Luna peered through her peephole, watching Trip cut across her yard past the inflated Santa. He was an hour late—early for him.
Trip tramped raggedly through the pristine snow, leaving gopher-like piles in his wake. He stomped on Luna’s welcome mat and swung the door open without knocking. Trip never knocked. Prepared for this, Luna had already moved to the side when Trip clomped into her foyer. She slammed the door closed behind him to keep the cold out. But the chill Trip carried was inescapable. It shanked her senses like a Slurpee brain freeze.
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