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The name made sense.
“Mr. and Mrs. Luxe hired us to host theCelebrity Bake or Bust,” the man explained.
Harper’s gaze moved between the couple. “It’s nice to see you both again.”
Again?
Harper cocked her head to the side and stared at Damien. “This coat is very shiny. Shiny coats work for you.”
Cue the hallucinations.
“What my wife means is that it’s nice to meet you, for the first time,” he said, swooping in as Donna and Damien exchanged a nervous glance.
What could they be nervous about?
If anyone should be nervous, it was the team with the penis-shaped cookies.
Damien cleared his throat. “We wanted to say hello,” the man continued, “and let you know the singing granny choir is excited to meet y’all and sample the cookies.”
“Yours are…unique,” Donna added when a man in a Bake or Bust T-shirt entered the room.
“Mr. and Mrs. Diamond, the choir is in position. They’re ready for you on the stage. And Mr. and Mrs. Paige, we’re ready for you as well.”
A warmth engulfed his hand. He looked down to find Harper’s delicate fingers laced with his.
The dreamy expression on her face put him at ease. Maybe getting your ass handed to you in a cookie baking competition was better done while experiencing the effects of copious amounts of shroom-spiked candies.
He tightened his grip, and hand in hand, they followed the PA as the low murmur of voices drifted toward them. They turned a corner, and a stage came into view. This wasn’t a grand concert hall. The community center’s setup resembled a high school’s auditorium, but the place was packed. Cameras lined the periphery, and the lights brightened as Donna and Damien took the stage. The pair greeted the audience and introduced the choir.
He released a slow breath. They had some time to kill.
He scanned the seats and found Schuman in the front row.
The man blotted his cheek with a handkerchief, then stuffed it into his pocket as he gazed at the choir.
Had he shed a tear over their cookie catastrophe, or was something else making the man emotional?
The guy had a connection to this group. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. But he didn’t have time to ponder the inner workings of their baking coach.
“Let’s welcome Heartthrob Warfare’s platinum bestselling artist, Landon Paige, and his wife, musician Harper Presley.”
The PA pointed to them. “That’s your cue. Go to the table with your nameplate.”
“Harper, are you ready?” he asked as applause echoed through the space.
She looked up at him as fear welled in her gaze. “I’m scared.”
Did she suffer from stage fright, or was her altered state throwing her off?
She had told him she hadn’t performed since Vance broke her heart.
“You’re not alone. I’m right here. We can do this together,” he said and squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back with the strength of a gladiator as they walked onto the stage. But as quickly as she clutched his hand, her death grip loosened. “I remember this. I forgot how much I loved feeling the warmth on my face,” she whispered, gazing up at the constellation of lighting fixtures as he led her to their table.
Panic rippled through his chest. He could not have her conversing with the spotlight.
“Focus on your quiet cardigan,” he offered through a forced grin, waving to the audience and members of the choir.
