Page 31 of Oh Holy Knight

“Daddy, I’m cold,” one says.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” the other adds.

The bat falls from my hands, landing on the gravel with a thud and the man reacts quickly, pulling his two small children closer to his sides. Gunther’s eyes meet mine and I hold up my hands, assuring him I’m not going to hurt him.

“Daddy, it’s Santa!” the younger boy cries.

“I thought you said he wasn’t real,” the older one says, looking up at his dad.

That hurts my heart seeing as he doesn’t appear to be more than five years old—six tops and the little guy…well, he looks to be around my Anna’s age.

Suddenly, the little one releases his hold on Gunther and charges for me. His little arms wrap around my legs and I swear to God, I have to hold back tears. Apparently, I’ve become a big softie in my old age.

I force a swallow and crouch down in front of the boy.

“Hi there little fella. What’s your name?”

His blue eyes stare up at me with confusion.

“Don’t you know it?”

“Um…”

This Santa gig is tough.

Gunther combs his fingers roughly through his hair and starts for the boy.

“We were just leaving,” he mutters, grabbing the boy’s hand. “Let’s go, Frank.”

Shock courses through me and before I realize what I’m doing, I reach for the boy’s hand. I lift my eyes to Gunther.

“Please,” I rasp. “Don’t go.” I bring my gaze back to Frank and when I blink a single tear falls from the corner of my eye.

“Your name is Frank?”

He nods and points to his older brother.

“And that’s my brother, Jackson.”

I smile at the older boy.

“Nice to meet you, Jackson.”

“Are you really Santa Claus?” Jackson asks wearily.

“What do you think?”

He shrugs his shoulders, but little Frank reaches for my beard and gives it a tug. His eyes light up and he turns to his brother.

“He’sreal!” However, his excitement is short-lived and when he brings his attention back to me there is a frown on his face. “We were good boys this year, and we didn’t get anything.”

“Well, I’m don’t actually come until tonight when you’re sleeping,” I explain.

“But how are you going to bring us presents if we don’t have a chimney.”

“I have a magic key.”

“He’s not really Santa Claus, Frank,” Jackson interrupts. “If you were the real Santa you’d know we don’t have a home.”

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