A cozy YA holiday rom-com set on a snow-dusted Christmas tree farm, where a girl who walked away from music and a country star nursing writer’s block find themselves writing songs—and maybe falling in love—just in time for the holidays. In my heart is a Christmas tree farm... Paisley Morgan thought she had left the music world behind after a disastrous encounter with the band Six String Justice. Now, she's content to spend her days at her family's charming Christmas tree farm, secretly nurturing her songwriting dreams. But when a mysterious musician checks into the farm's on-site studio, her quiet life is turned upside down. Kash "Money" Murray, fresh from a band breakup and struggling with writer's block, is sent to the farm to find inspiration. Little does he know the farm's enchanting atmosphere and its captivating caretaker, Paisley, will provide more than just a creative spark. As the holiday season unfolds, Paisley and Kash find themselves drawn together by their shared love of music. Amidst the twinkling lights and festive cheer, they embark on a songwriting journey that could change their lives forever. But when Kash takes a bold step that threatens their budding romance, Paisley must decide if love is worth the risk. Will they find harmony together, or will their duet end before it begins? Praise for Christmas Trees & Weak Knees “Your newest, swoony Christmas romance ! Readers won’t find a more musical duo, and one that not only finds love in one another, but with themselves as well. Happy holidays to us indeed!”—Tif Marcelo, USA Today bestselling author of The Holiday Switch " Christmas Trees and Weak Knees is the perfect blend of catchy tunes, holiday cheer, and a charming , heartfelt love story. As soon as I finished reading, I wanted an encore!"—Jenny L. Howe, author of How (Not) to Renovate a Haunted House KATRINA EMMEL is the author of Near Misses & Cowboy Kisses and Trail Rides & Starry Eyes . She grew up in New Hampshire, moved to the Midwest for graduate school, and is now a resident of Nevada. In addition to writing fiction, she loves science,crafts, making up silly songs for her kids, and supporting monarch butterfly conservation by planting lots of milkweed. Track 1 Back to My Roots Paisley July The first few weeks of summer break pass in somber tones as I sink into myself. Picasso had his Blue Period. I guess this is mine. Most of the time, it feels like the only thing I’ll ever successfully accomplish is soaking my pillow with tears of failure and frustration. But even that’s growing old. After my onstage meltdown, I returned home with a bruised ego, a broken heart, and only a week left before high school graduation. News of my disastrous performance had spread like wildfire, and it took all that I had left in me to pretend I didn’t hear the whispers or see how everyone stared between me and their phones. Because of course someone in the audience was filming. Multiple someones. I did all I could to avoid the sympathetic looks from friends and the barely masked smirks of frenemies. As the weeks went on, words and snippets of nebulous lyrics raced through my mind, but I forced them away. Before the incident, I would have been racing to scrawl them in the margins of my physics notebook to be copied into my lyric book later. But not anymore. Spring showers helped wash away some of my doom-and-gloom attitude, and now the summer sun is bringing wildflowers and new bud growth to the evergreens. As Dad likes to say, “A little hard work never hurt anybody.” And there’s plenty of work to be found at Hidden Acres, even in the offseason. There are seeds to plant. Seedlings to transplant. Trimming and mowing and soil testing and fertilizing. Unless it’s thundering or pouring rain, my days are spent outside—the fresh air in my lungs replacing the lingering acrid scent of the ashes of my self-esteem. I work myself to exhaustion in the hopes that I’ll fall into a dead sleep instead of lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of my room, unable to silence the what-ifs. What if I hadn’t crashed and burned at the concert? What if I hadn’t skipped out on graduation? What if I hadn’t deferred my acceptance to Tennessee State University? (I’d wanted to drop out entirely, but Mom managed to convince me to press pause for a beat and take a gap year instead. “You shouldn’t make any major decisions when you’re sad or snacky,” she’d said, wrapping me in a bear hug and handing me a Reese’s peanut butter pumpkin left over from Halloween.) All in all, I’m holding it together just fine. Or as fine as can be expected, considering . . . At least, that’s what I tell myself as I hike back toward the farmhouse from the grove of Murray cypress I was tagging with different colors of plastic ribbon. Blue for trees less than three feet tall. Salmon for three- to four-footers. Orange, red, yellow, green, and white for the taller ones. The spools of soft flag