Too Big For Christmas

He buys the land under my grandma’s lodge. Then shows up with a clipboard, tusks, and a body that could wreck a cabin.

He says it’s “just business.” I say go bulldoze someone else’s heritage—and maybe stop staring at my mouth when we argue.

Now we’re snowed in, there’s only one bed, and I’ve seen enough of his orc-sized… ego… to know one thing: He’s too big for this lodge. Too big for my peace. And way, way too big for Christmas.

But tell that to my traitor body. Or the moan I definitely didn’t make last night. Oops.