Page 1 of Oops I Fell For The Mountain Man Next Door

one

Lana

When my older brother Lex said yes to being the fake stripper for the bachelorette party at our winery, I knew I had to get away from the chaos that was coming. I ended up in the tasting room, covering for Jill so she could get home early to her husband and kids.

It’s been a slow Friday night, probably because of the wedding we’re hosting this weekend. The bride and her friends are in the main conference room, where Lex is entertaining them. The groom still hasn’t shown up. Thankfully, his loud groomsmen left for town five hours ago, and I haven’t seen them since.

It’s almost closing time, so I should be cleaning the counter, locking up, and thinking about the leftover pasta in my fridge. Instead, I’m watching a stranger brood over a small glass of wine.

He showed up twenty minutes ago, looking amazing in a charcoal suit, and asked if we were still serving. We were, unfortunately. Even worse, I find him fascinating. Brooding men shouldn’t be this interesting. But as soon as he walked in and sat at the counter, I was drawn to his grumpy look and ridiculously handsome face.

“Bad day?” I wipe the counter with the bar rag, watching his face.

His dark brown eyes lift to meet mine. “You could say that.” He runs a hand over his jaw.

“Work?” I raise an eyebrow and wait for his reply.

“No.” He holds my gaze, and for the first time since he walked through the door, I feel he truly sees me, not just the employee pouring his drinks.

“Family?” I press.

“Sort of.” He lifts the glass to his mouth and takes a big drink of our best cabernet, downing it like an animal instead of savoring it, which is kind of hot.

I’m used to all the stuck-up rich guys who come and go at our winery, pretending to be wine experts. The way this stranger drinks his wine is actually kind of refreshing.

“Let me guess—you're a spy, and your cover's blown.” I lean across the counter. “Almost a smile,” I say, noticing a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He squares his shoulders, then looks at me again. “I don't smile much.”

“That's tragic.”

He studies me for a moment, as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “What time do you close?”

“Ten minutes ago.” I hold back a laugh. “I’m just kidding,” I tease.

He glances toward the nearly empty tasting room. “I should go.”

Something about the way he says it makes me think he doesn’t really want to leave. I should let him go, but instead I pick up the bottle. “One more?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He slides his glass across the counter toward me.

“Absolutely not. You’re too big for me to drag outside.” He laughs, a deep sound that makes my stomach do a ridiculous flip. I should send him on his way, but every instinct tells me to get to know him better. “What’s your name?”

“Marx.” A small dimple appears this time as he smiles at me.

“I’m Lana.” I lift my chin, trying not to let him affect me, but my pulse gives me away.

“Lana,” he repeats quietly, making my heart race even faster.

I shouldn’t like the way my name sounds when he says it, but I do. “So, Marx, what’s waiting for you tomorrow that’s making you look like someone canceled Christmas?” I pour him another drink, set the bottle down, curl my fingers into my palm, and wait for his answer. My fingernails dig into my skin.

His fingers tighten around the stem of his glass. For several seconds, he doesn't speak. Then he says, "My wedding."

I blink, trying to process what he just said. I finally meet a guy I’m interested in, and he’s getting married. “Your wedding?” The words hang in the air between us.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” He lifts the glass to his lips in a mocking salute.

My eyes go straight to his left hand—no ring, of course. He’s not married yet, but he’s definitely engaged. “And you’re sitting alone at a winery the night before?”