When we ran into the kitchen, the container of cupcakes had vanished, and the garbage disposal was running loudly as Gretchen stood over the sink, her hand on the faucet.

Watching Gretchen annihilate those cupcakes was like a scene out of a horror movie. There ought to have been loud, screechy music playing, except that you wouldn’t be able to hear it over the sound of frosting and cake being ground to bits.

“Could we have at least saved a couple for Brett?” I asked as she finally switched off the disposal and she could hear me. “And me?”

“Sorry,” she said. She looked at Brett. “The cupcakes got spoiled in the mail—sorry, honey. How about a yogurt?” As she pulled one out of the fridge for Brett, she whispered to me, “I cannot have cake around.”

“So for Brett’s birthday party at the end of the month, what are you going to have? Carrot sticks?” I asked.

She handed Brett a spoon for his yogurt, and he dashed into the TV room to watch PBS.

“No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll serve celery.” She laughed. “No, actually, I’ll order a cake from the bakery. And I won’t eat any of it. Come on, just help me a little, okay? You know how much I love Mom’s cupcakes. The woman can’t cook a roast to save her life, but she can bake. These things are lethal. There are about a thousand calories in each one.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” I said. “Mom sent those specially for us. What are we going to tell her? Thanks, your cupcakes grind up really easily? I think you overreacted.”

“Maybe slightly,” she agreed as she dried her hands on a dishtowel. “But I already had ice cream yesterday when I shouldn’t have, and I have to get back on course. I just have to.”

“No, you know what you need, Gretch?” I said. “You need to get out of the house more. Make some new friends.”

“You’re talking to someone with a broken leg, and it’s the middle of winter,” she replied in an irritated tone.

“So?” I shrugged. “Mind over matter.”

She glared at me as if maybe she was about to put me through the garbage disposal as well.

“Okay, I’m sorry. You’re in a bad way. I just want to help, okay? I was thinking we could just make a couple of routines, like, we go out for coffee every day. That way we’ll meet people.”

“I know people,” she said. “It’s just that—well, a lot them were both our friends. Mine and Luke’s. So it’s awkward. And I know I need a new routine, and a job, and new friends, but it’s so hard to get around with my leg like this!” I’d never heard Gretchen sound so frustrated.

“So, we’ll drive,” I said. “You’ll have to go like ten steps, at most.”

“True. But do we want to take Brett to a coffee shop?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because then it wouldn’t be as much fun for us, we couldn’t just relax. We’d have to keep track of him. He’d spill coffee, he’d bug people. He’d bug us.”

Sometimes I really wondered why Gretchen had wanted to have a child so much. It was like she couldn’t handle the responsibility, or at least, she didn’t want to. Then again, I had no experience being a mostly-single parent, so what did I know? “What are we going to do…leave him here?” I asked.

“No! I was just thinking…maybe while he’s watching Shrek for the eighty-ninth time, you could go to the bakery down the street and bring some coffee back for me and a treat for Brett. And maybe take Bear for a walk while you’re at it. Please?”

This life as Super Nanny was really shaping up nicely. I got to take the dog for a walk when it was ten degrees outside. Lucky me! “But Gretch. You won’t meet anyone that way.”

“I know, and you have a point. But give me until next week, okay? With all this snow…it’s just too hard to get around without wiping out. I’m completely exhausted from yesterday.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“And, you pass Sean’s house on the way to the bakery,” she said.

“Oh. Really? Okay. I’ll go,” I said with a smile. Though I was dreading the cold, I was actually dying for a chance to get out of the house by myself for a little while. And the way Bear was racing around the house, chasing Brett and his tail simultaneously, made me realize he needed the exercise, too. “But do I need to come right back, or can I hang out there a little while and write?”

“Stay as long as you want to,” she said as she jotted down the directions for me.

The bakery was only about an eight-block walk from Gretchen’s house. I went really slowly at first, just in case Sean was home, just in case he wanted to come running out and join me for coffee.

But of course, he had a life. I was the one wandering aimlessly.

As I walked up the block toward the bakery, the wonderful scents of bread and sweet things baking got stronger and stronger. I was definitely about to get pulled into the pastry vortex.

Actually, the way Bear pulled on the leash, I was about to get pulled all over Minneapolis. He could use another puppy obedience course—or two. Not that I knew how to train him. I’d never had a dog before. Gretchen had decided to get Bear for a couple of reasons—one, to entertain Brett, and two, to make her feel more safe about living on her own. I didn’t know how Bear would do that, except attack a burglar by licking his face.

Anyway, in typical Gretchen fashion, she’d gone for the dog that looked the cutest when she went to the humane society to adopt a puppy. And Bear had been cute, when he was three months old, before he turned into a gigantic white furry beast.

I tied Bear to the Star Tribune newspaper box while I went inside the bakery. When I leaned over to wrap the leash around the pole, Bear gave me a huge smack on the lips. “Mmm. Thanks, Bear.” Now I couldn’t say I’d never been kissed in the Twin Cities.

I walked into the bakery and just stood by the front door for a second, looking around at the tables and booths, and inhaling the delicious aromas. Then I noticed a guy behind the counter watching me, from where he was leaning against the bakery case, a paperback book propped in his hands.

“Hi,” I said, walking over to him. “Wow. Everything looks so good.” Oh God, I thought. Did I just look at a guy and tell him everything looked so good?

Hold on. As I walked closer I realized he was the Zublansky’s dairy aisle guy, and the one I’d nearly knocked down at the skating rink, and the one who brought me my hat.

“Can I get you something?” he asked, glancing up from his book. He didn’t seem to recognize me—or if he did, he didn’t want to acknowledge me.

I quickly looked down to hide my embarrassment and checked out all of the rolls, croissants, and donuts. “I’ll take a cinnamon roll. And a double latte, please.”

“Sure thing.” He set down his book and grabbed a plate and a small piece of paper wrap to pick up the roll. “You look kind of familiar,” he said.

“I saw you at the lake. The skating rink. New Year’s Eve day?” I said.

“Why did you say it like a question? Weren’t you there?”

“Of course I was. I mean, I think I’d know if I weren’t there,” I said. “I mean, I’d have to not be…there.” Oh, god, I sounded like an idiot.

“Ah. How true.” He didn’t mention the other time we’d seen each other, when I tried to carry out groceries for another customer at Zublansky’s. For that I’d be eternally grateful. Or at least grateful for the next ten minutes.

“Did you just move into the neighborhood?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I don’t live here. I’m just staying with my sister for a while.”

“Oh.”

“For a month.”

“Oh.”

I had to be more interesting. It was time to bring out the inner flirt. Even if it didn’t work with him, at least this would count as practice.

“I’ve never been here before,” I said. “To this bakery. It’s really nice.”

He looked up over the espresso machine at me, with a perfectly blank expression.