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“You must be Harper,” Mitzi said, eyeing the T-shirt. “I’m Mitzi Jones, Landon’s manager. Sorry I couldn’t greet you back at the car.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Harper replied, releasing his hand, and instantly, he missed her touch.
“We’re to blame,” the young woman said, gifting them with a warm smile. “I’m Bridget Dasher.”
The man with her cleared his throat, then the pair shared a spirited look.
“I’m Bridget Dasher Traeger Rudolph. It’s a mouthful,” she added, sharing another coy look with her companion.
“It’s the baggage she inherited when she married me,” the man said with the ghost of a grin as he shook their hands. “I’m Soren Traeger-Rudolph. We’re here representing Cupid Bakery. My wife is the CEO. We flew in from Boston earlier today.”
That didn’t answer much.
“What brings you to Colorado?” he asked.
“You, Mr. Paige,” the woman replied, dialing up her grin. “But before we go on, I must say that I’m thrilled to meet you. I had a Heartthrob Warfare poster in my room when I was a teenager.” She gasped as a blush graced her cheeks. “I probably sound ridiculous.”
Was this an A-list meet and greet?
He threw Mitzi a what-the-hell look. These two Cupid Bakery people seemed normal, but there was no telling if they were the type to bust out a cross-stitch pillow with his face on it.
“You don’t sound ridiculous at all. I have one, too,” Harper offered.
Stop the presses! Harper has a poster of him—like, present tense?
He caught her eye, and she froze.
“What I meant to say was that Ihadone…when I was younger, of course,” she blathered.
He threw another glance her way. Her cheeks were back to blooming an irresistible shade of pink.
She was a full-on poster-owning Heartthrob Warfare fan.
“Sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners,” Mitzi said. “Soren and Bridget, you know Landon Paige. This is his new wife, Harper Presley.”
“We know,” Soren replied.
“We’ve been glued to social media. Your wedding was…” Bridget began, then tapped her chin.
Oh shit.
Harper inhaled a sharp breath.
“So beautiful,” the baker CEO finished.
“Beautiful?” Harper echoed, relief coating the word.
“The way you looked at each other and the excitement of the ballerinas and the gladiators. It was so unique and a pure joy to watch.”
It had been pure joy to live through.
Jesus, get it together.
“And you’re still wearing the shirt,” the woman gushed, then turned to Mitzi. “Mr. and Mrs. Luxe were right. Your client and his wife are excellent candidates for this project. I can feel it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Luxe.
“Are you talking about the owners of the Luxe Grandiose?” he asked. Maybe this wasn’t an A-list fan meet and greet.
