Page 336 of Wild Card 13

“Potential.”

“You wound me.”

“You’ll recover.”

“I might need assistance.”

Lucy laughed again, and I stood with her in my arms because I could, because she trusted me, because she wrapped herself around me like being carried through the house by a man in love was not embarrassing if the man was me.

“Ty,” she snickered.

“What?”

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Probably.”

“Dottie is watching.”

“Dottie does not pay the mortgage.”

“She lives here now.”

“So do you.”

I carried her into the bedroom while the rain kept falling and the fire glowed behind us and Dottie snored in the living room like she had personally approved the whole thing.

Lucy’s overnight bag was still by the door.

Her books were on my table.

Her sketch pad was in my kitchen.

Her dog was on my rug.

And Lucy was in my arms, laughing when I nearly bumped my shoulder against the bedroom doorway because apparently I was not as smooth as either of us had been led to believe.

“Professional athlete,” she said, giggling.

“Low ceiling.”

“It is a standard doorway.”

She was still giggling when I laid her on the bed.

I followed her down, and she caught my face between her hands, smiling up at me with rain-soft hair spread across my pillow and forever written all over her face.

“Welcome home, Shortcake,” I said.

Her smile trembled. Then she pulled me down to her.

And this time, when the rest of the world fell away, I did not feel like I was losing anything. I felt like we had finally, finally arrived.

EPILOGUE