I leave the restaurant and on stiff legs I go to the black gelik. A street lamp illuminates a male silhouette, in which I categorically recognize Oleg. He stands beside the car, one shoulder leaning against the driver's door, his hands in his trouser pockets. Noticing me, Oleg smiles broadly, and then for a short moment reaches for the back door and takes out a huge bouquet. Meter Dutch roses of white color barely fit in the ring of my hands when I equal Oleg.

- Well, hello, baby, - Oleg hugs me from behind around the waist, pressing me to his hips.

“Hi,” I drawl, inhaling the scent of...