The car turned the corner and was gone. Milo buttoned his jacket — click, click, click — and listened to the parking lot hum with cicadas.
The antique shop door swung open with a soft creak. Milo pushed it wider and stepped inside.
He tiptoed past towers of dust-covered lamps and crooked pictures. Milo reached for a porcelain doll on a low shelf.
The porcelain doll tipped, but Milo caught it just before it hit the floor. Its glass eyes seemed to follow him toward a brass music box on a high shelf.
He dragged a wobbly step stool over, climbed up, and grabbed the music box. But it slipped — and fell open on the floor.
A tiny paper bird fluttered out, circled his head once, then landed right on his nose.
He held his breath, then giggled. The bird chirped a tune that wrapped around him like a blanket.
The shop bell jingled. The elderly woman stood in the doorway, her apron dusted with flour.
She saw the music box in his hands and smiled. She sat down beside him and began humming along.
Milo leaned against her shawl, which smelled like cinnamon and old paper.
She hummed the last note, and the shop felt very still and very safe.
The last note faded. Milo closed his eyes, and the bird folded itself into the music box.