Page 39 of Wild Card

But maybe, just sometimes, Lady Luck liked being a romantic sap—especially when souls were meant to be together. When spirits were meant to love. When hearts were meant to be transformed.

As soon as Sam let her breathe again, she used the opportunity to speak the truth from such a heart: the one threatening to thud its way right out of her chest. “I love you, Sam.”

His dimples became craters from his answering smile. “As I love you, my little hen.”

A delighted laugh bubbled up. The endearment was a Scottish thing, used pretty casually in his country, though he’d never said it over here. With his utterance now, he conveyed a message that made her eyes sting all over again.

He was home.

She was going to make sure he felt that way, each and every day. He was her gift, and she’d never stop being grateful for it—which meant no more looking in the mirror and seeing everything she wasn’t. She owed it to Sam—who’d showed her that she owed it to herself—to believe in everything she was. To have faith in everything she would be, too.

She was more because of him.

She’d be more because of him.

As she framed his face with her hands and looked deeply into his eyes, she also saw the more she’d given back to him. The new peace in his eyes. The new strength in his smile. He dazzled her now more than ever—and knowing she was the reason just made this moment even more of a miracle.

Even the sarcastic snort on the air, courtesy of Lola, didn’t fade her shine. “Hen?” the woman spat. “What the hell happened to ‘mouse’?”

Jen precluded her reply with a laugh drenched in joy, resounding with love. “She gambled on a wild card.”

And won.

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