— What, excuse me?! I’m supposed to slave away at your parents’ dacha? And why exactly? You’re their son, so go weed the garden there yourself—
— Olya, get ready, we’re going to the dacha for the weekend!Stas’s voice, cheerful and exaggeratedly happy, burst into the kitchen along with him. Olya, stirring the sauté for the soup in the pan, turned around. A sincere, anticipatory smile bloomed on her face. The workweek had been tough, and the prospect of leaving the […]
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