Fifteen minutes later, he stood on her front stoop with his finger poised to ring the bell. He dropped his hand to his side.

He shouldn't be so selfish. And yet after years of keeping a quiet watch over her, making sure her life went well, forcing himself to keep a distance because he knew it was the right thing to do for her, he didn't have the strength to stay away from her tonight.

Even if it was for her own good.

He'd phone her. Wouldn't even tell her he was on her front steps. Make it easier for her to turn him away, if that's what she wanted.

Perched on the bottom step of her front stoop, he dialed her number and watched the late–night stars sparkle in the dark sky.

A cool breeze whipped down between the rows of homes, rustling the few remaining leaves on the small trees planted near the curbs.

After one ring, Keely picked up. "Logan?" she asked, her voice groggy.

The image of her sleep–heavy eyelids and soft lips against the phone as she sat up in a halter top or T–shirt and not much else chased into his thoughts.

"Do you feel like company?" He kept his voice low, part of him hoping she would say no so she could protect herself from him.

"You okay?" Bed sheets rustled in the background and he pictured her sitting up, her sleep–tossed hair tangled around her face.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Where are you?"

He considered a lie. If he said he was at headquarters, she might tell him to go home, get a good night's rest. "On your front stoop."

"I'll be right there." She hung up.

Within thirty seconds, she unlatched the front door and held it open.

He sucked in a breath when he realized the mental image he'd had of her had been correct. She stood in front of him with tousled brown hair, wearing only a loose purple T–shirt.

He stepped inside and latched the door. Before he could change his mind, he turned and pulled her into his arms.

If he could come home to a comfort like Keely every night, all would be well in his world.