He wasn't able to make the first date they had picked, and the second date was even more impossible on account of the short notice. These two facts had led him to catch the first available flight out from John F. Kennedy Airport the minute the university had broken up for spring break.

It was the most impulsive thing he had done in years.

Lisa hadn't really understood. He hadn't expected her to—not really. He had presented her with his plan whilst she was busy loading the washing into the machine. He had planned it that way—catch her when she was busy and hope she didn't ask too many questions.

"I'm going to head back to the UK for a bit," he had said. "I just need to catch up with some people," he added as a form of justification. He had kept his voice lighthearted, as if it were nothing, hoping it would sound like he was merely taking a trip to the shop to buy milk.

"Wait till the summer, Harry, we can come with you," she had replied. "It can't be that urgent."

"No, I need to do it now. It can't wait."

She had seemed to relent at that point and turned back to the washing machine.

Now, as he sat back in the airplane seat, his mind began to race again. What did he think he was going to do? It was too late to make a difference—was that really what he wanted anyway? This whole thing was a crazy idea. The plane hadn't begun to taxi yet. Maybe he should just get off now and pretend this had never happened.

What would she even say when he turned up at their doorstep? It had been four years since he had stepped foot in his home country, several more since he had left for America, leaving her behind.

Four years ago had been his mother's funeral. She had been there, and they had talked briefly, skirting around any topic that could have been perceived as controversial. Looking back, he knew that she had been aware of his emotions regarding his mother—she had known how close they had been toward the end. She wouldn't have wanted to pile anything else onto him at that moment. He was grateful to her for that.

Their doorstep… their. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Time had certainly moved on.

Perhaps that was what unsettled him the most—how easily life had reshaped itself without him in it. Once, their doorstep had felt like something that belonged to him and Nikki, a place he could return to. He hadn't lived with her, not properly, but for a short time—when his flat had flooded—it had almost felt that way. He could still picture those nights, the way they moved around each other in her space without thinking, reaching for the kettle at the same time, brushing past one another in the narrow hallway, conversations flowing as effortlessly as their footsteps. They had fit together without trying.

And now… now, it was someone else's doorstep.

It wasn't as though he disliked Jack. He didn't. When Nikki had brought him to visit, he and Jack had got on well enough. And Harry could see it—how they fit, how they worked. Jack was steady, reliable, solid in a way that Harry had never quite managed to be. He knew that. He had always been the one moving, shifting, unable to stay still. And Nikki… well, she had made her choice.

Just as he had made his.

Harry had Lisa now. Nikki had Jack. That was how life had unfolded, the paths they had taken. He didn't regret his. He loved Lisa—she was nothing like Nikki, and that was part of what had drawn him to her in the first place. Lisa was grounded, stable, happy to stay at home, to build a life around their children. She was his safe place, and he loved her for that.

And yet.

There would always be a part of him that belonged to Nikki, whether he liked it or not. A piece of himself that had never fully let go, even after all these years.

Maybe that was why he was here now.

Maybe that was why it couldn't wait.