Page 3 of Oops I Fell For The Mountain Man Next Door

I look him square in the eyes, leaving no room for doubt. "I'd rather have everyone mad at me for a year than wake up next to the wrong person for fifty."

Marx runs a hand over the back of his neck and laughs. "That's brutal."

"It's practical," I shrug.

"You don't seem practical." He glances down at my T-shirt, with the words "I make pour decisions" written in purple glitter, a gift from Liv, and I inwardly cringe at not running back to the small cabin behind the winery where I’m staying tonight to change into the mandatory uniform before taking over for Jill.

I lift my chin and hold his gaze. “It was a gift.”

"It has glitter—real, sophisticated." He snorts.

"Get out of my winery," I joke, loving how easy it is to talk to him.

He's smiling now, and I suddenly understand why I noticed him the second he walked through the door. When Marx isn't carrying the weight of his life on his shoulders, he's beautiful—not just handsome. But warm, funny, real, like no one else I’ve ever met.

I wish he weren't getting married tomorrow.

The thought comes so quickly that I hate myself for it. He's engaged, I remind myself—totally off-limits.

If he leaves now, I may never see him again. I hate how much that possibility already hurts.

"Go talk to her." I grab the bottle of wine off the bar, needing something to do with my hands, or I’m afraid I’ll grab onto him and beg him not to leave—if only for a few more minutes before he gets married tomorrow, because I have a feeling our little talk was just that talk. "Tonight," I add, hoping that if he talks to her now, he’ll do the right thing and call off the wedding.

"I know," Marx repeats his favorite catchphrase, and I want to shake some sense into him.

"Don't wait until tomorrow when she's wearing a wedding dress—don’t be that cruel.”

"I won't."

"Promise?" I hold my breath—for some reason, his answer means everything to me.

His gaze holds mine—his eyes searching mine. "I promise," he finally says.

With a nod, I let out a breath. "Good."

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash, and sets it on the counter—it’s far too much.

"That's too much." I push half of it back toward him.

"Consider it a tip.”

"For insulting your life choices?"

"It’s the best advice I've gotten all year." He lifts the wine glass to his lips, drinks down what’s left, then stands and walks toward the door. I tell myself I’m relieved. But to my surprise, he stops and looks back at me. "Lana?" His voice comes out strained.

"Yeah?"

"If I don't get married tomorrow..." Marx steps closer, his attention fixed solely on me.

My pulse skips a beat. "What?" I meet his gaze, waiting for him to finish.

"Nothing." He shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips, then walks out of the winery, possibly out of my life.

I stare at the door, unable to move. My only thoughts before locking up and walking to the small cabin: Will Marx call off the wedding, and why do I care so much?

two

Marx