Page 49 of Santa's Secrets

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He leaned against one of the work benches. “I’ll give you an example. Homeless shelters. You must be aware of those?”

I nodded.

“Well, one of the things I do is make sure they have everything they need to provide food and shelter for those who have no place to go. Whether that’s somethingIprovide, or I push others to do it for me.”

“You can influence people? Is that part of your magic?”

He grinned. “How else do you think I got my presents delivered by USPS?”

“Good point.”

“I like to think part of my job is helping people to help their fellow man.” His smile faded. “Sometimes it feels like an impossible task. There are some very greedy, selfish people in your realm.” Then the light came back into his eyes. “But thankfully, there are more people who are willing to put themselves out there, give of their time, and make their fellow man’s burden a little lighter.” He shrugged. “And sometimes, all they need is a little… push.”

I arched my eyebrows. “And you push them.”

“Yes.” He cocked his head to one side. “Do you remember when you were sixteen, and you didn’t know what to get Ben for Christmas? You thought about it for so long, because you’re a good person and you wanted to give him something that would make him feel good.”

I remembered that Christmas. I’d been stuck for ideas. What did you give a twelve-year-old boy who didn’t seem to have any hobbies or interests?

And then it had come to me. Ben was no good at drawing, and his painting was pretty similar. He used to watch me draw, with a look of something that might have been envy. So I’d asked my mom if we could go shopping for a painting-by-numbers kit. They were popular for a long time. All you had to do was stay in the lines and use the right color, and what you ended up with was a beautiful work of art. Mom had been proud that I’d come up with the idea.

Except now, I was starting to think that it hadn’t been my idea at all.

“You pushed me.”

He smiled. “I just gave you a little inspiration, that’s all. That’s what I do. All those times you received gifts from your parents that have been exactly what you’d wanted, exactly what you’d dreamed of getting, those were the result of my inspiration.”

I chuckled. “Funny you should say that. The best presents when I was a kid? They all had a label saying ‘To Anthony from Santa.’ My parents did this really cute thing. Every year, there’d be one gift under the tree from you.” I widened my eyes. “Theywerefrom you, weren’t they? Those were the gifts you ‘pushed’ them to buy.”

“No. Those were from me. And if you asked around, you’d find a lot of people tell the same story. I don’t bring a ton of gifts to a home—I bring one. And it’s always the one a child really wants, or needs.” His eyes sparkled. “Remember that art box you got when you were eight? The one with all the paints, pastels, pencils…”

Now I was smiling. “That was perfect.”

“But I have to ask… what made you stop believing in me?”

I sighed. “Mark Pointer.”

He fell silent for a moment. “Skinny kid, glasses, redhead.”

I’d gotten past being surprised that he remembered. “Yup, that was him. He told me you weren’t real, that it was just my parents pretending.”

“And you believed him?”

“He was the smartest kid in the class. He kneweverything.”

Santa’s face fell. “He didn’t know enough to say no when someone offered him coke. And no, I’m not talking about the drink.”

I stilled. “Is he okay?” Jesus, how long had it been since I’d thought about the kids I’d met in school?

Santa said nothing, but his glistening eyes were all the answer I needed.

I threw my arms around him. “Hey. It was his life, his choices.” I wiped away his tears with my fingers. “And you’re weeping for him because you’re a truly good, selfless man.” I believed that with all my heart. I took a step back. “But you need to explain something. How can you know all this fromhere?”

He sighed. “You might as well see.” He waved his hand, and every empty worktop was suddenly filled with monitors, so many I couldn’t count them all.

“Show me what you use them for.”

He waved a hand, and the monitor closest to us burst into life. I was watching a family seated around the table, laughing and joking.


Tags: K.C. Wells Romance