Exclusive Excerpt: Some Loves Happen Twice in a Blue Moon

First loves are filled with intense, beautiful passion, yet they seldom last. We know this story all too well, and 18-year-old Tate Jones learned this the hard way too.

Sam Brandis was tall, handsome, and entirely perfect. Once Tate laid eye on him in London while on a trip with her grandmother, it was all over for her—she fell in love at first sight. Tragically, their whirlwind romance ended as abruptly as it began when Tate’s biggest secret was revealed to the world and she realized she may have put too much trust in Sam.

Flash-forward fourteen years: Sam only ever crosses Tate’s mind once in a blue moon. All the firsts that once meant so much are now merely a memory.

But what happens when Tate and Sam are given a second chance? Can first heartbreaks be reconciled? Or has their time passed them by?

Read an exclusive excerpt of Twice in a Blue Moon by Christina Lauren to relive that wild, heart-throbbing, stomach-twisting kind of love that only comes around once in a lifetime—or so you think…

After a surreal walk across Westminster Bridge and past the towering Big Ben—I could actually feel the chimes through the center of my chest—we ducked into the darkness of a small pub called The Red Lion. Inside, it smelled of stale beer, old grease, and leather. Nana peeked in her purse, making sure she’d converted enough cash for dinner.

A few figures lurked near the bar, yelling at the television, but the only other people there for a meal at five in the evening were a couple of guys seated near the window.

When Nana spoke—strong voice, clear American accent saying, “A table for two, please. Near the window.”—the older of the two men stood abruptly, sending the table screeching toward his companion.

“Across the pond as well?” he called out. He was around Nana’s age, tall and broad, black with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache. “We just ordered. Please, come join us.”

Nana’s dread over having to socialize with anyone tonight was apparent; it settled across her shoulders in a gentle curve.

She waved away the host, taking the menus from his hand and leading us both to their table by the window. “Luther Hill.” The older man stretched out his hand to Nana. “This is my grandson, Sam Brandis.”

Nana gingerly shook his hand. “I’m Jude. This is my granddaughter, Tate.”

Luther moved to shake my hand next, but I was hardly paying attention. Sam stood at his side, and just looking at him sent an earthquake rattling down my spine, the way the chimes of Big Ben had reverberated along my bones earlier. If Luther was tall, Sam was a redwood, a skyscraper, wide as a road.

He ducked a little to pull my attention from the expanse of his chest, giving me a smile that I imagined must be cultivated to reassure people that he wasn’t going to break their hand when he shook it.

He pressed his palm to mine and squeezed, carefully. “Hi, Tate.”

He was gorgeous, but just imperfect enough to seem . . . perfect. His nose had been broken at some point, and healed with a small bump near the bridge. He had a scar through one of his eyebrows and one on his chin—a tiny, indented comma below his lip. But there was something about the shadow he cast, the solid weight of him, and the way he came together—his soft brown hair, wide-set green-brown eyes, and full, smooth mouth—that made my pulse seem to echo in my throat. I felt like I could stare and stare at his face for the rest of the night and still find something new in the morning.

“Hi, Sam.”

Nana’s chair screeched dissonantly across the wooden floor, and I snapped my gaze to where Luther was helping her into her seat. Only two weeks prior, I had ended a three-year relationship with Jesse—the only boy in Guerneville I’d ever considered worthy of affection. Boys were the last thing on my mind.

Weren’t they?