Some of my earliest memories are of my mom curled up with a book in her hands, totally lost in a story. She always had a romance novel nearby—Nora Roberts, Susan Mallery, Debbie Macomber—stories filled with fierce heroines, quiet small towns, and happily ever afters that never got old.
To her, reading wasn’t just a hobby—it was part of her self-care, her joy, her way of escaping into something beautiful at the end of the day. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but I knew it was something special. I knew that books mattered.
And then one day, they started to matter to me too.
The first romance book I ever read that truly made me fall in love with love stories was This Lullaby by Sarah Dessen. I was a 13, unsure of so many things, but completely captivated by Remy’s sharp edges and Dexter’s soft, goofy charm. It wasn’t a perfect love story—and that’s exactly why I loved it. It was flawed and tender and real.
That book didn’t just entertain me. It stayed with me. It planted the seed that romance stories weren’t just about fairytales—they were about connection, vulnerability, and hope.
From there, the floodgates opened. I found myself reaching for more stories that made my heart ache in the best way, that reminded me of the books my mom read, and that felt like a warm hug on the hardest days.
Now, all these years later, I’ve built Hearts & Hardcovers around that same feeling. A place for readers, for dreamers, for people like me who found a piece of themselves in a love story.
So here’s to moms who read. To teenage girls falling in love with fictional boys. And to the books that change everything.
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Reading & dreaming,
ShayAnn
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