Ash’s eyebrows went up. “How do you compromise between one person wanting to stay in one place and the other not wanting that at all?”

I took a breath. This was the tricky part. “Maybe,” I said gently, “that’s not the real issue. Maybe it’s not so much about a reluctance to put down deep roots. Maybe it’s more about not being willing to move outside comfort zones.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Sleep on it, okay?” Because sometimes the best solutions tiptoed in quietly, catlike. Then again, sometimes you ended up with nightmares involving heavy objects, but with any luck Ash’s experience would be more productive.

Ash gave us a tight nod. “Got to go,” he said, and headed off to his league.

“Think it’ll work?” I asked.

Rafe, still holding my shoulders, kissed the top of my head. “It’s almost time for your meeting with Chelsea.”

He was right, I needed to get going, and, accordingly, a few minutes later I was sitting with Chelsea at Hoppe’s Brewing, enjoying the soft pretzel bites and almost enjoying a small mug of cider.

After checking with her on the use of the happy light—“You know, I really think it’s helping”—I started a conversation very similar to the earlier one with Ash, and this time I was prepared. “I have a personal question for you, if that’s okay. Do you still love Ash?”

“So very much,” she said quietly. “He’s my sun and my moon. My earth and sky. But . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“I know. Love isn’t always enough. And it sure seems that you both want different things. But what if there’s another way?”

She shook her head. “How do you get to a compromise when one person wants to see what the world has to offer and the other isn’t interested in that at all?”

Back to the tricky part. “Maybe,” I said, “that’s not the real issue. Maybe it’s not so much a determination to stay. Maybe it’s more a reluctance to break out of lifetime habits.”

Chelsea’s face took on a thoughtful look. “Huh,” she said. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

I nodded and took another bite of pretzel. My work here was done, and I suddenly realized that maybe what I needed to help Ryan was to think about the suspects in a different way.

Only . . . how?

*   *   *

“Think a different way,” I murmured. “Different, different, different.”

“Mrr!”