“Yes,” yelled Valentine. “Impossibly sweet and impossibly kind and impossibly inclined”—he was still yelling—“to see good where I would not even think to try. You make me laugh when I am not given to laughter. You make me question things when I am not given to that either. You make me feel in ways I have never felt before. You are your own adventure and you are . . . beautiful.” Abruptly aware of his volume, Valentine lowered his voice. “So beautiful that my throat clenches and my stomach flips when I as much as glance at you, and I wonder how the world turns when such wanting exists within
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