Anja laughed. “I guess you could see it that way.”

Franzi and Miriam traded confused gazes, but neither Susanne nor Anja explained the glitter comment.

“But I like them,” Anja added. “They’re just so…so Freiburg.”

Susanne admitted to herself that she was coming to like them too. They were a remnant of a time long gone and no longer served a real purpose, but being around Anja and her notebooks and fountain pens was starting to give her an appreciation for the more old-fashioned things in life.

“Sounds like you haven’t had much time to play tourist,” Miriam said. “What parts of our beautiful city have you seen already? Have you seen the Schwabentor?” She gestured toward the medieval tower guarding one of the city gates.

Susanne glanced up at the knight standing over a slayed dragon depicted on this side of the tower. “I’ve driven by this guy a few times.”

“This guy is St. George, patron saint of Freiburg,” her sister said. “And what do you mean…driven by? You’ve been in Freiburg for nearly a month now, and you still haven’t really seen anything?”

“Like Miriam said, I haven’t had much time to play tourist. But I’ve seen the Gerberau and the Fischerau,” Susanne said, naming the two streets closest to Paper Love. “And, of course, the famous Bächle.”

“You didn’t see it,” Anja corrected with a smile. “That’s why you stepped into it.”

Franzi roared with laughter. “You stepped into a Bächle? You know what that means, don’t you?”

Susanne huffed. “I’m not superstitious.”

Anja led them up a couple of steps to a bridge crossing a busy street. Once they made it to the other side, they followed a path that circled up the Schlossberg, which despite its name—Castle Hill—looked more like a forested mountain to Susanne. She fell into step next to Anja, while Franzi and Miriam followed behind them, deep in conversation, and the dog trotted ahead with his tail wagging the entire way.

After a few minutes, they passed a beer garden. Long, orange tables and wooden benches had been set up beneath old chestnut trees. People were sitting outside, eating pretzels and Flammkuchen. The scent of bacon, onions, and melted cheese from the pizza-like dish drifted over.

Susanne shook her head at the people.

“What?” Anja asked. “You don’t like Flammkuchen?”

“I love it. It’s just… In Berlin, beer gardens aren’t even open in February.”

Anja shrugged. “Well, that’s Freiburg for you. At the first rays of sun, the street cafés and beer gardens open, even if they have to provide blankets to their customers.”

“It’s the same in Berlin—but a month later.”