The Good Luck Charm


By Helena Hunting

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Treat yourself to an “outrageously sexy” (Entertainment Weekly), “fabulously fun” (Jill Shalvis) second-chance romance from the New York Times bestselling queen of hockey romance!

Lilah isn’t sure what hurt worse: the day Ethan left her to focus on his hockey career or the day he came back eight years later. He might think they can pick up just where they left off, but she’s no longer that same girl and never wants to be again.

Ethan wants his glory days back. And that includes having Lilah by his side. With her, he was magic. They were magic. All he has to do is make her see that.

Just when Lilah might finally be ready to let Ethan in, though, she finds out their reunion might have nothing to do with love and everything to do with improving his game. But Ethan’s already lost her once, and even if it costs him his career, he’ll do anything to keep from losing her again.
“I couldn’t stop turning the pages of this sexy, second-chance romance.” — Amy E. Reichert, author of The Coincidence of Coconut Cake
“Hunting sparkles in this well-plotted contemporary.” — Publishers Weekly
“If you love rom-coms, don’t miss this second-chance romance novel.” — Hello Giggles
What readers are saying about The Good Luck Charm
Sexy rom-com at its finest!”
“Helena Hunting is the queen of romantic comedy.”
“Easily my favorite book Ms. Hunting has written.”
“My fave read from Helena Hunting yet.”
“Just as good as the Pucked series.”
“This was
“Refreshing, light, swoony, and sexy.”


Chapter One



The curdled cream in my coffee should've been the tip-off that today was going to be craptastic.

Because I couldn't start the day without a caffeine kick, I stopped at a lovely little café on my way to work—only to get to the counter and realize my wallet wasn't in my purse and I had no way to pay for the overpriced latte I felt compelled to order.

So I ran back out to the parking lot and managed to scrounge up enough spare change to pay. Of course, by the time I went back to claim my drink, my latte had been scooped up by someone else and I had to wait an extra ten minutes because seven more people were now ahead of me in line.

Fortunately, work wasn't far and even with the delay, I would still be early. I'd hoped to have half an hour before my shift to do some reading in preparation for my upcoming statistics class. But no problem. I could fit that in during lunch instead of being social.

Just one more course after this and I'd have all the admission requirements for the master's of nursing program at the University of Minnesota, where I'd applied for next fall. I'd been working as a nurse full-time for four years, and now, at twenty-six, I was ready to go back to school and further my education.

Latte in hand, I stepped outside into the drizzle that had begun during my wait. Ominous dark clouds loomed low as I rushed to my car. Setting my coffee on the roof, I rooted around in my purse for my keys. The light rain quickly became a downpour, soaking my hair and plastering my scrubs to my skin, and still, I couldn't find my damn keys.

Which was when I lost my grip on my purse. The contents scattered over the parking lot, and my keys rolled under my Corolla. I had to get on my hands and knees to retrieve them, mashing my chest against the ground right into a puddle of dirty rain water.

By the time I finally managed to get all my things together—apart from my lipstick and a compact that had rolled into a sewage grate—I was approaching officially late status. And I had a staff meeting at nine thirty. In my frazzled state, I forgot about the coffee on my roof, which miraculously stayed in place—until I hit the first stoplight, where the coffee promptly dumped all over my windshield.

I made it to work with little time to spare, looking like a drowned rat and completely uncaffeinated. Thankfully, I had an extra set of scrubs in my locker for just such mishaps.

Discombobulated but determined to keep it together, I managed to semidry my hair with the hand dryer in the women's bathroom, although the time I'd spent with the flat iron this morning was completely wasted.

I was on my way into the conference room for the morning staff meeting when an attractive man in a suit, wearing glasses—I'd always had a bit of a weakness for men with glasses—called my name.

Turned out he was from my husband's lawyer, sent to deliver the final divorce papers. After nearly six years of marriage, the asshole didn't even have the common courtesy to bring them to me himself, or schedule a time for us to meet and sign them. I hadn't realized we'd reached this kind of communicationless impasse.

I spent the entire meeting trying to hold back tears—of embarrassment, of anger, of frustration.

A pervasive feeling of emptiness clung to me like climbing vines, making the day drag. But I didn't want to go home, aware my only company would be my dog, Merk, and as much as he was a good listener, I needed more than that right now.

I didn't think my day could possibly get any worse.

I was horribly wrong.

At the end of my shift, I make my customary final stop at the nurses' station to review end-of-day paperwork. Ashley, who works the reception desk, is staring up at an MRI brain scan, her hands on her hips.

"What's this?" I ask, moving to stand beside her. The shadows on the scan don't look particularly good.

"Stroke. Came in less than an hour ago." She glances over her shoulder at me. "You on your way out?"

"Yeah." My gaze snags on the name at the bottom of the scan. The clipboard slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. "Oh God."

"Lilah? You okay?"

I shake my head, unwilling to believe what I'm seeing. This can't be happening. Not today.

Ashley puts a hand on my shoulder. "Do you know him?"

I nod, swallowing back a terrified sob before I can respond. "Yes. What room?"

"Let me check." She rushes to the board, finds the room number, and repeats it twice. "Do you need me to come with you?"

"No. I'm fine." That's not even close to true. The man I love like a father has suffered a stroke.

I wish I'd never gotten out of bed today. I wish there were no today.

I race to his room, heart in my throat, body humming with adrenaline. But when I get there, I don't find Martin Kase's wife, my second mother, as I expected. No, sitting in a chair next to the bed, head down and looking lost, is their son. My stomach fills with concrete as I take in not a ghost but the ghost from my past. Ethan.

My mouth goes instantly dry. My legs feel suddenly wooden and weak at the same time. I can't seem to take a full breath. Or get a handle on the sudden, violent rush of emotions that paralyze me. I feel raw, as if my nerve endings are all exposed, and the air makes my skin feel like it's on fire.

This is all too much. I've already taken too many punches to the heart today. And in this moment I feel like I've barely recovered from the punch he delivered eight years ago. My heart aches exactly the way it did the night he called to tell me it wouldn't work anymore. We wouldn't work anymore. That all the years we'd been together—through my dad leaving when I was just a child, all of high school, every single first-time experience, prom, helping him pack for college—all of it meant nothing. He needed to focus on hockey, on his career in the NHL, and I was a distraction he couldn't afford.

Ethan pushes up from the chair, his massive body unfurling. Good God, he's filled out. Sure, there have been pictures on social media, and I've caught glimpses of him on the ice when I've accidentally turned on a hockey game—any time he plays I've made a point to turn it off. But nothing could ever prepare me for being this close to the man who took my heart, crushed it, and gave it back to me in pieces.

He's still uncommonly beautiful, more now than he was when we were teenagers. I swear his shoulders are twice as broad as they were a decade ago. I can barely hold his eyes without being submerged in a deluge of memories I thought I'd buried long ago. I'd nearly forgotten how arresting his eyes are—okay, that's untrue—but it's been a long time since I've been hit with the full force of them. The vibrant blue with a halo of amber edging the iris, the burst of gold that colors nearly a third of his right eye draws me in and briefly holds me captive, just like it always did when we were younger.

"DJ." It's just my name. Two small syllables. But the effect of his voice is bone jarring. I feel the grit of his pain like sandpaper on my heart.

I fight to keep my voice even. "I go by Lilah now." The words leave my mouth before I can call them back and find a different, more appropriate greeting. I shift my gaze away, anywhere but him. Martin looks frail in that hospital bed, and I wish Jeannie were here, a lifeline I can cling to, something to keep me from being torn apart from memories I don't have the strength to handle. After all, the present is already crushing me under its weight.

"I didn't realize Martin had been admitted until a few minutes ago. How long have you been here?" I lock down the emotion and switch gears to professional mode. This I can do. This I am good at. I read through the chart at the end of the bed, then cross the room to check the monitors—though my mind barely registers the numbers.

"I don't know. Awhile, I guess. I just got into town and then…this happened." I can feel Ethan's eyes on me. I self-consciously touch the end of my ponytail, having given up on wearing it down by lunch. My scrubs are a size too big, and my running shoes are old and scuffed, my good ones still soaked from this morning. I look as bad as I feel, and I hate that I care about the way he perceives me and that it's even a thought, with Martin hooked up to monitors, his prognosis uncertain.

"His vitals are good, but we won't know anything long-term quite yet. Where's Jeannie?"

"Mom stepped out to get some coffee." He rubs the back of his neck, as if he's trying to ease the tension. "So you're a nurse here?"

The fact that he has to ask, that it's not something he knows, feels like another shot to the chest. Maybe he's making small talk, but it still hurts to be reminded that he knows nothing about my life.

I look down at my scrubs, as if they hold the answer to his question—which in a way they do, considering the hospital name is emblazoned on the pocket over my heart. At my silence he clears his throat. "I thought you were at Mercy in Minneapolis."

"I transferred a while ago." I've been here since just after the New Year. The last time Jeannie mentioned Ethan was two weeks ago. She'd said something about hoping he'd come for a visit before the hockey season started, not that it would make a difference to me since he never made an effort to see me when he blew in and out of town.

A very small part of me is happy he's here—for Jeannie and Martin. But the bigger part, the part that he discarded so carelessly all those years ago, is hurt that this is what it's taken to get him in the same room as me for the first time in almost a decade.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, then withdraws them, smoothing them over his thighs. "I figured you'd be working on your residency by now."

I can't tell if it's a dig, or if I'm interpreting it that way because this day has been full of them. "Sometimes we have to readjust our goals."

"Yeah. Don't I know it," he mutters.

I don't have a chance to ask about the deeper meaning of that, or stoke the already awkward fire raging between us, because we're interrupted.

"Delilah!" Jeannie's holding two coffees, one in each hand. When our eyes meet, I see every worry and question. From her fears about Martin to my interaction with Ethan—all of it passes in the few seconds before she opens her arms for me. Like a mother would. Like she's always done.

And I fall right into that offered solace, because I feel as though I'm a ball of wool, unraveling into a darkness that doesn't seem to end. I wrap my arms around her, seeking comfort, not just for Martin, but for everything that's happened today.

The possibility that I could lose the man I've come to see as a father—after my own dad left my mom, me, and my five siblings behind in search of a life that didn't include us—is excruciatingly untenable. Even after Ethan and I broke up, Martin was the one who helped make sure I wasn't getting ripped off when I bought my first car, taught me how to fix my leaky sink, and always had a smile and a hug whenever I came over to visit. I don't know if I can handle this—not with the way the rest of my life seems to be falling apart, too. Especially with Ethan standing here, hints of the boy I once loved hidden behind those arresting eyes. It took me long enough to finally get over him disappearing from my life and now I wonder if I ever really did get over him at all.

I have years of pent-up frustration, resentment, and disappointment churning in my head and in my heart, and all I want to do is throw it all at Ethan. But there are more important things going on right now.

"It's okay. Shhh, Delilah; he'll be all right," Jeannie says quietly, rubbing slow circles on my back.

I realize I'm crying soundless, body-shaking sobs that I'm unable to control. I'm embarrassed and angry with myself that I'm falling apart like this when clearly it's Jeannie who needs the support.

When I manage to pull myself together enough to release her, I ask brokenly, "What can I do for you? Why don't I go to the house? I just finished my shift; I can feed Flower, bring you a change of clothes and anything else you might need for tonight." My offers are clearly unnecessary, especially with Ethan being here. I don't like this feeling, like I'm not needed. I've always been the one Jeannie comes to when she needs something.

"I thought Flower ran away," Ethan says from behind me.

It's such a normal question in such an abnormal situation.

"Turns out the new neighbors across the street put in a cat door and Flower took to sleeping in their basement, until they discovered the raccoons in the area were using it, too." Jeannie touches my arm. "Remember when the babies got into their fridge while they were away for the weekend?"

"Their entire kitchen was a mess!" We giggle and then Jeannie brings her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.

"Martin helped us clean it all up before they got back," I say softly.

Jeannie turns to Ethan, who I've been trying desperately not to look in the eye, and says in a wavering voice, "What if he's not okay?"

Ethan steps up and pulls her into his broad chest. "I'll be here to help, no matter what happens."

I don't understand how he can do that when he's living in Chicago, but maybe he's placating.

"I'm so glad you're coming home," Jeannie says.

My stomach dips and then flips. I finally meet his gaze again. Raw emotions make him look older than twenty-seven. My questions must be evident in my expression.

"I've been traded to Minnesota," he explains.

I feel like I'm taking slap shots to the heart left, right, and center today. And this might be the one that finally does me in.

Chapter Two

Long Nights


You're coming home." It's a soft whisper filled with a range of emotions, not the least of which is anger.

"I am."

I look away as Ethan envelops Jeannie in a hug, murmuring soothing words. He's her anchor in an otherwise turbulent sea of uncertainty.

I focus on Martin's unconscious form, feeling as if I'm intruding on a private moment, unsure of my role. Usually I'm Jeannie's shoulder and she's mine, but Ethan's presence changes everything. As does his permanence.

Jeannie's burst of emotion dissipates on a deep exhale. She turns to me with a small smile. "I'd like to stay the night. Do you think the hospital will allow that?"

"I could—" I'm about to offer to stay with her, but I pause, then force the corners of my mouth to lift and approximate a smile. I'm not needed with Ethan here. "I'm sure I can get clearance. I'll see about having a lounger brought in so you don't have to sleep in one of those chairs." I motion to the one beside the bed.

Ethan squeezes Jeannie's shoulder. "I'll stay, too."

Jeannie's hand covers his. "You don't have to do that. You can go back to the house."

"I'm not leaving you."

Those four words feel like a serrated blade sliced across my heart. He promised me that once, too. It meant something, until he went back on it. "I'll have to get clearance for a second person. The hospital may not allow it." My anger makes it come out snappy rather than a soft caution, and I immediately feel bad. This isn't about me; it's about Martin and Jeannie having support.

"I can stay in the waiting room if I have to." He tries to meet my gaze, but I can't hold his without potentially breaking down again.

"I'll try my best." I direct the comment at Jeannie. She's wearing her favorite apron, one Ethan and I picked out almost a decade ago as a Mother's Day present. I need to get out of here, away from all the memories that come with his presence. "I can stop by the house and get you something more comfortable to wear."

"That's so kind of you, Lilah. You're always so helpful." Jeannie looks down, smoothing her hands over the worn cotton. Her eyes go wide with panic, and she looks to Ethan. "The pie! I left it in the oven!"

"I took it out before I left," he reassures her.

I'm 100 percent sure the house will smell like apples, cinnamon, and butter. Apple pie has always been Ethan's favorite, and Jeannie is the kind of mom who would make it because he's come home for a visit, or to stay, as seems to be the case.

"I could pick up things for you, as well, Ethan, if you'd like." His name feels sharp and bitter on my tongue.

Jeannie pats his chest. "Or you could go together."

"No." I don't mean to shout, but I can't be alone with Ethan, closed in a car with his scent and his voice and a million memories I can't hide from. I clear my throat and try again. "I'd feel a lot better if you weren't alone, Jeannie."

Ethan's expression is impassive. I'm sure he's as relieved as I am not to be in a confined space with me for any length of time. "I have a duffel in the basement bedroom."

Another shot of relief hits me. Before I moved into my town house earlier this year, I stayed with Martin and Jeannie for a couple of months in Ethan's old bedroom. I might have left a few things in there, and the last thing I want is Ethan finding my pajamas in his dresser.

"I'll bring the bag back, then." No way am I going through his luggage. I switch into helpful, action-oriented mode, something I excel at when faced with stressful situations. "Jeannie, I'll grab your favorite yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Anything else you think you might need?"

"That would be wonderful. My travel bag is in my bedroom closet, and maybe you could bring my crossword book in case I have trouble sleeping?"

"On your nightstand?"

"Or the living room. The usual spots."

"Okay. I'll be back in a bit. Text if you think of anything else. I'll talk to someone about getting a lounger brought in and about having two people stay the night." I don't honestly think it will be difficult to get approval for Ethan, but it makes me feel marginally better to envision him trying to get comfortable in one of those tiny chairs in the waiting room, which is petty considering Martin's current state.

Jeannie steps up to hug me again. "Are you sure you don't want Ethan to go with you?"

"It's better if he stays with you, don't you think?"

Jeannie steps back, holding my shoulders as her eyes move over my face. "We'll get through this together. Everything happens for a reason, Delilah." She lets out a pained sigh and presses her hand to her chest.

I pat her hand and smile, but say nothing. I can't understand the reason behind Martin having a stroke, my almost ex-husband having apparently lost his balls entirely, and my first-ever ex-boyfriend, and once best friend, returning to Minnesota all in the same day, unless I've done something horrible to warrant this kind of hellish karma. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

I make a right out of the room and speed walk down the hall, exhaling a long breath. I need to keep it together until I'm in my car. I stop at the nurses' station and put in a request for two lounge chairs and two overnight family members for Martin. Fairview is a smaller hospital, people know each other, and my connection to the family allows me some leniency in what I can reasonably ask for.

Just as I finish filling out the paperwork, Ashley, the receptionist, pokes me with her pen. "I know you've had a bad day, so I'm going to do you a favor. Do not turn around right now, but there's an EFF at three o'clock. Wait, three for me and nine for you. Be nonchalant when you look." I roll my eyes and suppress a grin. EFF is Ashley code for Extra Fine and Fuckable.

She wags her eyebrows. "Have a good night."

"I have an errand to run. I'll be back in an hour." I tap the desk and turn in the direction her eyes keep moving.

I should've known her EFF would be Ethan.

He takes a step toward me, then stops and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

I grab my purse and step away from the desk. "Did Jeannie send you out here to ask again?"

I move toward the exit, absently waving to Ashley, who I'm sure will be all over me with questions when I get back.

Ethan falls into step beside me. "I thought it might give us an opportunity to talk."

I speed up, heading for the employee parking lot and the fresh air I seem to need so badly. It's hard to take a full breath again. "You mean about Martin? We won't know anything until he's awake and they do more tests in the morning." I know that's not what he wants to talk about, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.

Warm summer air does nothing to cool my already heated skin as I push through the doors.

"DJ, wait."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath so I don't snap. I'm raw. This day has been too hard, and I'm not ready for this kind of conversation with him. Especially not now, when his father's health is so uncertain and our emotions are all tied up in the potential for loss. Because no matter what happens, there's a chance Martin won't be the same man he was before the stroke.

"Please, DJ." His fingers wrap around my wrist.

I don't want the sensation to be electric, but it is. I don't want the warmth that floods my veins at the foreign familiarity of his touch. I don't want my body to react in any way to him, but it does. My heart remembers that he broke it, but the rest of me seems to have forgotten.

I jerk away. "I told you, I go by Lilah now." It's so stupid, a pointless thing to be stuck on, but it's the only place I can put focus so I don't break down.

"Sorry. I'm not used to it." He runs an unsteady hand through his hair, sending the thick dark strands into disarray. "I could drive?" His tone is layered with regret and remorse. Emotions that do me no good, not this long after the fact. Not when they only exist because of all the other things happening to him.

"I don't think that's a good idea tonight."

"I just want to apologize, D—Lilah."

I exhale a breath, trying to remain grounded, to keep the simmering anger from bubbling over and pouring out. But I'm so tied up inside, so broken by the events of the past twelve hours and the piece of my past standing in front of me, splintering me apart all over again.

"What do you want to apologize for?" I ask on a whisper.

"For the way I handled things."

"Handled things?" I echo.

He drops his head, peeking up at me through long lashes. "When I was drafted."

My father was the first man to walk out of my life, and then the dominos began to fall in succession. Ethan was the next to go, then my husband, Avery, and now I might stand to lose Martin, depending on how he comes out of this. I don't want to lose another man I love, or be faced with heartbreak all over again.

I run my fingertip from the center of my forehead down the bridge of my nose, working to find some calm. "Neither one of us is prepared for this conversation tonight."

"I know you're upset, but—"

I hold up a hand. "You're not hearing me. I can't do this with you right now. I can't handle this conversation, and you can't handle the things I want to say to you."

"I made a lot of mistakes." His voice is soft and sad, which only fuels my anger.

"Mistakes? You abandoned me. You weren't just my boyfriend, Ethan; we grew up together. You were my best friend, and you disappeared from my life for eight years. The only reason I'm seeing you after all this time is because of Martin. Do you know how hurtful your silence has been? Every time you came home and never called, did everything you could to avoid seeing me, talking to me? I can't forgive you for that."

His voice cracks. "Not ever?"

"I don't know. I don't have an answer for that now. Not after all these years of nothing. Not with all of this going on."

He nods slowly, a crease forming between his eyes. "Right. Okay. You're right. It's just…I just…I didn't ever want to hurt you."

"But you did. I mean it when I say you're not ready to hear what I have to say, and frankly, I'm not ready to say it. This is too much for both of us. Too much is happening. Can we just deal with your dad being in the hospital? I think that's enough."

"Can I at least walk you to your car? Make sure you're safe?"

"I'm right over there." I motion across the lot. "You should be with your mother. She needs you." Unspoken words hang between us like a noose waiting for a neck to tighten around. The implication is there, even if I'm unsure whether it's true. I don't need you.

"Okay. You're right." Ethan's defeat makes my heart ache even though it shouldn't. I was always too soft for him, too quick to fold.

Before I can leave, Ethan takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. I don't have time to react, to protest, to do much of anything before his body is pressed against mine, his thickly muscled arms wrapped around me.

I feel simultaneously protected and vulnerable.


  • "Fans of either hockey romance or second-chance tales will undoubtedly fall for this tale of two former lovers who find their chemistry downright combustive when placed in close proximity to each other....Hunting knows how to craft a delicious take on two characters who love a good puck. If you didn't think pick-up trucks were sexy, you will now...Hunting writes with a bittersweet blend of aching vulnerability and undeniable charm...Her approach to storytelling is at turns outrageously sexy, downright charming, and emotionally resonant, leaving readers with a romance that scores a goal."— Entertainment Weekly
  • "Novelist Helena Hunting knows how to keep us turning pages. Her signature warmth and risqué wit is on full display in The Good Luck Charm, a sexy, sweet take on first loves and second chances. One of our very favorite things about this charming romp is the dueling perspectives of the book's delightfully imperfect central characters, Lilah and Ethan. The pair's drive to succeed is matched only by their unbridled passion for each other."—iBooks, "Best of August" Pick
  • "Fabulously fun! Lilah and Ethan's second-chance romance charmed me from the first page to the swoon-worthy end."—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author
  • "If you love rom-coms, don't miss this second-chance romance novel."—Hello Giggles
  • "I couldn't stop turning the pages of this sexy, second-chance romance. After reading, you'll want to be Ethan's good luck charm, too."—Amy E. Reichert, author of The Coincidence of Coconut Cake and The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go
  • "Hunting sparkles in this well-plotted contemporary... She imbues her characters, especially Lilah, with quick wit and enjoyable depth, and the curveball she throws into the plot at the end is truly surprising, yet believable."—Publishers Weekly
  • "The Good Luck Charm is an absolute delight. Helena Hunting delivered banter, heat, humor, and family as Ethan tries to earn back the one thing he needs. Ms. Hunting crafted an entertaining and sexy story with a relatable cast of characters. Fans of Emma Chase, Christina Lauren, and Jaci Burton will love The Good Luck Charm."
    Harlequin Junkie
  • "Hockey talk, more than one steamy scene, and a hero and heroine who have a genuine respect as well as a fiery passion for each other make this romance an all-around winner."—BookPage
  • "Writing with a deliciously sharp humor, Hunting shoots and scores in this exceptionally entertaining contemporary romance, whose easily relatable characters and plethora of red-hot love scenes will please fans of Rachel Gibson and Deidre Martin."—Booklist
  • "Cute and sexy and fun."—Girly Book Club
  • "The Good Luck Charm was a delightful gem of a second chance romance, a sweet and swoony love story that I just adored."—Angie & Jessica's Dreamy Reads
  • "A great summer/beach read. The characters had depth and a wonderful connection."—Naughty Mom Story Time
  • "The Good Luck Charm has all the sweet and swoony you need this summer."—Under the Covers
  • "A sweeter and more charming version of the books in her Pucked series. To say that this was highly addictive and unputdownable is definitely putting it lightly. Every chapter you flip to just gets better and better. It was so good, so enthralling, that I already want to go back, reread it and just bask in Ethan and Lilah's world forever."—Rentastic Reads
  • "Irresistibly steamy, funny and heartwarming, with a plot twist I didn't expect, The Good Luck Charm, charmed the pants right off of me!"—FMA Book Reviews
  • "A fantastic addition to anyone's beach bag this summer. It's lighthearted, sweet, and utterly adorable."—Elle's Book Blog
  • "If you like second chance romances, The Good Luck Charm is a first-class read."—Ellesea Loves Reading
  • "Second chance romances are my favorite and this one made me laugh, cry, get mad, swoon and had me saying 'I didn't see that coming!' Looking forward to more from Helena!!"—Two Book Pushers
  • "The Good Luck Charm is custom made for second chance romance lovers. Helena Hunting gives us some tension mixed with humor, and adds hockey to satisfy sports romance addicts."—Reading Frenzy Blog
  • "I had fun with Lilah and Ethan in this story. If you are a sucker for second-chance love stories, The Good Luck Charm is your read."—
  • "Want a great beach read that is light, sweet, and yet still very steamy? Then you need to get your hands on a copy of The Good Luck Charm! I appreciated the humor that was sprinkled throughout The Good Luck Charm as well as the smoking hot sexy times! What these characters developed together was swoon-worthy and memorable, a perfect summertime read!"—The Genre Mix
  • "The Good Luck Charm was fun, emotional, and sexy! The Good Luck Charm is the type of romance that you will want to finish in one sitting because it's so good and I guarantee you'll fall in love with the small town hockey star coming back for his long-lost love."—Ex Libris

On Sale
Aug 7, 2018
Page Count
352 pages

Helena Hunting

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Helena Hunting lives outside of Toronto with her amazing family and her two awesome cats, who think the best place to sleep is her keyboard. She writes all things romance – contemporary, romantic comedy, sports and angsty new adult. Helena loves to bake cupcakes, has been known to listen to a song on repeat 1512 times while writing a book, and if she has to be away from her family, prefers to be in warm weather with her friends.

Learn more about this author