Colby filled the entire doorway. She should have been surprised, but really, she was annoyed she didn’t expect it. Like he was just going to knock.

Mia paused her movie. The Bodyguard. What shitty timing. This was the perfect part, where Kevin Costner held Whitney Huston to his chest. If Colby barged in during her first viewing, he’d have caught her singing along to the soundtrack.

“Go away.” She turned back to her paused movie, finger on the play button, ready for his departure.

“We have to talk.”

“We did that already. Go away.” Mia snuggled further into the down comforter and eyed the mess of balled-up, tear-soaked tissues heaped on the floor. How embarrassing. Couldn’t he just leave? “I didn’t call you to invite you over.”

“I don’t care.”

“Glad to see we’re back to snippy sentences. Just like how it started, and how it should have stayed.” She picked up the spoon in the container of ice cream and took a huge bite, tasting both peanut butter and chocolate chunks. Double score. At least some things worked out. “I’ve got plans, and I don’t want you here.”

“With who? Ben and Jerry?”

“Watch yourself, Winters. You have no right to judge.”

“Don’t call me Winters. Can I sit down?”

“No, you can leave.”

He moved closer to the couch, as if considering how to wrangle a wild beast. “Why’d you call me?”

“Well, it wasn’t to invite you over.” Why did she call him anyway? She had no purpose, no plan with her phone call. Thank God he went all alpha-bossy on her, because she had an excuse to hang up.

“I can see that.” He sat on the far end of the couch, placing the empty box of chocolates on the coffee table. She should have addressed her heavy heart before it exploded into a calorie bonanza. She should have cried it out two weeks ago and moved on. But she didn’t, and here he was. She hated him and hated herself for loving that he was within reach.

“I’m leaving.” She tried to swallow away the tears and did a valiant job at holding them at bay. Accepting that already-made decision was what started her downward spiral to the fabulous party-of-one she was throwing herself this morning. “I’m moving. I rented my house out to a newlywed couple. I’m gone in a week. New job. New state. New life.”

Winters’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Why would you?”

“I don’t want to live in a house that was ransacked by a Colombian cartel. I came home from hell and walked into a disaster.”

“Mia, doll—”

“Don’t doll me, Winters.”

“Please call me Colby.” He growled through closed teeth, losing all the effect of his polite request.

“No. You aren’t in a position to make requests. Deal with it.”

“I’m so sick of people telling me to deal with it.”