“Thanks,” I said. “For everything. And, well,” I stuck out my hand. “My name’s Glen.”
He looked at my proffered hand and finally shook. His hand was small but felt strong. I was both impressed and relieved; the kid was clearly tough enough to survive on the streets.
“My name’s Robbie.”
I smiled as we shook. Then, impulsively, I stepped forward and hugged the kid. He stiffened but did not try to escape, or strike out in defense. Nevertheless, feeling that stiffening I almost regretted my action. Stepping back, I felt not just the very slightness of his build, but something more, something again in the middle of my chest. Had he been shivering? I couldn’t quite tell. But the idea made me uncomfortable.
“Look,” I said suddenly. “I was just going for lunch.” I hesitated. “May I—buy you a m
