Page 11 of Forever, Maybe
Danny screwed his face up. “The tourist bus? But I’m… aye, alright then. S’pose I’ve never done it.”
He opened the umbrella once more and they hastened towards the bus. Nell cursed her idiotic clothing and shoe choice, as rain-proof as toilet roll. The ballet pumps were soaked through already and the thin, lacey black cardigan clung to her arms. Goosebumps poked through it.
Danny insisted on paying the two six-pound fares, which made a nice change. Colm fully believed sexual equality meant women paid either their fair share or more.
The tour guide, his red jacket hanging open to accommodate a tummy that spilled forward like a friendly mascot, beamed at them. “Ah, love’s young dream, eh? C’mon aboard. Nae sitting up the back now—this is a family-friendly tour. We dinnae want youse canoodling up there.”
Nell giggled, the unmistakable Glasgow patter still one of her favourite things about her adopted city. Around them, families and small groups were settling into their seats. A woman in a jaunty yellow bucket hat glanced their way, her face breaking into an indulgent smile.
Danny shoogled into one of the double seats, leaving just enough space for her to slide in beside him. As she settled, he slung an arm casually along the back of the seat—at least, that’s what he probably intended. The rapid blinking and tightness in his jaw told a different story.
He was nervous as hell.
Grateful for the warmth, she sank back against his arm, pulling it around her shoulders. The tips of his fingers pressed into the skin below her collarbone, dry and warm.
Go on. Slip them down a bit. I won’t mind…
They remained firmly in place.
The bus lurched into motion, shuddering down the road as the driver wrestled it into the right gear.
“Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen!” the guide’s voice boomed through the crackling microphone. “As you can see, it’s another fan-dabby-dozy day in Glasgow! But here on our happy wee bus, the sun always shines. And now we’re off doon Sauchiehall Street—its name comes fae the auld Scots wordsSauchie hauch, meaning a low-lying meadow…”
Nell leaned into Danny, who radiated warmth like a human hot water bottle. He flinched—a barely noticeable twitch—but when she started to pull away, he tightened his arm around her shoulders. His aftershave, sharp and lemony, was unmistakably Kouros. He’d doused himself in the stuff.
She slid her hand onto his thigh. It jerked under her touch, a reflex he couldn’t hide. Emboldened, she inched her fingers higher, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.
Danny clamped his hand over hers, his grip firm. “If you keep doing that, I’ll, y’know…” he whispered, his voice tight with panic. His face turned a vivid brick red, and he looked straight ahead, avoiding her gaze.
The tour guide, whose ears seemed to stretch like elastic, grinned in their direction. “And now, ladies and gents, we find ourselves at Blythswood Square, built in the early 1800s. A notorious haunt, back in the day, for ladies of the night…” He paused, his grin widening. “You’ll notice it’s conveniently close to Strathclyde Police headquarters. Handy for the officers, eh? Either they were arresting the women or… indulging themselves.”
The bus trundled along, stopping at various landmarks, but the relentless downpour kept Nell and Danny on board while other passengers shuffled off to explore the Transport Museum, the cathedral and the university’s photogenic cloisters.
The guide kept up his tongue-in-cheek commentary, often making Nell and Daniel the butt of his jokes. Daniel, to her relief, took it in stride, laughing along—a definite improvement over Colm, who could never handle being the punchline. At one point, Danny shot back, joking that the guide’s patter was so dire, he doubted anyone ever tipped him. The guide cackled and took the jab in good humour, firing off a few more quips at their expense.
As the bus approached its final stop in George Square, where other buses idled with only a handful of rain-dampened tourists queuing to board, Nell leaned in close to Danny, her breath warm against his ear.
“My halls are cosy and dry,” she murmured.
A flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. He hesitated for a beat, then met her gaze.
“Or… I could show you something.”
The guide, ever-alert, pounced with glee. “Oh, well, young Casanova! Finally getting your chance to prove yoursel’, eh?”
Danny rolled his eyes. “I meant abuilding.”
The guide wasn’t letting it go. “So he says, hen! Watch those hands o’ his. Tell you what, the bus is heading to the university next. D’ye want us to drop you somewhere nearby?”
“Could you make it Clarence Drive?” Danny asked, sounding surer of himself once more. When the bus obliged two streets later, Nell followed him off, bemused.
He opened the umbrella, and she shot under it. Golf umbrellas were built for weather like this. Her pumps might be soaked through, but her top half was escaping the worst of it.
“What are we looking at?” she asked, and he took her hand, guiding her down the street, red sandstone buildings either side.
“This.”
They were outside a former shop. Metal shutters covered the windows and door and the sign hanging above it read Pacitti Jones Glasgow Lease for Sale. A banner across the words said ‘SOLD’ in bold, black letters.
