The vendors were packing up their goods, talking to each other in Alemannic. The soft tones of the dialect she’d grown up with were as soothing as a hug, so she strolled along the edges of the farmers market.

As usual, the trailers of the sausage vendors were soon the only stands remaining. They never seemed to have a problem attracting enough customers, locals and tourists alike, so there was still a bit of a crowd surrounding them. Maybe she’d soon be back to selling sausages too, the way she had right after moving to Freiburg. The supermarket she’d worked for back then had put her behind the meat counter without caring that she was a vegetarian.

Why were some people so cold and uncaring? Anja would never understand people like Susanne. Frau Wolff, she corrected herself with a huff.

As if conjured up by the mere thought of her name, Susanne appeared in front of her as the crowd parted. She stood just a few steps away next to one of the food trailers, her mouth wide open, about to bite into one of the popular long, red sausages that were served in a bun. Just as she took a bite, their gazes met.

Susanne froze, and so did Anja.

Someone ran into her from behind, shoving her forward and into Susanne.

Mustard splattered everywhere, and a few fried onions dropped onto the cobblestones. Susanne nearly choked on her bite of sausage and started to cough.

Just when she’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse. “Oh God. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Susanne wheezed. A gob of mustard grazed her elegant scoop-necked top, right where her wool coat stood open.

Anja reached out with a tissue from her pocket.

“Um, thanks. I can do it myself.” Susanne took the tissue from her and used it to dab at the stain on her chest.

“Oh.” Anja withdrew her hand. Her cheeks burned. God. You nearly rubbed her breast! If Susanne hadn’t already threatened to fire her, she probably would have done so now. Anja pretended to be busy checking herself for mustard spatter just so she wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes.

Susanne crumpled up the tissue and threw it and the rest of the bun into a nearby trash can, as if Anja’s appearance had spoiled her appetite. “Are you here for a sausage too, or…?”

“No,” Anja said before she could think about it. “I don’t eat meat.”

“Ah.”

Anja hated that judgmental “ah” she encountered all too often, but she held her tongue. Now was not the time to fight that battle. She had enough on her hands fighting for her job already.

“So you’re here because you followed me.” Susanne made it a statement, not a question.