“Perhaps,” Flynn mused. “Midnight-sky hair, pink-rose lips, chalk-white skin, sea-blue eyes.”

“You just made her sound like a travel advert for the shores of Kent County.”

Flynn chuckled. “I did, didn’t I? And yet not one of those things makes a woman beautiful. Pretty, perhaps, but pretty is a superficial thing. A puddle of piss looks pretty if it is reflecting a sunset.”

Charlotte snorted. “My, but you have a way with words,” she laughed. “Perhaps if art and medicine fail, you could try poetry.”

“Listen to me and listen carefully. You, Charlotte Beaumont, are beautiful.”

He felt her go still under his touch.

“Your beauty, the sort that comes from within, has made me a better version of myself,” he said, searching her caramel eyes. “Because your beauty defies mere description. It is something far more intangible and something far more precious.”

She gazed up at him, her features set into deep shadows, but he didn’t miss the way she suddenly blinked at the dampness that had gathered in her eyes. “It’s funny, in a way,” she said slowly, “because I came here to seek a better version of myself.”

“And did you find it?” he asked, catching her hand in his and squeezing.

“Yes,” she replied. “In pieces.”

“Pieces?”

“I found one part in a church when I refused to listen to a man who had his doubts about me.”

His fingers tightened on hers. “Charlotte, I should never have—”

“Shhh,” she said, cutting him off.

He fell silent.

“And then I found another part in a studio when that same man took a good look at my work and made me critique it as his equal. Arresting and hopeless in corresponding measure,” she said with a small smile.

“I stand by my assessment of your poker-wielding angel,” he murmured.

She sniffed, and her smile widened before it faded again. “And then later, I found a little more when he made me believe in myself. When a man who I admired very much told me I was meant to do this.” She took an unsteady breath. “And then he compared me to his own Jeanne d’Arc, and I knew I had found the rest.”

He brought his hand up and traced the side of her face.

“So thank you,” she whispered, “for helping me become that better version of myself.”

He leaned forward and caught her lips with his, kissing her tenderly, his heart hammering in his chest, emotion pushing thick and sharp into his throat. She let go of his hand and wrapped her good arm around his neck, pulling him closer, demanding more. He moved over her, his body fitting perfectly against hers.