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“Clearly, I’m still struggling with the same dilemmas I had last week, and I’m not sure you have the desire or the time to listen to what is becoming my existential crisis,” she says over her shoulder, climbing up the steps. “I would think you’ve already done more than your civic duty, lending me your ear. Besides, it would appear you have a suspicious death to get to the bottom of.”

I glance at my watch and am surprised to find it’s only one thirty in the afternoon.

“It’s about time for lunch; I could eat and listen at the same time. You wouldn’t happen to have any food in there, would you?”

She chuckles as she waves me up.

“As a matter of fact, I have cheese, one of Beth’s olive loaves, and two-thirds of a bottle of champagne inside.”

I pass on the champagne and instead opt for the now-cold cup of coffee I grabbed from the cup holder in my cruiser, but I happily dig into the nice aged cheddar and crusty bread.

We’re sitting on the porch, I took the old kitchen chair, while Dana opted for the rocking chair, creaking softly as she rocks back and forth, sipping her glass of champagne.

“Work at the hospital and helping Pops keep the pub open doesn’t leave any time for me to do any work on this place,” she begins. “It feels like I’m at a crossroads, where some major life decisions have to be made if I want to turn this place into my dream house. Otherwise, all of this…” She gestures at the property. “…will have been a waste, and I’d be letting Mom down.”

I’m happy to let her claim a moment of silence, giving her a chance to verbalize what she already knows. She doesn’t really need me to bring her clarity, I’m merely here to offer her an opportunity to say some things out loud.

“What I don’t want is for Pops to have to shut down the pub because it’s getting to be too much for him, and I don’t really want to give up on my job at the hospital. I like my work, and besides, I need that regular paycheck or I won’t have the funds to do the work that needs doing here.”

Despite wanting her to come to her own conclusions, my head is churning out different scenarios that might provide a solution, but the bottom line stays the same. She needs a steady flow of income, while spending less time working outside of the house.

Now given my earlier misgivings around Buck Wilson’s position as coroner, there might be an opening there to earn a decent little stipend for what is at most an occasional call of duty, but that’s not an option for right now.

“What you’re saying is that stepping away from the pub or giving up your day job are not valid options at the moment,” I confirm.

“Correct.”

“And you need more free time without losing out on income.”

She snorts. “Tall order.”

“Maybe…” I tilt my head. “Do you get a paycheck from the pub?”

She seems surprised at my question. Then she shakes her head.

“Well, no. It’s a family business. It all goes in the same pot ultimately anyway.”

Except it doesn’t. It’s at best a long-term investment for Dana; one she might never see a return on if The Kerrigan doesn’t survive the blow of losing Stella.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she suggests before I have a chance to open my mouth. “That we should hire someone to run the kitchen, but like I told you before, my mother was adamant her recipes are for family only.”

I nod. I do remember her mentioning that before, but things have changed.

“Question: what do you think your mother would have felt stronger about?” I pose to her. “Keeping her recipes secret, or giving you a chance at your dream?”

“That’s not fair,” she returns instantly. “She’s not here to ask.”

“Does she need to be? It seems to me your mother was a smart person, and I’m sure it took a lot of thought before she ensured you would have a shot at your dream. She knew what dilemmas you’d be faced with; do you really think she didn’t consider all the implications of giving you this opportunity?”

Her eyes snap to the view, a muscle working along the line of her jaw, as she mulls over my words.

I could sit here forever, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the view—including the one right here on the porch—but I should probably get back to work. I get to my feet and grab my disposable coffee cup to toss out back at the station.

Dana’s eyes stay stubbornly averted, and I wonder if I overstepped those boundaries between us after all. Still, indulging in an urge to touch, I lean down and kiss the top of her head, this time purposely testing the limits of our friendship. She actively tries to shield her reaction by straightening her back.

It’s obviously not the right time, or maybe those glimpses of what could be that occasionally intrude on my thoughts are only figments of an overactive imagination.

“See you later,” is my lame goodbye.