But inside the pages of this book my parents’ problems vanished.
It was just Delilah and her hero, Grayson—a man whose kiss would save her from her heartache and make her feel alive.
Love felt possible. One kiss—the right kiss—could conquer all!
So I read on, devouring the book until I was jolted back to reality by my mother jangling through the front door.
Busted! In my panic, it didn’t even occur to me that she was really the one busted.
I just shoved her books back under her bed and escaped to my room with A Crimson Kiss.
2 Shifting Paradigms
OVER THE NEXT FEW MONTHS I read every book in my mother’s sub-mattress library
including a self-help book on finding your inner power and another one titled A Call to Action on how to take charge of your life.
(Books she’d gotten, no doubt, to help her get over my two-timing dad.)
But it was A Crimson Kiss that I kept going back to. It was A Crimson Kiss that I read and reread.
The other romance novels didn’t have any layers to them; no real guts. It was like pop versus rock.
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