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... kery.

It was warm, familiar. Safe. The bell above the door jingled as I walked in, apron already tied around Pedro’s waist as he stood behind the counter, hands dusted with flour.

He looked up and smiled. "There she is. My star baker."

I smiled back, but it felt wobbly. "Hey, Pedro."

He cocked his head immediately. "Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound like ’Hey Pedro, ready to make twenty loaves of sourdough?’"

I stepped behind the counter, slipping off my coat slow ...

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