From as far back as I can remember to present day, there has always been a 'bodice-ripper' sitting on the end table next to her easy chair--usually with an old playing card tucked into the spot where she left off.
I was pretty young when curiosity and the lure of those enticing covers got the best of me one Saturday morning after I'd spent the night. Sure that Grandpa (who slept on the couch) was sound asleep, I picked up the book and started browsing. My progress was almost immediately brought to a screeching halt by Grandpa - the king of playing 'possum, by the way - saying, "Don't you think you're a little young for that?"
So, years after the effect of my beloved grandfather catching me doing something I shouldn't have been doing wore off, I started checking them out from my local library instead--sandwiched discreetly between my more age-appropriate selections, of course.
Even if Grandpa didn't approve of a young me reading Grandma's books, the seed was planted. I've been reading them - category to single title, squeaky clean to four alarm fire hot - and proud of it, ever since. Grandma and I even exchange favorites as much as we can.
The love of romance skipped the generation between my grandma and I. My pragmatic mother is a mystery/suspense lover of epic proportions, though. My daughter, on the other hand, loves a good love story--preferably of the paranormal variety.
Do you pass on the love of romance - or whatever your read of choice happens to be - as often as you can?
Have a terrific weekend.