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.