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. But I’m only here temporarily. Just long enough to regroup, let the notoriety die down, and figure out my next steps in peace.