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When I was a young adult, I was mostly all about movies. The only books I read were the Sweet Valley High series. My English-lit-major mother tried to introduce other types of books, to no avail.

I’m not going to lie—I used to roll my eyes at the thought of reading romance. I thought it was all fluff and cheesy innuendos without any substance (shirtless Fabio, anyone?). Many friends and colleagues felt otherwise, and they weren’t alone.