“Rule number three: don’t slag off the paying customers. So I won’t answer that. All I’ll say is that they aren’t my babies.”

“It would make your life easier if you opened yourself up to the wide range of personalities that we guide around Europe.”

I shudder, and she laughs again.

What is she laughing at? I’m not trying to be funny; I’m trying to slag off our paying customers. Her “tour babies,” apparently.

Sunshine women don’t even know when they’re supposed to be offended on behalf of the nuisances they love so much. She needs a keeper around so no one can crush the impractical spirit and naivete she has.

Not me, though, obviously. I’m not wanting to take on that much extra work outside the scope of my job.

She packs her things and we walk through the city, back to the hotel.

“Did you know that over 75 percent of the buildings in Edinburgh are listed? The most in the UK after London,” Asha says, because she really hates silence.

“I did.” But I nod approvingly at her for knowing it. And in approval of the practical conversation. “Did you know Edinburgh has the only knighted penguin in the world?” It’s the most useless fact I can think of, one that an overly excited tourist told me on one of my first tours when they asked where the zoo was, and I know Asha will appreciate the whimsy. Since she lives her life obsessed with whimsy.

“No way!”

“He’s a major general who inspects the Norwegian Guard when they come and his name is Sir Nils. He’s an adopted Norwegian.”

“That’s a good fact. Okay, how about this one: the Royal Mile is actually a mile and one hundred and seven yards long. I know you’ll appreciate that because you like precision.”

“Amateur hour. Of course I know that.” But I do appreciate the precision.

Asha isn’t deterred, not that I thought she would be. “All right, one more. Edinburgh was the first city to have its own fire service. In an organized, municipal, way,” she says.

I smile at her. “Okay. No. I didn’t know that.”