Wanderlost (11 page)

Well, not
my
Sam, but, you know.
Sam
.

Sam isn't some kid on college break answering phones for Act Your Age? Well, he
is.
But he's also the owner's son? He might have thought to mention that! My mouth drops open as I try to process everything. Sam sticks out his hand and I shake it, trying not to notice too much that his grip is sturdy but gentle. He lets go and his expression is suddenly serious as he examines me.

He drops his voice. “Sorry I missed our call last night. It was chaos once we decided I was the one coming. Packing, booking a flight. Plus I wanted to surprise you.”

Oh, I'm surprised all right.

Sam doesn't give me a chance to respond, just keeps right on talking. “Listen, I know we had our phone thing going on and it's probably kind of weird that I'm now sitting here, but we don't have to let it be weird, right? And I want you to know that I honestly and truly hope you won't find my being on the
tour too intrusive. Especially since, well, the irony.”

He waits for me to laugh with him, but I'm not exactly in on the joke. His eyebrows furrow.

“Oh, did you not know? This was supposed to be my tour to begin with. The reason you're here instead of me—or you
were
here instead of me, anyway—is because I landed a spot on the swim team at my college for next year. Coach lined up a bunch of summer training sessions for those of us who could stick around and I figured it was my best chance to get him to notice me.”

He shakes his head and makes a little snort/laugh sound. “Enter Chad Harrington and one craaaaazy party. Keg stands on the roof of your teammate's dad's restaurant are never a good idea, for the record. Plus, having most of the swim team busted for underage drinking kind of pisses off a school administration. Enough to suspend all practices for the foreseeable future. My bad luck.”

I have to bite my lower lip to keep from smiling.

“Let's just say my summer plans opened up again real fast. And voilà. Here I am. Mom was getting totally annoyed with me moping around the office, so I convinced her to send me instead of a home health aide. But please don't worry. I will totally respect that this is
your
tour.”

Um, I didn't really have that concern. To be honest, I've been busy handing off
my
tour to anyone who wants to step up and take the reins: Corinne, Mr. Fenton. But I guess I probably shouldn't mention that to the owner's son or else Elizabeth
will be stuck working menial labor and living at home with Mom hovering, and there would go any hope for our sisterly relationship.

But really what's running through my brain on a ticker tape below all these other thoughts is: Sam is here. In person.

“Oh. Um, okay, yeah. Sure. I mean, thanks,” I manage. Geez, Aubree, tongue-tied much?

“This is gonna be fun, Elizabeth,” Sam says, hopping back up.

“She goes by Lizzie,” Mr. Fenton says, and I think he sounds a tiny bit territorial when he does. It's a little funny that he's so insistent on a name he knows isn't even mine. Funny and sweet, that is.

“Got it,” says Sam. He leans in close and his breath tickles my cheek as he whispers, “Your preferred name is probably something you should tell a guy
before
you confess your love, Lizzie. Also, your picture doesn't do you justice.”

He pulls back slightly and gives me a small wink before standing to face the rest of the passengers. I'm sure my face is the color of a pomegranate.

“So what about the bus?” Sam asks the seniors.

“What
about
the bus?” replies Mary.

“What does the bus go by?”

“Go by?” Emma asks.

“You haven't named this bus yet? What is a proper road trip without a ridiculously named vehicle? Well, we're rectifying that right here and now. I did notice her shade of gray
looks a tiny bit purple in the sunlight. Anyone else catch that?”

We all shake our heads. I'm a little dumbfounded, but everyone is wearing a smile. Huh.

“Well, if no one else notices it, that rules that out. Let's see, we could take our location into account. We're about to conquer Austria. We could go with the great Austrian conqueror—”

“Attila the Hun?” pipes up Mr. Fenton.

“Exactly. Attila. I kind of like Attila the Bus.”

Mr. Fenton is smiling now. “We're headed to Italy later, though, right? If we're talking conquerors, we can't forget Augustus Caesar, which we could always change to—”

“A-BUS-tus Caesar!” Sam and Mr. Fenton shout together.

I guess this means they're best friends now. So much for loyalty.

“Abustus Caesar it is,” booms Hank, and apparently our bus has now been named.

Sam's head bobs in delight. “Okay, everyone, c'mon. I took the liberty of checking us in already, so line up in front of Eliz—I mean,
Lizzie
for key cards.”

And just like that, Sam joins our tour.

The rest of the day is another free choice for my passengers, which means I'm officially off duty. After helping everyone get luggage onto elevators and down hallways, I head back to my room with plans for a hot bath to help me process the addition of a new member to our little crew and how exactly
I'm going to handle the fact that he has the potential to blow everything up in my face just when I was getting a teeny tiny bit of a handle on things. I'm running the water when there's a knock on my door.

“Lizzie? You in there?”

Annnnnd speak of the devil.

I throw my shorts back on and yank a T-shirt over my head as I cross the room. Three quick seconds to adjust my hair and then I pull the door open as casually as I can manage. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey yourself. Listen, I wanted to see if you might be up for grabbing some dinner later tonight. My gram wants to rest and order room service and I know a good spot not that far from here. I thought, since we're basically the only people under sixty-five on this trip—if you don't count Bento, that is—it might be fun to hang out a little. Thoughts?”

He leans against the frame of the door and smiles right into my eyes as he waggles his eyebrows.

Oh God but he's cute. Danger signs flash in front of my face as I picture the real Elizabeth shaking her finger at me.

Of course
I want to say yes, and not only because he looks adorable wearing a grandpa-style fedora hat or because when he grins his eyes light up in this really amazing way. To be honest, I'm intrigued by Sam. The same way he rolled with my loveyoubye thing so easily, he walked onto that bus and had everyone at ease and laughing in mere seconds. And these are people a jillion times older than me, so they know BS when
they spot it. He wasn't putting on an act; he was just being himself. I can't even begin to imagine what it would feel like to be
that
in control of a situation. Okay, so maybe I'm intrigued
and
jealous. Plus, it would be kind of nice to hang out with someone my age.

But I can't.

It was one thing to flirt a little bit on the phone with the entire ocean between us, but shit just got real. Sam's the boss's son and his report back to dear old Mom will count more than glowing reviews from all the other guests combined when it comes to Elizabeth's letter of recommendation.

There's a giant list of things Sam's not allowed to know about me:

1. That I have absolutely zero tour information with the exception of a two-page itinerary I pilfered from one of my sweet old-lady guests.

2. That I have no way of communicating with the tour's bus driver short of hand signals and prayers to the gods.

3. That I'm not Elizabeth. Or even Lizzie.

Just for starters.

I might be able to come up with extravagant lies on the spot, but keeping up pretenses for any length of time is not my forte. I would totally dig my own grave.

“Oh, um, thanks, but I was just gonna have a quiet afternoon and some room service for dinner too. I'm beat and, uh, I need to go over the information for tomorrow's sights.”

In the name of all things holy, please, please let this hotel
have some truly informative brochures in the lobby (or a computer with an internet connection), because I'm not so sure Sam will be down with Mr. Fenton leading the show from here on out. I sense the beginnings of a headache. Much as it kills me to admit, it's entirely possible Elizabeth will be getting that SOS call after all.

Sam's smile falters a little as he takes a step backward. There's a flicker of something in his eyes and I wonder if I hurt his feelings. I don't think hurt feelings are going to make him want to give me a glowing review. Crap. Hanging out with him could get me busted but blowing him off could also be a bad thing. What do I do? I make a game-time decision.

“But, um, I definitely would be up for getting some tour guide advice from a pro, if you're cool with it. Maybe coffee in a bit? I just have to make a phone call,” I say.

The smile is back full force. “Sounds good. I want to spend a bit of time with Gram before she crashes anyway. Meet you in the lobby in an hour?”

“Sure.”

I close the door behind him and rest my head against the back of it.

“Hey, you're here.”

“I'm here.” I stand awkwardly in front of Sam's chair in the hotel lobby. The only other open seating is a fairly small love seat across the room. Sam glances around and clearly makes the same calculation. I hold my breath, hoping he won't suggest squeezing onto it together.

“Looks like the lobby's a popular spot today. If you're up for it, there's a great coffee shop a few blocks over.”

I nod and wait while he slings a messenger bag over his shoulder. He leads us outside, where he turns left and immediately makes the first right without even glancing at the street sign. I hurry across the street with him.

“You know your way around here already?” I ask.

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Benefit of a mom who owns a tour company. My mom homeschooled me so we could be on the road a bunch of the time while she got the company going. I'd help her scout out the good tourist sites and hotels or whatever.
We'd basically follow the same itinerary our tours would.”

“Wow. That sounds so awesome.” I'm surprised to realize I mean it. Definitely not the response I would have had at the start of this trip.

“Yeah, it wasn't the worst way to grow up. Of course, there were a few years when I was pretty pissed I didn't get to join the Little League team because we were taking off ahead of the season ending to go to Lithuania or China or something. I threw a temper tantrum or two over that, before I grew out of my bratty stage.”

He laughs and takes me by the elbow to guide me around a street musician playing a cello. Hmm. That's . . . exceedingly nice. I try not to notice how warm his fingers are on my skin.

“And how about now? Do you guys still travel a lot?” I ask.

“Not together as much these days. College keeps me pretty busy, plus summers are her craziest time in the office. Mom's built up a team of tour guides she trusts to keep her up-to-date when hotels slide down in quality or restaurants go out of business. That kind of stuff. So she doesn't need to be out in the field as much.”

“Well, anyway, I'll bet it was fun. And you definitely don't need a map to get around Salzburg.”

He's kept us walking at a pretty decent clip down a street full of white building after white building, most of which look really old and have elaborate wrought-iron gates or fancy window boxes. It's really a beautiful city. When I look above the rooftops, the enormous mountains are on all sides.

“Yeah, that's the side bonus,” Sam says, stopping in front of a nondescript white (of course) building. On closer look, it's a tiny café, and I step through the door he holds open. He places his hand on my back to guide me to a table.

“Bunch of my college buddies are doing the youth hostel thing this summer. You know, Eurail ticket and a backpack, the whole cliché. I was able to put together a pretty sick itinerary for them,” he says, talking away as he casually pulls out a chair for me like it's something he does out of habit, without any idea how totally heart-melty the gesture is. He grabs the seat across from me and pulls two menus from between the salt and pepper shakers. Smiling into my eyes, he passes me one.

“So you inherited the tour operator gene,” I say.

“Ha! Maybe. Course they'll probably be too busy frequenting the beer gardens to check out most of it,” he says, grinning.

I smile too. I've seen tons of backpackers the last few days. They always look a tiny bit disheveled, but also carefree, like they might be going this way, but then again they might decide to go that way. Talk about truly terrifying. At least I have Bento to get me from place to place and an itinerary to tell me what's next. Plus prepaid hotels and set restaurants for at least half of the meals (whether or not I choose to eat the offered food) and . . . Oh. I realize Sam is waiting for me to say something.

“Right. So, um, where do you go to school?” I ask.

“University of Akron. For all my world travels, I wanted
to be somewhat close to home for college. Staying in one place is actually a bigger adventure at this point.” He stops when he sees me gaping at him. “You okay?”

“University of Akron? That's right next to Kent State, where I'm going.”

“Going? But . . . I thought . . . Didn't you just graduate from Northwestern?” Sam looks totally confused and my breath hitches as I realize what I just did. See,
this right here
is why I should not be hanging out with this boy, even for professional reasons. The past few days, with the seniors, it was enough to just use Elizabeth's name and age. But with Sam I actually have to
be
Elizabeth, the person they hired. The person whose résumé they have in their office. Competent, collected, college-graduate Elizabeth.

Yikes.

I backpedal. “Oh yeah, no, of course I did. What I meant was that I'm thinking about taking some graduate classes there.”

Sam relaxes into his seat, but he still sounds a little hesitant when he answers. “Oh. That's pretty cool you'll have time to do that while working on the congressman's campaign. I'm impressed.”

Crapola. He's definitely studied Elizabeth's file. What now?

Nothing left to do but dig out. Okay, Aubree. New mantra: WWED. What Would Elizabeth Do? I stare down at my hands and try to channel my big sister. He's expecting someone
in control and high achieving and I have to give him that.

“Yes, of course. The position with the campaign
is
exciting. And I'm sure I'll be busy, which is why I'm waiting to sign up for any classes until I figure out how crazy work's going to be. Of course, the University of Akron is a great school too. I grew up in Hudson, which is only a little ways from the campus, so . . .”

Hmm. Somehow, in trying to pull off real Elizabeth's refined pulled-together-ness, I've given her a slightly British accent. I hope Sam doesn't notice.

If so, he doesn't bring it up. “Oh, cool. Well, so far so good. I like it there. I just finished my freshman year and if my swim team can get off suspension in time for winter meets, sophomore year's gonna be a thousand times better.” He sighs, then glances at the menu again. “Do you know what you want?”

“Just a coffee. I mean, yes, please, I'd love a coffee, thank you. Lots of cream and four sugars.”

Sam lifts his eyebrows. “Four sugars? Does it even count as coffee at that point?”

I shrug. “I inherited my dad's sweet tooth. My sister calls what I drink ‘coffee ice cream in liquid form.'”

Okay, that's all me (me, as in Aubree), but no way am I sipping black coffee just to stay in character. Blech! I have to draw the line somewhere.

Sam laughs. “Okay, lemme go grab drinks. When I get back you can tell me more about this sugar-fiend dad and obnoxious sister of yours.”

He hops up and moves to the counter. Oh great. Exactly what I want to do: describe my sister while impersonating
my sister.

I people-watch until Sam returns a few minutes later with two steaming drinks. The minute he sets mine down, I grab for it and take a long swill to brace myself for his questions.

“Hey! I'm not saying we have to linger all afternoon, but I'd like to think you aren't
that
desperate to get away from me.” Sam's eyes are big.

I catch myself and put my mug back on the table. “Sorry. Just eager for a little caffeine, I guess.”

His expression grows more sympathetic. “Yeah, you've had a bumpy start to the tour with Gram's injury. Was today rough too?”

Okay, tour questions I can handle. Those aren't too personal, so there's less chance of messing up my identity ruse. Let's keep this going.

“Not too bad. We drove for most of it. It's odd how sitting and doing nothing like that can make you tired, though, isn't it?”

Odd? Isn't it?
Ugh. There's no way I can keep up with the affected talk this whole trip. I'm dropping it now and Sam's just gonna have to be satisfied with this version of Elizabeth.

Sam's fingers absently tug on his hair, straightening one curl so that it's long enough to tuck behind his ear. He answers my question without any indication that I'm acting weird, which is a relief given the internal conversations I'm having with myself.

“Well, and having to be ‘on' takes its toll, I'm sure,” he says. “Talking so much about the sights and all that. I always find that exhausting on my tours after a while.”

I jerk my eyes from the curl that's already escaped his ear and snap to attention. Would someone like Elizabeth confess that Mr. Fenton did all the talking, or would she smile demurely and duck her eyes? Then again, if I don't mention it and he finds out from Dolores or someone else . . .

“Oh. Yeah. Well, there's a funny story there. Remember the really buttoned-up guy?”

Sam nods. “Fenton, right?”

He's good. My first day, I had to keep peeking at the cheat sheet I made myself to remember everyone's names while we walked through Amsterdam.

“Yeah. Well, he actually used to be a high school teacher. And when we were driving through the Rhine Valley the other day he suddenly started spouting all these cool factoids about the castles. I mean, obviously I had them in my notes too, but he was getting a total kick out of playing lecturer, so I let him go for it.” I peek at him to see if his expression reads anything along the lines of “FIRE THIS GIRL NOW” but he's nodding along. Phew.

I continue, “Anyway, last night he asked me if he could do it again. Since he's missed being in the classroom so much. I can't really say no to that, right?”

Sam nods again. “That's really thoughtful of you. A good tour guide is always looking out for ways to enhance the experience for her guests.”

I squirm in my seat, given that my motives weren't exactly selfless. Then again, Mr. Fenton was well aware of what he was getting himself into and who I really am. So I can't feel too guilty.

“I have a question for you,” I say, looking for a way to take the attention off me for a minute. I can only handle being in the hot seat for so long, but maybe if I can get him talking about himself, he'll forget about my supposed credentials for a bit. “How do you make it so fun? You were on the bus for five minutes this afternoon and you had everyone smiling, and laughing, and naming buses. I've been with them for five days now and it hasn't exactly been like that.”

Is it okay that I'm admitting this? I don't want it to sound like I'm not doing my job well. Then again, as soon as he spends two seconds with us tomorrow, he'll be able to tell that my tour guide style is pretty far from his. I may be getting us from Point A to Point B and fed and checked in to hotel rooms (which is a whole lot, actually), but I can't say I've exactly brought the fiesta. The worst part is that I thought I was doing great. Like, I was actually really proud of myself. My insides twist as I picture the grins everyone wore while brainstorming names for Abustus Caesar. Could I have been making this trip so much more fun for them than I have been?

Sam takes a tiny sip of his own coffee and answers. “Some of it's just a comfort level. I grew up going on these tours with guides who've been doing it for years and years. So I learned from the best.” Like he was able to read my mind, he says,
“You can't expect to be great right out of the gate. Obviously, you might be. I haven't seen you in action. But in my experience, it takes a while to get there.”

He leans forward and puts an elbow on the table, resting his hand on his chin. “The other part is recognizing that it's human nature to relax around a relaxed person and tense up around a tense person. Goes back to our most primal instincts, right? So I just try to be super chill and laid-back and people usually follow suit.”

I nod. Makes sense. Also: I'm pretty sure he's working those Jedi mind tricks on me at the moment, with the way he's all loose and easygoing. Unless he really is just completely relaxed around me, in which case, more power to him. And could he share a little of that?

“The
other
other thing I've learned is your guests don't think of themselves as old,” he says. “They just don't. Especially the seniors who take these kinds of trips. I think they mostly want to be seen instead of glossed over, like most people tend to do. So actually, by treating them the same casual way you would treat a friend, you're not disrespecting them. You're acknowledging them.”

I glance up only to catch his eye as he grins. “Trust me, I've heard some of the raunchiest jokes you could imagine come out of the mouths of the very sweetest-looking grandmas.” I laugh along while silently ordering my blush to leave town.

“Yeah, okay. That all sounds logical,” I manage. I don't realize I'm twirling my empty paper sugar packet around and
around my finger until Sam reaches over and gently puts his hand over mine to stop me. It lingers there a few beats before he removes it. Damn. Twirling sugar wrappers falls solidly in the Things a Calm, Composed, In-Charge Person Would Never Do category.

He must see something in my expression, because he quickly says, “Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Can I make a confession?”

As long as he doesn't expect one out of me in return.

Sam's gaze is on the wrapper, and then he brings it to my eyes and smiles, all confident and teasing. “I'm not exactly sure how to act around you right now. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, I was loving the phone thing we had going on, and the fact of the matter is, you
did
tell me you love me. . . .”

I'd just lifted my coffee to my mouth when he says this and I choke a little on the liquid before setting my cup down with slightly shaky hands.

Sam smirks and continues. “I'm just kidding. Look, I know you were probably just playing along to pass the time and make check-ins more fun. I get that things are different in person and I'm sort of your boss, and also you probably think I'm not old enough for you. Though I swear you look even younger than me—I hope that doesn't come across as an insult.”