“Were you traveling for work?” my dad asked Annie as he grabbed the plate of finished jiǎozi and replaced it with an empty one. “Yes,” Annie said with the kind of calm that was more nervous than placid. “What kind of trip was it?” he prodded. “I wouldn’t think a bakery owner would travel much for work.” Annie let out a shoddy breath. “It wasn’t for the bakery.” My mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?” Beneath the table, Annie reached for my hand. “I… I write books. I own the bakery but I’m also a romance author. I was traveling for book signings in Dallas and Chicago.” The table went silent and
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