It’d been years since James had last seen her.

Twelve years, to be exact. Twelve years since she’d left the UK— left him.

It’d been… messy, to say the least. There’d been a lot of tears, a lot of drinking and smoking and reminiscing and moping before he’d been able to pick himself back up again.

He’d decided a trip to Flåm would do him some good, and he liked the place so much, he’d figured he’d just stay in Norway— start fresh and all.

And truthfully? He’d been doing good. Grew a beard, got a job at the local fish farm and got himself a dog.

The last thing he expected was to find her there, sitting at the pub he frequented.