Julia Quinn: Dancing At Midnight

John scowled. "I would have written it if he hadn't thought of it first."

Belle waited patiently.

"Oh, have it your way. I'll read you mine. Ahem. She walks in beauty-"

"For goodness' sake, John, you tried that one already!"

"Did I?" he muttered. "I did, didn't I?"

Belle nodded.

He took a deep breath. "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree-"

"You're getting desperate, John."

"Oh, for the love of God, Belle, I'll read you mine. But I'm warning you now, it's, well, it's- Oh, you'll see for yourself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a much-folded piece of paper. From where she was sitting, Belle could see that the paper was liberally streaked with cross-outs and heavy editing. John cleared his throat. He looked up at her.

Belle smiled in anticipation and encouragement.

He cleared his throat again.

He looked up at her, his eyes hesitant. "It needs a bit more work, but I think I got most of the rhymes right."

Belle looked up at him, her lower lip trembling with emotion. What his poem lacked in grace, it more than made up for in heart and meaning. That he had labored so long on a task for which he obviously had no aptitude, and just because she'd asked him to-she couldn't help it, she started to sniffle, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, John. You must really, really love me."

John walked to her and nudged her into a standing position before gathering her into his arms. "I do, my love. Believe me, I really, really do."