“Get in,” she said, quickly closing the door behind him, then turning to face her unwanted visitor. “What the hell do you want?”

He held his hands up in supplication, then spoke. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you expected to see—wanted to see—but I have to talk to you. Please?”

He adopted the puppy-dog look he’d long-since perfected. Katrina sighed.

“You’ve got five minutes. Sit down.”

They moved over to the sitting area, and Katrina deliberately sat in the chair, so Tom couldn’t sit next to her. Settling onto the end of the sofa nearest to her, he clasped his hands together, presumably to summon his courage, and began.

“Kat, I’m here to say I’m sorry, all right? I was wrong, so wrong, to finish with you the way I did and go off with Alicia.”

“She’s dumped you, has she?” Katrina clenched her teeth, and felt the rage beginning to build inside her. If Tom thought he could come running back to her because his bimbo had ditched him, then he had another think coming.

“No,” he said firmly, and, she suspected, honestly. “I finished with her, actually. When I realized that I wasn’t happy with her. She never made me feel the way you do, Kat. Not once. And I know, I know it’s my fault. I wanted something… different from what we had, or at least I thought I did. I couldn’t help thinking at the time that what we did was wrong, was weird. Abnormal, even. So when Alicia started flirting with me at work, I started thinking perhaps I should try for something normal. Like everybody else out there.”

He was literally the last person she’d expected to see standing at her door. Prince William or George Clooney would have been less of a shock.

For there, outside her house, stood the man that had broken her heart several months ago. Thomas Black. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since, and now, totally out of the blue, he’d turned up.

Katrina contemplated ignoring him, going back to her show and pretending she wasn’t in. But apparently that wasn’t an option.

“I know you’re there, Katrina,” he yelled through the letterbox, “your car is on the drive, and I can see the glow of the telly through the curtains.”

Katrina decided it was time to get thicker curtains. Not wanting to cause a scene, which her nosey neighbors would no doubt adore, she moved to the front door, unlocked it and flung it open.

Katrina was halfway through an episode of her favorite drama series when her doorbell rang. She jumped, gasping as her heart lurched painfully, then pressed ‘pause’ on the remote control. Wincing slightly as she unfolded her legs from beneath her bottom—she’d been watching the program back-to-back for a couple of hours and she was stiff—she moved to the window and peered out through a gap in the curtains, careful not to let the mystery visitor see her, should she need to ignore them. Cold callers were common in her area, and drove her crazy. If she wanted to buy something, she’d contact them, not the other way around.

As it happened, it wasn’t a salesperson. She ducked back from the window, clenched her hands into fists.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”