He had a family.  

An unexpected development, but not necessarily a damaging one.  He would be disinclined to take risks, to put his family in danger.  He would also have developed a much stronger sense of responsibility, both personal and professional.  One would offset the other, Shiloh felt certain; he would be able to fulfill the task she would ask of him without complicating the situation with useless, distracting sentiment.

She gripped the brass knocker and gave it three firm taps.  The door swung open a moment later, revealing a child with wide brown eyes and a smile covered in chocolate pudding.  One tiny hand was clutched around a spatula, also covered in pudding.

“Hello.”  Shiloh said.  “Is your father home?”

“Daddy!”  The child squealed, and spun away, disappearing into the depths of the house.

Shiloh waited.  It took several minutes for Tom Garrison to emerge.  When he did, he was using a paper towel to wipe at his face, doubtless removing the remnants of the same dessert his daughter had been enjoying.  He was mid-laugh, caught in the wake of a memory, eyes and attention still rooted in the activity he had been engaged in before she had arrived to disrupt his evening.

He saw Shiloh, and his laughter−though not his smile—faded.  “Uh, yeah, what can I do for you?”

“You recognize me.”

“No….”  He shook his head uncertainly.  “No, can’t say that I do.”

Time had not changed him in any significant way.  There were lines where once had been only smooth skin, and rigidity where once had been a soft innocence, but his face still held inherent kindness, an empathy he would never be able to mask.  Even now, approached by a stranger, she detected in him an instinct to harbor and protect.  He would invite her into his home.  He would upset his domestic contentment to help someone he didn’t know, someone whose problems had the potential to put his loved ones in danger.

She had hoped he had outgrown this trait.  He had not, and she began to reconsider asking him to become involved.

“Wait.”  He crossed the threshold.  The porch light prevented her from hiding her face.  The decision was abruptly taken out of her hands.  “Yeah, I do know you.  It’s been…what, fifteen years?  That long?  I couldn’t get your face out of my head, for years I saw you, staring up at that fire, watching the roof collapse—“