She paused—a little ominously—before resuming her little speech. “That means you need to be back on this bus, in your seat, and ready to go no later than nine hundred hours. Not nine hundred oh-one. Nine hundred. Period.”
There were a few chuckles from the group, but Tay wasn’t smiling. She leaned into the mic, her voice dropping a notch, in a way that caught everyone’s attention.
“Some of you are probably thinking, ‘She won’t leave without me.’” She let out a short humorless laugh. “But let me tell you something: I’ve been doing this job for twelve years. Trust me when I say that I have left people. And not just at a gift shop, folks. I have left people at Mount Rushmore, where they had to hitch a ride with a retired couple in an RV. I have left people at the Acropolis, where they had to convince a Greek taxi-driver to circle the streets of Athens until they recognized our hotel. I have left people in Gettysburg, where even though they tried sprinting through a battlefield reenactment, they didn’t make it in time.” She crossed her arms, making unsettling eye contact with what felt like every single one of us. “And then there’s the octogenarian who had to bribe one of the park rangers to drive him back to the lodge. In Yellowstone.”
For a moment, I thought I caught a flicker of weariness in her expression, and I found myself wondering what it would be like to have her job. On the surface, it seemed glamorous—all the travel, seeing new places. But the reality? Spending your life herding strangers from one tourist spot to the next?
Not glamorous at all.
“So,” Tay said as the bus drew to a halt. “Unless you want to be left stranded on top of this mountain, in a freaking blizzard, I strongly suggest you get back to the bus on time.”
Save for the squealing of the windshield wipers and the gentle swish of Babs’s tracksuit, everyone was still. Tay leaned back slightly, her tone easing into something closer to amused.
“Twenty minutes, folks. Chop chop. Let's go have some fun!”
She clicked off the mic, and after a beat of shocked silence, the bus stirred into action. Passengers shuffled to grab jackets, scarves, and gloves, and the scrape of zippers filled the air.
But I didn’t move.
Instead, my gaze slid toward Noah, who was still leaning back in his seat, his arms folded more loosely now, like he had all the time in the world. Of course, he would be completely unfazed by Tay’s fiery warning.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, the chatter, the movement, even the howling wind outside, faded.
His lips twitched, like he knew exactly what I was thinking—that neither of us really belonged here.
“Tay is joking, right?” Just like that, his mother’s voice broke the spell.
“I wouldn’t test it, Mom.” Noah turned away from me, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I want those recipes before the tour’s over. Especially the clam chowder,” Babs said, gathering her bag up from the floor. “Mine always ends up tasting like I’ve dumped little pieces of rubber in.”
I had completely forgotten that she and Mrs. Grady could have listened in on my little cooking monologue, and it took a second for me to respond. “It sounds like you’re overcooking them,” I said.
“That’s what Morty always said. Now, my banana bread. That’s where I shine, if I do say so myself. Maybe we can trade recipes.” Babs pushed those oversized glasses up the bridge of her nose, and I couldn’t help but think that the huge square frames matched her personality perfectly. Funky, colorful, and a little impertinent.
Marla had twisted around in her seat to face us. “I want a copy too, Luna. Maybe you could email them to us?”
“Of course!”
“I have a better idea!” Josie piped in. “I’ll start one of those Facebook groupies, and we can all post our favorite recipes in there.”
“Maybe Luna can make live videos. Show us how it’s done—just like a real cooking show.” Babs sent me a wink, almost as though she... Had she seen something? Did she know?
She hadn’t said anything to me about it. And…no. Babs definitely would have said something if she recognized me from the cooking show.
Talking myself down, I fumbled with my jacket. On the opposite side of the aisle, Mrs. Grady was shifting in her seat, adjusting her coat with a quick tug.
“Looks like the North Pole out there!” Babs directed her comment to no one in particular while Noah moved into the aisle. He stepped back to let his mother pass and then gestured for Babs and me to go ahead.
As I brushed by him, my arm barely grazing the fabric of his sweater, I vividly recalled the few seconds when I’d bumped into him outside my room last night—how warm and solid he’d felt. And I might have paused as my entire body seemed to inhale his woodsy scent. Pine or cedar maybe? Whatever it was, it lingered in the small space between us.
And in me.
“It’s only snow,” a voice joked from behind us, and I realized I was holding everyone up.
I moved forward, Babs hot on my heels, and then practically stumbled down the steps and out the door.
Oh! Oh!
