Question: The only thing worse than a streaking Santa dashing naked through my Christmas tree farm? Answer: Lawrence Beverly, the insufferable Brit who opened a competing farm down the lane, finding out about it. I loathe Lawrence like cocktail sauce in my cocoa, and there’s no way I’m letting him use Mr. Jingle Balls against me. Which he totally would. Any man who would kiss a girl on New Year’s Eve and pretend it didn’t happen the next day can’t be trusted. Last year, I fell for Lawrence’s dreamy accent and gentle touch. This year I’m too smart to let my libido call the shots. Luckily, I have a plan to take care of my Santa problem. A foolproof plan! Or so I think, until it goes hideously awry and Lawrence sweeps in to save the day. Now we’re making out in front of my fireplace and he’s saying all the right things, but can I trust this man with my heart? Or is he still up to snow good?