Tammy stayed with me while Pete went to work. I felt horrible for getting him out of bed so early. He only had four hours of sleep, if that.

“What would be the motivation for someone to do this?” I asked, pouring shattered glass into the plastic garbage can.

“I don’t know. It’s so senseless and juvenile,” Tammy muttered.

“Do you think I was targeted?” I wondered.

“I hope not. Are you thinking it was a fan or something like that?” Tammy asked.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one to have that thought. I nodded my head in agreement.

Ryan’s fans were obsessed; I wouldn’t put it past one of them to do something like this. After all, the first day I met him, one of his fans had gone beyond admiration and moved towards assault.

“Well, at least I know that the security system is working. The security company called me within seconds of the alarm going off.”

After we finished cleaning up, I gave Tammy a ride home. We made it four feet outside my building before the paparazzi descended on us and the cameras started to click. There were eight or nine of them and they already knew my name.

I concentrated on the keys in my hand and the cracks in the sidewalk as we hurried to my car. Just like Ryan had warned, they started prompting me with questions.

“How’s Ryan? Are you his girlfriend? Taryn, to your left – look to your left. What was the occasion for the party? What happened to your window?

Are you and Ryan Christensen dating? Taryn, look over here. You’re beautiful – I can see why he likes you.”

I unlocked the car doors and Tammy and I jumped in as fast as we could. The photographers were still taking pictures as I backed out of my parking space.

“Oh my God, Taryn! I’m freaking shaking!” Tammy stuttered as I drove down Mulberry Street. Her hands were trembling.

I was slightly shaken as well, but not as bad as I thought I would be. Maybe because I had mentally prepared myself for this that it didn’t affect me as severely as I had imagined? The thought of Ryan being proud of how I just handled myself with the paparazzi flashed through my thoughts.

I dropped Tammy off at home and returned to my parking spot a block away from my pub. The paparazzi had mostly disbanded, but there were still three of them lingering by my door. I didn’t smile at them or acknowledge their presence; they were blood-sucking leeches in my book.

I locked myself inside and waited for the insurance adjuster to arrive. I thought about calling Ryan but resisted. It didn’t matter; he still called me anyway. I refrained from telling him about the window while he was still on set filming. He needed to focus and I certainly didn’t want to add another piece of stress to his life. I decided to wait to tell him about the window until he was back at his hotel.

After a few phone calls, poker night was cancelled. Everyone seemed fine with staying home, although Tammy and Marie both offered to come stay with me. I thanked them but declined. I was fine playing my guitar by myself.

“Are you still playing poker?” Ryan asked when he called at eight o’clock. I was surprised that he was in a good mood, considering he was on set for almost thirteen hours.

“No, we’re not. Everyone decided to stay home.”

“Everyone still tired?” Ryan asked, slightly chuckling.

“Well, sort of. I didn’t want to tell you earlier while you were filming, but someone hurled a rock through my front window at five o’clock this morning.”

“What?” he bellowed. “Which window – upstairs or downstairs?”

“Downstairs. It was the middle window with the Mitchell’s logo. The whole window shattered into pieces.”

“Are you okay?” I could hear his concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was scared to death when my alarms went off, but the security company called the police right away. So I had the cops here… again,” I sighed. “The officer who came earlier was the same one who took my statement.”

“I should have stayed,” he said.

“It’s okay. I called Pete. He and Tammy came right over. Pete boarded up the window with a couple of sheets of plywood and Tammy helped me sweep up the glass.” I rubbed my eyes and yawned. “I called my insurance company and a glass contractor. The glass will get replaced on Wednesday.”

“Tar, I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” I quickly replied.

“If I would have been there, I could have boarded the window myself,” he said with authority.

As much as I wanted to believe he sincerely meant what he said, I still couldn’t picture him out there at six in the morning boarding up my smashed window. The paparazzi would have had a field day with that scenario. I knew he meant well.