She stopped, startled, and it happened again.

Oh God. The restaurant owner. He must have called them.

Ben put his arm around her.

“Let’s get you to the car.”

She couldn’t move. The photographer was still in front of her.

“Ben. Ben, I . . .”

He started walking and gently pulled her forward.

“Remember what you told me. Put that smile on your face. You can do this. The car is right down the street.”

Her heart was beating so fast. She felt woozy, like she was going to faint. She couldn’t do this.

But she had no other option. She couldn’t turn around, so she had to go forward. So she walked on, Ben’s arm around her. She smiled; at least she tried to. She could feel her heartbeat in her hands, her head, her feet, she couldn’t breathe, but she walked until they got to her car, holding on to Ben, the photographer ahead of her the whole way, with that smile on his face that showed he knew how much she hated this.

Ben opened the passenger door for her, and she collapsed inside. Thank God he had the keys; her hands were shaking too much to have even opened the door. He got in the car and pulled away seconds later.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m with you,” he said.

She barely heard him. What if someone was behind them? She had to keep smiling, keep looking calm, just in case, in case . . .

“No one is following us,” Ben said. “I’m watching for that. Don’t worry.” He reached over and took her hand. “Breathe.”

She gripped his hand, but she could only take shallow breaths.

“I can’t . . . it isn’t . . .”

Ben gripped her hand.

“Shit. Okay. I’ll . . . shit. What can I do to help? Do you want me to pull over?”

She shook her head.

“Home. Just get me home,” she managed to say.

“Okay,” he said. “I can do that.”

She tried to breathe slower, to count her breaths, but she still just felt like she was gasping for air.

She’d gotten through this before. She could do it again. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the pressure of his hand.

“Can you . . . can you talk to me? Just . . . anything.”

He squeezed her hand.

“Talking, that’s something I’m good at. Okay—do you want to hear the story of how Theo and Maddie got together?”

He didn’t wait for her to say yes, thank goodness.

She held his hand tightly, tried to breathe, rolled down the window so she could feel the air against her face, tried to breathe, listened to the warm, easygoing sound of his voice say something about a hospital and forgotten sweatpants and pizza and a locked closet door, and she slowly stopped feeling like she was gasping for breath. By the time they pulled into her driveway, her pulse felt almost normal.

As soon as they were inside her house, she turned to Ben. His arms were already reaching for her.

He pulled her close, and she held on to him as hard as she could. His tight embrace was just what she needed, just what she’d craved during that whole terrible drive home. It was so good to have his arms around her, to feel his heart beating along with hers, to have his slow, even breath to follow. She felt limp, exhausted, like she could fall asleep in his arms standing right here. But being with him, like this, made her feel better, like she would be okay, like he’d said to her in the car, like she hadn’t been until this moment.

And then the tears came. Slowly at first, just trickling out of her eyes, and then as his hands rubbed up and down her back, she let herself sob into his chest.

Ben kissed her wet cheeks and then led her to her favorite couch in the den.

“Hey,” he said as he sat down and pulled her back into his arms. “Is now a good time for me to tell you all the ways I fantasized about punching that photographer in the face and running over his camera with the car? Or do you want to wait to hear that later?”

She laughed as he wiped her tears with the bottom of his shirt. Oh God, she must look like such a mess.

“Maybe later,” she said. “We can trade fantasies.”

And then she started crying again.

“I’m just so ashamed,” she said. “I thought I was better. That I was okay now! That I wouldn’t freak out like this again. But one flashbulb and it was all the same.”

He rubbed her back in slow circles.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

She should have known he would say that. It was nice to hear, but it didn’t change anything.

“Hey.” He pulled back from her until she looked up at him. “Look, I know when I was growing up people talked like there was something wrong with you if you needed therapy. Some people still talk like that. But you and I both know that’s not true. Don’t we?”

She knew where he was going with this.

“Yes, fine, but that’s not—”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “just recently, someone really smart told me that life is a constant work in progress. You’re still working on all of this. That’s okay.”

She tried to glare at him but couldn’t help but smile.

“There is nothing I hate more than people throwing my own words back in my face.”

He brushed more tears away with his thumbs.

“I thought you might feel that way.”

She sighed and sat back against the couch.

“It just feels like . . . like I should have gotten over this by now. It’s part of my life—it’s part of the job! I’ve known this for a long time; it shouldn’t bother me anymore. It doesn’t do this to other people. Why can’t I be stronger?”

Ben pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and tucked it around her.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with how strong you are. We all need help sometimes. Lots of times. And some things are hard for everyone. That other actress you sat next to at the Lakers game—wasn’t she saying she gets really stressed at premieres?”

She hadn’t realized he’d heard that part of their conversation. But still.

“Also, I just feel so stupid—I should have been on higher alert today; I should have guessed that restaurant guy would call them when I showed up to see Penny. What perfect free advertisement for him. But—”

“That’s why the photographer was there?” Ben asked. He started to stand up, then shook his head and sat back down. “You know what? I’m sure Penny will deal with him.”