“Once a country bumpkin, always a country bumpkin,” my husband sneered in front of our friends. “Then why have you been living in this ‘country bumpkin’s’ house for three years?” I asked…
About an hour before the guests were due to arrive, I went out to the veranda for some napkins and noticed a wooden planter of basil on the floor. That morning, it had been on the kitchen windowsill. Gleb had also left a basket of onions and a couple of jars of homemade pickles there. […]
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