“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.

“I still would have had to call Pete. I don’t have any plywood lying around. Pete is working on his house - I knew he had a few sheets on hand.”

“I’ve got to call Pete and thank him. He’s a good man and a good friend.”

I was pleased that Ryan said that. It made me happy that he considered Pete his friend too.

“Did you pay him for the plywood?” Ryan asked.

“No. Shoot. I didn’t even think to offer. Now I feel bad. It was so early when it happened and I wasn’t thinking. But I will, now that you mentioned it.”

“No. I’ll take care of it. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Why would you do that? It was my window that was smashed.”

“Taryn, just let me do this. I’m a little mad that you didn’t tell me earlier.”

I sighed. “I didn’t tell you because you need to stay focused while you’re working. Besides, I figured you had enough on your plate dealing with Suzanne. I could just tell in your voice when you called earlier that she was giving you a hard time.”

“She was,” he chuckled. “Fortunately she can be quite professional when the cameras are rolling.”

“Did you say anything to her about yesterday?” I asked, wondering if he confronted her.

“No,” he admitted. “Tar, I didn’t want to start anything. I hope you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m perfectly fine with it actually. It’s not worth the tension.”

“That’s what I thought. Besides, you know how I feel about you,” he whispered.

I smiled. “Yeah, I suppose I do!”

“Speaking of which… what are you up to?”

“I’m just sitting here playing my guitar and listening to music,” I said as I played a few chords.

“Want some company?” Ryan asked.

“Race you to the back door?” I joked. He never even said goodbye. I heard a faint click when he hung up on me.

I waited by the back door for him. The Lexington Hotel was only three blocks away. I smiled when I saw him finally turn the corner.

“Phew,” he sighed. “I’m out of shape!” His breathing was slightly labored from jogging. “I had to take the long way because the paparazzi are camped out by the hotel.”

“Which way did you go?” I asked.

“I snuck out the door by the swimming pool and went down the boardwalk a block. I told one of the hotel workers that I wanted to go for a jog, so he gave me a key to get back through the door to the indoor pool.” He grinned, showing me the key. “Only cost me one autographed poster!”

I laughed at him. “I wondered what took you so long.”

“Hug me, I’m all sweaty,” Ryan joked, wrapping his arms around me.

Ryan tossed his jacket onto the living room chair and immediately picked up my guitar. “So, what were you playing?” he asked.

“Nothing really,” I admitted.

He started to play a little bluesy tune. “I miss my guitar. I wish I had it with me, but I had it sent to my mom and dad’s after the last press tour. I’m always afraid it’s going to get damaged or stolen.”

“Why don’t you have you parents send it out here?” I shrugged.

“I thought about it but it can stay with the rest of my stuff. All my worldly possessions are in boxes in my parent’s basement.”

“I remember you telling me that you used to have an apartment out in L.A. So you don’t have a place there anymore?” I asked.

“No. I packed up all my stuff before I started filming the first Seaside. I figured I’d be on location for seven-eight months… between filming Seaside and then Reparation right after that, what was the point to keep it all there. Besides, I have no desire to live in California anymore. I was planning on moving back to the East Coast anyway,” he stated. “I told you that, didn’t I?”

I was glad to hear him say that he wanted to live on this side of the country again.

“Yeah, you did.” I nodded.

“Hey, isn’t there supposed to be a music store around here somewhere? One of the PAs said they saw a sign on one of the buildings nearby.”

“There used to be, but it has been closed for a while now. There’s a big music store about thirty minutes away though. Why? You want to go there sometime?”

“I was thinking I’d just buy a new guitar,” he said casually. “One of these days if I can ever get there.” He grinned. “Or I can just steal this one from you.” He strummed my guitar with more force. “It has a great sound.”

“I have a better idea - why don’t we just keep it here where it is safe and you can visit it whenever you’d like. How does that sound?” I joked.

He wrinkled his nose at me.

“So, what’s a PA?” I asked.