Had a plan. Chose carrot cake instead.

My destination was Temple Coffee.
22nd & K – midtown Sacramento.

Laptop out.
Get some work done.
Office away from the office.

That was the plan.

Somewhere between 16th and 24th—
Ella Langley on,
windows down,
sun coming through the glass—

and then…

I don’t even know when it happened,
but suddenly I’m at Rick’s Dessert Diner.

Carrot cake.
Cappuccino.
Sidewalk table in the sun.

Solo.
But not really.

It started with the sign in the window:
“Best sandwiches in town. Fries thick cut.”

Me sitting there thinking—
“Best sandwiches in town?
Umm… really? Here? At Rick’s Dessert Diner?”

Apparently, I said it out loud.

Carolyn looks over at me, smiling.
“I have no idea,” she says.
“I’m from Texas. I’ve never been here.”

And then John walks up.

He jumps right in—
“The server said the best sandwiches are actually across the street.”

I look across the street.
Beach Hut Deli.

“Oh yeah,” I say.
“That’s very likely.”

And just like that—
we’re talking.

John.
Carolyn.
And Lucy.

Lucy is an older black lab mix,
completely unbothered by the little dog nearby losing its mind.

Like… relax, bro.

They’re on a stroll.
I’m sitting in the sun.

And now we’re in conversation.

They just moved here from Houston.

She has Alzheimer’s.

“We’re farmers,” John says.
“The land’s for sale back in Texas. Waiting for the right buyer.”

He shrugs.
“Market’s not great out there right now.”

I nod.
I know. I actually read something about that.

Then he says it again—
casual, like part of introducing her:

“She has Alzheimer’s.”

We keep talking.

“What about you?” he asks.

Real estate.
Trying to make it a thing.
Twenty-plus years in public safety dispatch before this.

“You’re really pretty,” he says.

I laugh. Thank you.

“Are you married?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “Not for lack of trying.”

He smiles.

Carolyn looks at me.
“Do you have kids?”

“A son,” I say.
“He’s a beautiful soul. On his path. Tall. Long hair.”

She smiles at that.

Then John says it again—
“She has Alzheimer’s.”

And the conversation just keeps going.

We talk about the Midtown Farmers Market.
“You have to go,” I tell them. Saturdays. It’s the place.

They’ve been exploring—
Dillon Beach,
Tahoe next.

“I used to be a tennis pro,” John says.
“We live in Gold River; right on the American River. I like to cycle.”

He pauses again.
“She has Alzheimer’s.”

I look at her—her hat, her smile.

You wouldn’t know.

She’s sitting there in the sun,
finishing one of the last bites of her Oreo cheesecake.

Present.
Warm.

And I catch myself thinking—

do I even care?

Not in a cold way.
In a…

she’s here.
she’s smiling.

kind of way.

John tells me they hung her artwork in the backyard. Shows me pictures.
“That helps with the memories,” he says.

Then we’re back to everything else.

“The weather here is amazing,” he says.
“In Texas, you’ve already changed your shirt twice by noon.”

We laugh.

Parking comes up.
I pull up the ParkMobile app,
help him download it, and get it set up.

Just helping.
Just talking.

And at some point, they stand up.

“We’re heading out,” he says.

And just like that—
they’re gone.

Back to their walk.

And I’m back to my carrot cake.

But not really.

Because now I’m thinking about my parents.
About time.
About memory.

About how a random Tuesday
can hand you something you didn’t even know you needed.

I was supposed to be working.

Instead,
I sat in the sun,
ate carrot cake meant for three people,
and met John and Carolyn and Lucy.

Temple wasn’t the destination.
Rick’s was.

And maybe that’s the point.