Then warmth settled over Malcolm’s legs. Milo’s thin rain jacket. Damp but offered with sincerity.
Malcolm expected the money to vanish in the next breath. Instead, he heard paper sliding on wood. He cracked a single eye and saw Milo pushing the envelope back toward the center of the table so it would not fall. He even placed Malcolm’s leather notebook neatly beside it.
“Safe now,” Milo whispered.
The boy returned to the rug and hugged his own arms for warmth. His jacket remained on Malcolm’s lap.
The old man felt something shift inside him. He had built high walls around his heart, but this child’s gentleness struck through a gap he had not known was there.
Then the library door burst open and Brianna rushed in. She froze at the sight. Her son without a coat. The coat on Malcolm. The envelope still on the table.
“Milo,” she gasped, panic twisting her voice. “What did you do? Did you touch that money?”
