Release Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway: When We Meet Again By Hayden Hall

Rafael owns my heart.

He stole it with the first clumsy bump in a Parisian bookstore, and I never asked him to return it.

He gifted me a night to remember, a night that shaped the person I would become. And then, I lost him. I lost every trace that could have helped me find him. Until fate meddled again and put Rafael and me on the same cross-European train through the Alps.

But if I hoped that some divine hand guided us to one another, I was terribly mistaken.

Our second encounter sparked a decade of failed attempts and missed chances. For years, I yearned to be with him, and for years, something took him away. Our lives are so intertwined that we will never be free of one another. And yet, each time I see him, my dream of a happy ending fades a little more.

Is stealing moments with Rafael enough to live on? Can I survive on glimmers of hope? I don’t think so.

It’s time to take our happy ending away from fate’s hands. It’s time to break this cursed cycle once and for all.

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Excerpt:
“Ah!” I jumped back, bumping into the stranger with my right side as I protected my left against an avalanche of books that tumbled out of my hold. “Excusez-moi,” the stranger said hurriedly. “Je suis désolé.” “I’m so sorry,” I blurted, moving away from the person I had just leaned against. As I stepped away from him, my heel landed on one of my hardbacks, and I tripped backward, yelping in panic until a pair of strong arms grabbed me. “You speak English,” the stranger stated in a native-like accent. “God, I apologize. I only meant to get that book for you. I didn’t want to scare you.” His arms were still around my torso, and my legs were numb as the adrenaline wore off. With his help, I straightened a little and stood on my two feet. It was only when I was safely upright and the other guy backed one pace from me that I realized several things. Firstly, the pine cone and sea breeze scent I had been following throughout the bookstore belonged to him. Secondly, he was not French. And thirdly, he was the best-looking person I had ever seen in my life. From the stylishly cropped, nearly black hair to his big, dark eyes to the perfect nose and defined lips, this person was crafted by angels in heaven. With strong eyebrows that matched his hair and ears pierced twice each, not to mention the fact that he was taller by a couple of inches, the stranger had the good looks that intimidated me more than anything else. It took me a moment to process the fact that he was smiling, eyes wide and pupils dilated in the dimness of the loft, his body language open and a little awkward. “Let me help you with that,” he offered in my stunned silence. Bending down, he began picking my books one by one, handing them to me while crouching, and later kneeling, by the pile. When he finished, he held my copy of Le Père Goriot instead of adding it to my armful. “Ah, I remember this one. Such a frustrating read.” I resisted narrowing my eyes at him, but I strongly disagreed. In fact, I could do very little between holding the books and fighting the urge to moon over him like a frog-eyed, smitten boy. He must have noticed me bristling at his unsolicited review of De Balzac’s classic novel. With another toothy smile, the heartthrob wiped away whatever sting his comment had left. “I only mean that those daughters needed a good spanking.” He surrendered the hardcover over to my pile. “That’s a lot of books.” “It’s my birthday.” I blinked and imagined that explained everything. The angel-faced book critic arched his eyebrows. “Is it? Happy birthday.” He had a soft way of speaking as if every word was precious and worth saying. “This is your birthday gift to yourself, then?” “Sort of,” I replied. His eyes narrowed in thought. “It’s a very deep collection. Don’t you want to have fun while reading?” Now he was just getting on my nerves. He might be heart-stoppingly handsome, but I wouldn’t stand for rudeness. “I have lots of fun.”