Page 6 of Oops I Fell For The Mountain Man Next Door

"You were supposed to get married tomorrow." Lana lifts her chin and holds my gaze.

"Not anymore."

"This is insane." She throws her hands up and shakes her head.

"Completely."

She looks back into her cabin—then at me. "Where would we go?"

"I don't know." I let out a slow breath—she’s actually considering running away with me.

"This is a terrible idea. You know that, right?"

"Actually, it’s one of the best ideas I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, and I swear it’s the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. "Give me ten minutes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. Now let me pack a bag before I change my mind." She disappears inside, leaving me standing on her porch at two in the morning, newly single, professionally doomed, and probably about to become the center of the biggest scandal of my life—yet somehow I'm smiling.

three

Lana

By sunrise, we’re two towns away, eating pancakes at a diner where no one knows Marx was supposed to get married today.

At noon, he buys jeans, boots, and three flannel shirts. Wearing a designer suit doesn’t make sense because that was all he packed for his wedding.

When he steps out of the fitting room wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt, I forget to breathe for a moment. The way he looks in denim and flannel should be a sin.

He catches me staring. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine.” I feel my cheeks heat up at being caught.

"You're staring." He teases.

"I am not." I suddenly become very interested in the men’s underwear on the table next to me.

"You absolutely are." He steps closer, takes the leopard-print men’s underwear from my hand, and places it back on the table. “Definitely not my style.”

"You’re insufferable.”

He steps closer, slides a finger under my chin, and tilts my head toward him. "Do you like my outfit?"

"It’s acceptable."

"Liar," he smirks.

I turn away so he won’t see me blush. This is supposed to be friendship—an escape. Nothing more. He's only been single for less than twelve hours. I'm not going to be his rebound. I repeat it several times, praying I'll start to believe it.

Rebound relationships are the worst. Not that I know firsthand. But I don’t want to be the woman he only fondly remembers as the one who helped him forget his fiancée while he grows old with the woman he later falls in love with.

After our shopping adventure, we drive into the mountains and, by evening, find a small rental cabin—one bedroom, of course.

One bed is a practical problem—sharing it with Marx is a whole other issue.

"This is a problem," I point out the obvious.