“What is that?” Dean pointed to the red lump wadded up on the small table in front of him.
Chloe rolled her eyes from where she lay on the bed. “It’s a Santa hat, Dean.”
“A Santa hat.”
“Yes, it’s Christmas, that’s what Santa hats are fore.”
Dean frowned, trying to calculate the dates in his mind. “What’s today?”
“The twenty-second.”
“Huh.”
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