The ripple from the Marie Claire cover began to spread through the 24 hours set; in the days since it hit newsstands, subtle shifts sprouted in every corner.
When Landon picked up Zoey on Monday, the young assistant's excitement nearly spilled out of the car. "Boss, you looked amazing—you're going to blow up!"
Her enthusiasm was sincere and contagious, but the shy glint in her eyes made Landon instinctively look away.
The change inside the crew was even more obvious.
If the Delmont commercial had tagged him "that guy from the ad," the Marie Claire cover now handed him an invisible pass.
People's glances carried more calculation, more curiosity, and a trace of envy—maybe even jealousy—that Landon could sense.
Wednesday afternoon, a small incident made the new reality hit home.
Three female crew members—Emily the script supervisor's assistant, Kate from wardrobe, and Lena the make-up intern—approached Landon in the lounge, faces flushed, each clutching that issue of Marie Claire.
"Landon, could you sign this?" Emily's voice was barely a whisper.
It was the first time anyone had asked for his autograph at work.
He hesitated a second, then took the pen and signed across the title page.
As the tip slid across the glossy paper he felt a surreal jolt—months earlier he'd been a nobody at auditions; now someone wanted his name.
"Could you write 'To Emily'?" the girl added softly.
Landon did. Three signatures, three names, three hushed thank-yous.
The ritual was quick, but it felt like a ceremony inducting him into a new tier.
Vanity? Perhaps.
Kiefer Sutherland's congratulations were pragmatic as ever: "Nice shots. Well done."
Dennis Haysbert teased, "Wow, Landon—someone's been working out?"
Sarah and Leslie offered warm, genuine good wishes.
The younger actresses, however, reacted with far more heat—and complication.
Mia Kirshner would finish her scenes this week and leave the show, urgency making her pursuit almost blunt.
Whenever she had a break she hovered near Landon, the conversation sliding from acting technique into personal territory.
Tuesday afternoon, after a scene, Mia leaned in while no one was close and murmured:
"Landon, you've already turned me down twice." Her breath brushed his ear. "You can't reject a girl a third time."
He turned and saw a strange light in her eyes—hunger, resolve, something dangerous he couldn't read.
A headache brewed. Should he accept one date, then make it clear he already had a girlfriend? Save face for her and draw the line?
Elisha Cuthbert's admiration was simpler but just as intense.
Whenever she wasn't needed on set she found excuses to linger, asking acting questions or simply sitting nearby while he ran lines.
Her gaze was clear, her worship undisguised, and Landon had no idea how to handle it.
Time marched under the grind of shooting.
Thursday morning Tracy flew Rachel to New York for a TV audition.
After dropping them at LAX and watching them vanish past security, Landon felt life lose a piece of itself.
The Sherman Oaks house, used to three voices, suddenly felt cavernous.
"How long will they be gone?" Zoey asked in the car.
"Three days," Landon said, watching Los Angeles slide past the window. "Rachel reads Friday, and Tracy's meeting some East-Coast producers."
Today was Mia's last day on set.
At five p.m. her final shot wrapped; the usual applause rippled across the set.
Tears glimmered in Mia's eyes as she thanked everyone, her gaze finally settling—long and hard—on Landon.
That night at eight the main cast gathered at a bar near set.
Kiefer, Dennis, Sarah, Leslie—all showed up.
To Landon's surprise, Elisha appeared too, though she hadn't been scheduled to shoot.
"I wanted to see Mia off," she explained, sweet smile in place. "We've had fun on set."
Landon blinked. Were they really on good terms?
Yet all evening Mia and Elisha shared a subtle truce, no longer vying for his attention but moving in surprising harmony.
They flanked him, left and right, forming a gentle siege.
"To Mia!" Kiefer raised his glass. "Good luck on the next gig."
Glasses clinked. Landon drank beer, but Mia and Elisha toasted him in rotation:
"To our amazing scene work!"
"To the Marie Claire cover boy!"
"To Hollywood's next big thing!"
"To… the moon tonight!"
That last one made him laugh.
A moon did hang outside, but on neon-soaked Sunset Boulevard it was only a blurry backdrop.
Night deepened; lazy jazz played, alcohol warmed the room and blurred the edges of reason.
A pleasant buzz settled over Landon.
Dennis regaled them with old theatre stories, Sarah dished on casting-director quirks, Leslie talked balancing family and work.
The tales made Landon feel accepted into the fold.
Meanwhile he couldn't ignore the warmth and perfume drifting from either side.
Mia's hand occasionally brushed his arm; Elisha leaned in when she laughed.
The touches were small, constant, slowly dissolving his guard like frogs in warming water.
He noticed both women could hold their liquor.
Alcohol sharpened his senses even as it fuzzed his judgment.
Around eleven the exodus began.
Kiefer stood first: "Early call—eight a.m."
Dennis clapped Landon's shoulder on his way out: "Enjoy the night, kid, but stay sharp."
Sarah passed with a knowing look.
Last was Leslie; she glanced at the two young women bracketing him, started to speak, shook her head instead and waved goodbye.
The bar fell quiet.
Under soft lights the three of them—Landon, Mia, Elisha—formed a private universe.
Mia ordered three shots of tequila, sliding one to each of them.
"Last round," she lifted her glass, eyes sparkling in the dim light, "to a night worth remembering."
Elisha raised hers, cheeks flushed prettily: "To… all the beautiful possibilities."