“So, who have we got here?” I nod at the two kids.
“Children,” my partner says, stating the obvious. “They’re lost. And now—your problem. My shift ended a couple of hours ago. Bastards—oops, foster children—I’m handing you over to Major Morozov.”
“Morozov?”—as if on command, the boys turn their heads toward me.
I, a longtime bachelor, have no idea how to deal with children. The situation is on the brink.
“Major Morozov,” I уточняю.
“D’yea?”—the younger one shoves his brother. “Is he really… Father M’o’g-o’zz?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” the second one drawls suspiciously. “No beard, no gray hair—” he ponders. “And he’s young. Like… dad.”
“Ooooh, Father M’o’g-o’zz?” the first one cheers and claps his hands. “Help us find Mom!”
What the hell?.. That’s not what I needed on the eve of a holiday!
***
I hated New Year—until they showed up in my life. Brothers close in age who asked me to find their mother. And I agreed… to my own trouble.