I found this gem of a novel in the sale section of a library bookshelf a few years ago, and it opened my eyes to why romance novels were so popular. I recently found this book hidden among the hoard of nursing textbooks I had tucked away, and reading it immediately made me fall in love with books again. I also found out that this book is number TWO in a series of ELEVEN. I’ve FINALLY finished them, and needless to say I’ve fallen in love with a character. This has also reignited this spark I have for this southern, country, rustic life. More than that, it sparked this hunger deep within me. This hunger for romance.
Yes, the idea of romance is different for many. I used to love being wined and dined; seeing a side of someone you’re not familiar with. You’re dating this person and these dates and spending time with them brings you closer and closer to knowing them. But what’s romance supposed to look like when you’re 3 years of marriage and 2 kids deep? It’s definitely not a butt grab or a boob squeeze. It’s not an “I love you” gaze before bed. It’s not even a dinner alone without the kids in an attempt to “remember” who we were before the kids. I think I’m beginning to think my idea of romance is a clean sink, empty dishwasher. It’s finding that your phone has been plugged in after you passed out trying to stay awake for your hubby to come up to bed. It’s having him watch the kids while I sneak away to do some work. It’s him still trying to cop a feel before bed even though he’s seen my body do things I wouldn’t want to see myself.
As much as I miss being romanced with the obvious depths of planning put into a date, the scintillating conversations of life and the possibilities of the future, and the build up of sexual tension, I don’t think this type of romance is bad at all. It’s a little different.. but not so bad at all. It’s definitely a lot less work.