Living in a treehouse? Unavoidable. Falling for the grumpy lumberjack hottie next door? Unthinkable. After a viral PR disaster torpedoes my marketing career, I flee Manhattan. The only place left to land? A fairy-tale treehouse in a pickle-obsessed Vermont town, left to me by an uncle I barely knew. Yes, I said pickles. No, I’m not okay. But I’m only here temporarily. Just long enough to regroup, let the notoriety die down, and figure out my next steps in peace. Unfortunately, my new neighbor has other ideas. Beckett “the Axe” Axford–cranky local heartthrob and unapologetic tree-murderer–claims Uncle Jim made him promises about the forest around the treehouse, and he’s none too pleased when I won’t take his word for it. Unfortunately for him, I’m done playing by other people’s rules. I’m not backing down just because some sexy–I mean grumpy–lumberjack says so, and I can handle whatever he dishes out. Tree climbing? No problem. Pickle festival popularity contest? Sign me up. Kissing my unexpectedly-tender, flannel-clad nemesis in the woods after dark? I can take it, bro. And take it. And t– \>Ahem. You get the picture. I’m tired of losing, so I’m not giving up my inheritance or my heart without a fight. And if Beckett thinks differently, he can kiss my axe.