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“Short and stout? Tall and skinny? Spindly? Full? What are we talking?” She sets off down the nearest line of trees.

I hustle to catch up to her. “Uhh, not sure. Whatever.”

Beth spins around and I pull up short, barely stopping my momentum before knocking into her.

“Whatever?” she parrots, exasperated. “Gabe, you can’t just ‘whatever’ a Christmas tree. There’s an art to this. And a science. An art and a science, if you will.”

I grin at her. “Is that so? I didn’t know that Christmas tree picking is your area of expertise. I thought you stuck to your reindeer-antler collection.”

“Both, obviously.”

“I wish you had some reindeer antlers on today. You would have fit right in back there.” I hook my thumb toward the barn.

Beth snorts out a laugh. “Hardly. Those reindeer were throwing themselves at you. I would never.”

I cross my arms. “You’re saying you’d make me work for it?”

“Something like that.”

I hum. “Noted.”

Beth bites her lip as a zip of heat passes between us.

“Moving on.” She clears her throat. “Christmas is in my blood now that I’m a full-time Dasher Valley resident. And believe me, your mom doesn’t want a ‘whatever’ tree. She wants something perfect for her space.”

“Did you get a certificate of achievement when you became a Christmas Tree Master?” I ask as we trudge on.

“Good one.” She stops to run her fingers over a balsam fir.

I eye the tree. “Is this the one?”

She looks over at me and scoffs. “Gabe, we can’t pick the first tree we happen to stumble upon. This takes more finesse than that.”

“Finesse.” I hold up my hands. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

She smirks and her eyes dart beyond me. “Oh! What about that one?”

She cuts through the line of trees and into the next row.

I follow.

She puts her hands on her hips as she looks the tree up and down. “Too squatty.”

I chortle. “Squatty? Seriously?”

“Look at it! It’s bottom-heavy.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I quip.

She shoves me.

“What?” I chuckle. “I’m just saying.”

“I know what you’re saying.” She rolls her eyes, her cheeks bubblegum pink. “But in this case, this is way too big for your mom’s front room. That’s where she usually puts the tree, right?”

I nod, realizing she’s right.

“Then we need to find something that’s narrower.”