This guy. He smells really freaking good. Like pine and cotton and…campfire smoke?

“Sorry about that. You okay?” He grabs my shoulders, his grip firm yet gentle and keeping me from falling to the ground.

Slowly I tip my head back to find a very attractive man watching me. He’s wearing a dark green ball cap with the words Sullivan Tree Farm stitched in red across the front of it. He’s got a matching forest-green sweatshirt on and jeans, and he’s gripping me with hands that are covered by work gloves. His brows are lowered and his full lips are parted and I have another, weirder thought.

What would it feel like to kiss those lips?

I shake my head, knocking that wild idea out of my brain. “I’m fine.”

“You sure about that?” When I frown, he continues. “It’s just, you said you’re fine and shook your head at the same time. I call that a mixed message.”

That almost sounds like an insult. But when I study his face, his very friendly, cute face, I don’t see any derision or anger in his expression at all. He’s just stating himself plainly. No games.

“You startled me, that’s all,” I say with the faintest smile.

He returns it, and wow, that just upped his attractive factor by about a million. He has perfectly straight teeth, and his blue eyes light up, as if he’s extremely happy to see me.

Even if he doesn’t know me.

“Sorry,” he repeats as he tries to let go of me. As in, his fingers are umm…sticking to my very expensive denim jacket. “Damn sap,” he mutters under his breath as he pries his fingers away.

I glance at the spot he just touched on my right arm, seeing the sap stain he left behind. “That probably won’t come out, will it?”

“It might, if you use rubbing alcohol. Make sure you pour it on a clean white washcloth first, before you try to rub it out.” He makes an uncomfortable face and starts to chuckle.

Oh. I get it. Rub it out. Close to rub one out. Why do guys always have to take things to the sexual level?

“Thank you for the tip,” I snap at him before I start walking, heading for that red building as fast as possible.

“You’re welcome!” he calls after me. “Sorry about staining your jacket!”

Ignoring his third apology, I increase my pace, needing to get away from him. He was cute. Nice. A little crude, but I’m also a bit of a prude right now, so there’s that. I shouldn’t take things so seriously. Not every man I come across is like my ex. I can’t just paint a wide swath and consider all men egotistical assholes.

I know plenty of them are that way, but not all of them.

By the time I’m entering the red building, I’m out of breath and completely overwhelmed by the burst of Christmas that is going on in this place.