Červenà

Chapter
Fifteen


SASHA SLEPT off and on for long periods over the next few days. The nurse checked his wounds and administered pain relief when he needed it, and Danica spoiled us with delicious food whenever we were hungry. The bruises on Sasha’s body faded from purple into green and yellow, and the swelling on his face reduced so he could open his eyes again. He moved around carefully, nursing his ribs, but I thought he’d be well enough to travel in another day or two.

While Sasha rested and began to recover, I looked into what he would need to do to obtain entry clearance and a work visa for the UK. He admitted somewhat shamefully that although he’d had a work permit for Poland, he’d never sought one for the Czech Republic, and I shuddered at the thought that both of us could have been in serious trouble. I hadn’t even thought to check he had the appropriate paperwork other than his passport. This time, things would be different.

Unfortunately the process required Sasha to complete an online application form and once submitted to attend an appointment in person in one of the five offices in Russia. He hated the thought of going back, however briefly, but there was no choice if he was to live and work in England. St. Petersburg offered the one fast-track service that could be processed in as little as two or three working days if no problems were discovered. Sasha reluctantly agreed to let me book flights for us for a few days’ time, when he’d feel up to the journey. I found a decent hotel for us to stay in and applied for a visitor’s visa for myself.

I’d called the police to tell them what I’d agreed with Vincenc, and predictably they weren’t pleased, although they were at least happy to hear Sasha was safe. They wanted to interview him as soon as possible, and I reluctantly agreed to take him to the station when he was well enough. I explained we would be leaving for Russia as soon as Sasha was able to travel, and then continuing on to England after his required documents were obtained. They had no objection to us leaving the country, so long as they were able to get Sasha’s statement before we left, and that we would be contactable in England.

A couple of days after the conversation with the police, I heard on the news that Piotr Kowalski and his employee, along with two other men, had been arrested and locked up without bail, pending investigations and trial. The same day I had a call from Vincenc to check if I knew, and to let me know he’d found a manager for the club. The new man was a local businessman, recently made redundant from a failing independent hotel.

I called my sister to let her know I’d be coming home for good, doing my best to make light of the reasons, but Rosalyn had always been good at getting things out of me. I’d been forced to admit Sasha had been kidnapped and beaten, and that I’d sold the club to pay for his release, even though it turned out I hadn’t needed the money. Rosalyn was delighted I’d be moving back into the guestroom for a while, and couldn’t wait to meet Sasha. When I finished talking to her, I booked tickets to St. Petersburg. The awful few weeks I’d endured faded into the background, and at last I had something to look forward to again.

The day before we left, we both went to make full statements at the police station. Sasha and I agreed that he’d plead innocence and say only that he knew the people who took him were trying to get money out of me that my partner owed. He claimed to not understand Polish or Czech well enough to be aware of what was being talked about by his kidnappers and left it at that.

Finally it was over, and I made a brief call to Vincenc to thank him for his hospitality and his help. He made a car and driver available to take Sasha and me to the airport, and we arrived in style in the back of a limo. Sasha climbed out slowly, careful of his ribs, but other than a hint of shadows around his eyes, his face looked normal. We checked in, and I called Rosalyn to let her know we were on our way to St. Petersburg and that I’d update her once Sasha had attended his appointment with the visa application center, which was scheduled in two days’ time.

That evening we checked into a hotel in St. Petersburg, sharing a two-room suite at Sasha’s insistence. He feared that if we made it obvious we were together, it would only cause us problems due to the antigay views of many Russians. Of course, once we were behind locked doors, we shared one of the vast canopied beds, snuggling in each other’s arms.

The next day we spent a few hours sightseeing, taking the opportunity to explore the beautiful city we’d been forced to visit temporarily. Even though neither of us were really in the mood to look at the stunning, elaborately constructed buildings with their colorful spires, it passed the time and helped take our minds off what was to come.

The following morning I waited impatiently while Sasha attended his appointment at the visa application center. I’d provided a letter stating he would have a fixed address and permanent employment in England, and I’d given my cell phone number for verification. No call came, and as the hours passed, I grew anxious. What if they wouldn’t grant him the visa?

But eventually he appeared, pale and strained but with a small smile on his lips.

“Sasha! What happened?” I hurried to him, stopping myself just in time before I grabbed him in my arms.

“It took ages. There were a lot more questions than I expected. It was about me leaving Kaliningrad so long ago and working in Poland. I had to lie and say I hadn’t worked in Prague because I had no papers. They might have locked me up!”

“Hell, don’t joke,” I groaned. “I was partly responsible for that. I should have checked and made sure you had the correct paperwork when I gave you a job.”

“Well, it’s too late now. I said I lost my job in Wroclaw and traveled over the border as a visitor, intending to seek permits when I arrived. But I ended up homeless, which is true anyway. But it’s okay. They granted the visa. I can collect the documents in two more days. I have to go in the late afternoon.”

“Thank God.” I glanced around, but there were too many people close by for me to risk hugging him. “Let’s go back to the hotel. I need to call Rosalyn and tell her. We’ll get room service and relax for the rest of the day.”

My pounding heart calmed as we returned to the hotel, and by the time we reached our room, both of us were grinning. I hadn’t considered how much trouble Sasha could have been in with the authorities if it had come out that he’d worked for me without a visa. Over the past few months, I’d flouted or fooled the law several times, through either carelessness or desperation, and it was only luck and the help of a criminal that had got us this far.




“WHAT IF they don’t like me?” Sasha looked anxious as the plane circled Heathrow three days later, gradually descending as it waited for a landing slot.

“My family? They’ll love you.” I took his hand and squeezed. “My sister can’t wait to meet you. Her husband’s a good man; generous and kind. And you’ll adore Rachael. Don’t worry, they’ll welcome you with open arms because they know I love you.”

Sasha smiled, but he didn’t relax. He remained tense and nervous as we disembarked, collected our luggage, and spent a couple of hours with an immigration officer. Sasha presented his documents, and I explained that I was both personally and financially responsible for him until I invested in a new business and employed him. The whole thing was more straightforward than I’d imagined, but by the time we caught a train to the nearest station to Rosalyn’s house, he was exhausted.

Rosalyn stood on the platform waiting, a big smile on her face as I struggled with four cases, refusing to let Sasha carry even the smallest in case he hurt himself. He hung back as I swept Rosalyn into my arms and swung her around as if she were a child.

“Put me down, you idiot!” she cried, and I lowered her again. “It’s so good to have you back. Rachael will be stoked you’re home for good.”

“I can’t wait to see her.” I took a step back and grabbed Sasha’s arm, tugging him forward. “Rosalyn, this is Sasha.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Sasha said formally, offering his hand to Rosalyn. She ignored it and pulled him into a hug, holding on gently so as not to hurt his ribs.

“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re the reason my stupid brother’s finally happy.” She released Sasha and looked him up and down. “Joe wasn’t wrong. You are gorgeous.”

“Ros!” I frowned, but Sasha relaxed at last and laughed, his face flushing.

Rosalyn found a luggage trolley to help us get the cases to her car, and within half an hour, we were unloading everything once again. With Steve at work and Rachael at school, the house was quiet, and I used the time to unpack some of our things in the guest room. Sasha sat on the bed, frustrated that he couldn’t help.

“Does your sister really not mind us sleeping together in her house?”

“No, she doesn’t mind. We’re a couple.”

“But what about her little girl? Won’t she think it’s weird? Or wrong?”

“Sasha, my sister and her husband are totally accepting that I’m gay. Rachael doesn’t really understand it yet, but she knows I go out with boys instead of girls.”

“My sister doesn’t know.” Sasha’s expression became wistful. “I think she’d hate it. She only thinks I went away to college, but my parents will probably bring her up to feel that being gay is dirty.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Maybe one day you’ll get the opportunity to find her and talk to her about it. You said she’s a smart girl. She’ll probably grow up to have her own ideas about what’s right and wrong.”

“Yeah, but my whole community was antigay. How could she know anything different?”

It took a while for Sasha to push his moroseness aside, but he cheered up when Rachael came home from school and immediately commandeered him to help her with her homework. It was a reading exercise from a play, and Sasha was her audience as she stood tall and straight, reciting from the book and putting on different voices as if she were on the stage.

“She wants to join the local amateur dramatics group,” Rosalyn told me. “She’s too young yet, but they said she can join when she’s ten. She’s doing the school play, though. She’s Nala in The Lion King.”

When Steve came home, it was Rachael who introduced her dad to Sasha. She chattered on without taking a breath until Steve shushed her in order to get a word in and speak to Sasha, telling him he was welcome to stay as long as he and I wanted. I’d known my family would love Sasha, but it was good to see how easily they took to him. He gradually opened up as we sat around the dinner table that evening, telling them about his early life in Russia.

“Why did you leave?” Rachael asked.

“Don’t be nosy.” Rosalyn frowned, but Sasha shrugged.

“It’s okay.” He glanced at me. “Do you want to explain?”

“Rachael, you know Sasha and I are together, right?”

“Duh.”

“Well, in the city he comes from in Russia, he would have had to hide who he is and pretend not to like boys.”

“Why?”

“Because some people aren’t as accepting as others. They think he should be with a girl.”

“Even your parents?” Rachael looked at Sasha, eyes wide.

“Yes, even them.”

“How could your parents not want you for that? That’s a stupid reason.”

“Yes, it is. But it worked out well in the end. If I hadn’t left and gone to Prague, I wouldn’t have met your uncle.”

“Or me.” Rachael beamed again.

Sasha smiled back. “I’m very glad to have met you. I have a little sister. A bit older than you, but you remind me of her. Her name’s Elena.”

The rest of the dinner conversation revolved around Sasha’s sister, and it made me wonder if there was a way to find her. She was twelve, maybe thirteen now. Probably too young to have a Facebook profile if her family even had a computer, but perhaps it was worth checking. Sasha had mentioned that in Russia younger people used a social media site called VK, but if Elena had no idea where Sasha was, maybe she’d try something with wider usage.

I left it for the moment, but after Sasha had gone to bed, not long after Rachael as the long day had exhausted him and made his ribs throb, I fired up my laptop.

“Surely you’re not working now.” Rosalyn threw herself onto the sofa beside me and curled her legs under her.

“No, that can wait. I had an idea. Do you have a Facebook profile I can log into to search for someone?”

“Yes. Who are you looking for?”

“Elena. I hadn’t thought about it before, and she’s only a kid, so I doubt she’d have a page, but you never know.”

Rosalyn gave me her log in details and leaned on my arm as I searched for Elena Vasilievna. Much to my surprise, two girls with that name located in Russia came up immediately.

“Could one of them be her? Surely it can’t be that easy?” I clicked on the first profile and it opened up to a picture of a lady who could have been in her forties. The details stated she was married and working in St. Petersburg. I looked at the photo albums on her page just in case, and found a series of pictures featuring the lady and what was no doubt her family. None of them looked anything like Sasha.

I closed the profile and tried the second Elena Vasilievna. Her profile picture was a black horse, and the details stated she was eighteen and in college. My heart sinking, I opened up the photo albums anyway and found a single picture of a young girl who could only be Sasha’s sister. Her hair and eye color and the shape of her face were identical to his, and she was the same girl whose photo Sasha had showed me once, although that picture had been of a younger child. So she’d had the sense to sign up with a fictitious date of birth.

Returning to the home page and scrolling down, my eyes widened as I saw a recent post and below that, numerous similar ones posted at intervals of a few weeks. Elena had uploaded a picture of Sasha looking the same age as on his passport picture. The wording coupled with the pictures was in English.

Do you know this man? He is my brother, Stanislav Vasilievich, known as Sasha. He is from Kaliningrad in Russia. I do not know where he is. Please, if you know him, ask him to send me a message.

Other posts explained that she thought Sasha had gone away to college, but she worried something must have happened to him as he’d never been home for the holidays, or even contacted his family to tell them how he was doing. She also wondered if he might have traveled to other countries.

“Are you going to send her a message?” Rosalyn asked excitedly.

“No.” I shook my head. “Sasha can do that when he wakes up.”

I logged out of Rosalyn’s account and spent the rest of the evening talking to my sister and brother-in-law, mostly about Sasha, but also about what had led me to sell Červenà and leave Prague. They were horrified to hear the details of Karel’s deception and Sasha’s kidnap. I didn’t tell them who Vincenc was when I said he’d bought the club and found Sasha. His family might have been well-known in Eastern Europe, but it wasn’t in England, and I thought it better to keep their criminal activities to myself.

When I eventually went to bed, I lay awake a long time, listening to Sasha’s steady breathing as he slept beside me. I meant to spend every minute with him until he’d fully healed. There was no great rush to plunge straight back into another business, although I’d put out some feelers while we took an extended break and discovered what would be available to me. With much more money than I’d anticipated having, I could take my time in making a decision.

I couldn’t wait to tell Sasha about Elena. When I woke he was still sleeping, and I slipped away quietly to take a shower. He stirred as I put on my clothes, and I hurried to the bed and sat beside him. “Morning, sexy.”

“I don’t feel very sexy.” He made a face. “I need to shower and brush my teeth.”

“You can in a minute. First I have something to tell you.” I helped him sit up and clutched his hand tightly. “I found your sister.”

“What?”

“She has a Facebook page. It looks like she set it up only to find you. It has your picture in every post and a message in English, giving your name and asking people to contact her if they know where you are. She signed up as an eighteen-year-old in college.”

Sasha swore loudly in Russian and then clapped his free hand over his mouth. Tears filled his eyes and he blinked rapidly. He lowered his hand shakily. “Did you contact her?”

“No, I left that for you. Do you have a Facebook account?”

Sasha shook his head. “Tomáš and the others have them, but I never did it. Everyone I know was at the club. Except for Elena.”

“Don’t worry. We can set up a page for you and you can get in touch with her.”

“I didn’t think it would be this soon. You know I said I’d try to look for her when she’s older, but I didn’t expect she’d be looking for me. I thought my parents would have prevented it.”

“I doubt they know. She could have used a friend’s computer, or one at school.”

Sasha let go of me and threw back the bed covers. He sprang from the bed before remembering his cracked ribs, and stood trembling, clutching his side. “Shit.”

“Take your time. Elena’s not going anywhere. She’s been on that page for a year looking for you.”

“Shit,” he repeated. I watched, helpless, as he thrust me aside and fumbled for some clothes before disappearing into the bathroom. I left him to it and went downstairs to get coffee and turn on the laptop. By the time he joined me, I was on my second caffeine fix and the computer was waiting, as was my phone.

“I’ll take your picture and upload it. You’ll need it for your profile so she can see it’s you.”

“Thanks. Sorry about… before. I’m excited. And scared. How much do I tell her?”

“That’s up to you. Take it one step at a time.” I looked at him critically and frowned. “You still have faint bruises around your eyes. That will worry her. I’ll ask my sister if she can do something with makeup. It won’t take much.”

When Rosalyn had applied various creams and powders to the corners of Sasha’s eyes, I took a series of photos from different angles. The bruises weren’t visible in the pictures and I uploaded them to the computer. Sasha set up his own Facebook profile and called himself Sasha Vasilievich. As soon as it was done, he found Elena. He spent time reading through her posts, one after another, even though most of them were identical. Eventually, he clicked on the Add Friend button and proceeded to type a message to her, in English. I left him alone and joined my family in the kitchen as Rachael and Steve came downstairs.

Rosalyn made breakfast for everyone, packed up sandwiches for Steve and Rachael, and then Steve left for work, needing to head for the school much earlier than Rachael did. I returned to Sasha with a plate of toast and found him typing another message.

“Look who I found. It’s Gabriel. I found Tomáš, too, and Kris. I’ll be able to keep in touch with all of them.” He grinned and continued typing. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do. You saved me. I don’t just mean last week—”

“That was Vincenc’s doing.”

“It was you too. But I meant at the beginning, when I was in your yard.”

“It was a long time ago and you already thanked me.”

“Not enough.”

“I thought we were past that anyway.” I frowned at him, confused. After everything, did he still feel grateful to me?

“We are.” He pushed the laptop aside. “I love you. But I haven’t forgotten how I got to be here.”

I reached for him, careful not to squeeze too tight as I drew him into my arms. “I love you too. I can’t wait for your ribs to heal.” I placed a light kiss on his mouth.

“We need to find our own place.”

“I know. The things I want to do to you, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with, knowing my sister and niece are so close.”

“We could look now.” Sasha gestured to the laptop. “What are you planning to do? Rent or buy?”

“Rent.” I pulled the computer onto my lap. “At least in the short term. It’s more important to put the money into another business. We can buy somewhere to live later on when we have a decent income.”

“Do you know what business you want?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. I haven’t made any decisions, but I thought maybe a bar or a small club. Not on the scale of Červenà, though. Something smaller. I’m going to find out what the possibilities are before I look for a place to live. There’s no point in renting an apartment or house and then finding a business fifty miles away. We won’t be staying in London.”

“I thought you wanted to be near your sister.” Sasha’s brows drew together.

“I do, but London’s too expensive. I’m going to look around an hour’s drive away.”

Sasha and I spent most of the day together, looking into the opportunities in the outskirts of the city and beyond. I found one or two ideas that sparked my interest, although they looked like a lot of work. Ironically the one that appealed the most was a very similar situation to Červenà. The two-story building on Woking High Street was for sale for only four hundred thousand pounds, something I never thought I’d find so close to the country’s hub. The catch was that the bar it had once been had suffered a fire caused by electrical failure, and the interior was nothing more than a blackened and charred mess, although the structure was deemed sound and without need of demolition. My mind worked overtime, flitting between what Karel and I had done with the old restaurant Červenà had been, and the small intimate club I could potentially turn this little building into.

“It’s a lot of money.” Sasha sounded doubtful.

“Not for London.”

“But look at it! It’s a wreck.”

“I know. If I buy this without a mortgage, I’d have about a quarter of a million left over.”

“That’s not very much.”

“Pounds, Sasha, not koruna. I could do something with this. It’d take months, maybe a year, but I like a challenge.”

“How do you know it would work out?”

“I don’t. But we can at least do some research and go and see it. I don’t plan to do much in the way of work until you’re better, but maybe we can look.”

“I am better.” Sasha grinned at me. “Enough to go and look anyway. I’m not sure I’d be up to dancing for your customers just yet.”

“Whatever I do, you won’t be dancing. Not for anybody other than me anyway.”

The following day, Sasha and I traveled to Woking to look around the area where the bar was situated. The High Street and surrounding streets were a hive of activity, and I observed a few small bars and pubs in the vicinity. We went into one or two to look around and see how popular they were. As Friday afternoon neared early evening, people piled in until the two places Sasha and I had been were down to standing room only. I observed the patrons, noting that one of the bars seemed aimed more at young people while the second was a family-style establishment.

“I wonder if they have a gay bar in this town,” I mused.

Sasha nudged me with his elbow. “Look to your left.”

I turned and spotted two guys in a corner, one with his arm around the other’s waist as the pair whispered together, noses almost touching. Taking Sasha’s hand in mine, I led him toward them and halted close by. “Hey, guys.”

They glanced at me suspiciously, then noticed Sasha gripping my hand and relaxed.

“All right, mate,” one greeted me. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“I’ve been living away for a few years. My name’s Joel. This is Sasha.”

“Andy.” The man nodded and released his partner to shake my hand. “This is Tom.”

“Nice to meet you. I wondered if there are any gay bars not too far from here. It seems not, but….” I shrugged.

“No, you need to go into the city. We’ll be heading there later. We’re just having a couple of drinks first,” Tom said.

“You can join us if you want,” Andy offered.

“Thanks, but I’m actually doing some research. I’m thinking of setting up a business around here. Maybe another bar. I wanted to find out if it’d be welcome.”

“A gay bar? Hell, yes!” Tom exclaimed. “I’d sure as hell prefer to walk to the pub than get on the train, if there was something nearer. We’ve got a few mates in Woking and nearby who’d feel the same.”

“That’s good to know. How do you feel about cocktails?”

Tom grinned. “It’s alcohol, right?”

“Have you got a venue in mind?” Andy asked.

“Yes, but it’d probably be a year before it was up and running.”

“Not that burnt-out bar down the street?” He raised his eyebrows. “Oh well. It’d be good to see something happen to it. It’s been like that for months. I don’t think anyone’s fool enough, or brave enough, to take it on.”

“I’ve done a similar project before. I had a club in Prague. It was once a restaurant. Big place. I turned it into a dance club and cocktail bar. That little bar down the street wouldn’t be impossible to turn around.”

“Well, I hope you do it. There’s definitely room for something like that here.” Tom nodded and finished his drink. “You can count on us to shout about it to everybody if you take it on.”

Sasha and I chatted to the pair a little longer until they headed off to catch a train into the city. We went to look at the outside of the bar once more and noted the small parking area at the rear, and a fire escape to the upper floor. By the time we returned to Rosalyn’s house, I’d more or less made up my mind.

Sasha switched on my laptop to check his new Facebook page again, and although he was delighted to have a lengthy message from Tomáš, there was no reply to the message he’d sent to Elena.

“Perhaps she hasn’t seen it yet,” I suggested. “Kaliningrad is two hours ahead of here, so it’s late at night now. But if she’s using someone else’s computer or one in school, maybe she can only do that occasionally. You might have to wait a few days.”

“I suppose.”

“She’s been looking for you for a year, Sasha. She’ll answer. Give it time.”

“Of course. You’re right. I’ll just keep checking until I hear from her.”

After only a slight hesitation, I decided to set up my own Facebook profile, mainly to keep in touch with my old employees. Like Sasha, I reconnected with Tomáš, Gabriel, and Kris, and found Ralph too. There was no reason to lose touch with people who’d been loyal workers and friends, just because I was in another country. Tomáš had told Sasha about his boyfriend, Boris, and that Vincenc seemed “awesome” and their new manager was friendly, but quiet. It pleased me to hear they were all going to be looked after.

The following morning Sasha checked his messages again, but there was still no contact from Elena. On opening up the message Sasha had sent her, I pointed out that she hadn’t yet seen it. Sasha downloaded the Facebook app onto his new cell phone so he could look at it wherever he was and whenever he wanted.

After breakfast I contacted the agent selling the bar and arranged to view the inside. Sasha came with me, and we spent an hour there, me tapping notes into my phone as we went over the place in detail. The agent shuffled and paced impatiently, glancing at his watch every so often until I was done.

“So, how willing would the owner be to negotiate the price?” I asked eventually. The agent’s bored expression quickly vanished.

“I’m sure something could be arranged. Are you thinking of making an offer?”

“I’m considering it. Have you had any other viewings?”

“Not one. Hardly surprising.”

With no viewings, I imagined the owner would be keen to get rid of the building. It was worth taking a chance on a lower offer. “I can offer three fifty. Cash. If the owner will accept that, as soon as the solicitors have the papers ready, I could have a bank transfer made for the full amount.”

“So you won’t be looking at taking a mortgage?”

“No.”

“Well.” The agent smiled. “That sounds promising. I’ll need to make a call. Will you excuse me for a few minutes?” He went outside, leaving Sasha and me standing by the charred wood, which had once been a curved bar.

“What do you think? Am I completely crazy?” I gazed around as I waited for Sasha to reply, imagining the building fully refurbished, music playing, three or four guys serving drinks, and a crowd of gay men, and maybe women too, filling the place.

“Maybe a little. But I like it. Could I work behind the bar here?”

“You could manage it if you wanted.”

“Sirs….” The agent appeared again, a smile on his face. “I’ve spoken to the owner’s solicitor. He feels a reduction of fifty thousand is a little much. Would you be willing to increase your offer?”

“I don’t think so. There are other places available which would require a lot less work. I’m sure you could find another buyer… eventually.” I spoke casually, keeping a poker face. One thing I’d always been good at was negotiation. I’d secured Červenà for a much lower price than Karel had expected, by playing on the owner’s desperation to get rid of a building nobody wanted. “Why don’t you speak to the solicitor again and let me know? You have my number.” I ushered Sasha to the door and we left the man staring after us.

Sasha glanced at me and grinned. “I bet they’ll call. They’re probably desperate to get rid of the place.”

“I know. I’m about 90 percent sure he’ll accept. I could have asked them to reduce by more and they’d probably have accepted it just to get a sale.” I halted on the street and looked back at the bar with a smile. I knew it was going to be mine.

“What will you call it?” Sasha tucked his hand through my arm and rested his chin on my shoulder. “Have you got any ideas?”

“The Red Bar.” The name came to me without having to think about it. It would be a smaller and somewhat tamer version of Červenà, so giving it the English version of the name seemed appropriate.

I took Sasha home, and we spent the next hour poring over the computer, looking for potential accommodation to rent in Woking, and an hour later my phone rang.

“The owner is willing to accept your offer,” the agent told me. “The documents can be drawn up over the next couple of weeks.”

“That’s great news, thank you.” I held back my delight until I’d ended the call. Sasha and Rosalyn were both on the edges of their seats waiting for me to speak. “I bought a bar! We have a business, Sasha. Now we just need to get ourselves a home.”