Romance, as a transitive verb, is defined by the Merriam-Webster Dictionary as “to try to influence or curry favor with especially by lavishing personal attention, gifts or flattery; to carry on a love affair with.”

One of the four definitions for the word as a noun is “an emotional attraction or aura belonging to an especially heroic era, adventure or activity.”

Some might be thinking, “Hey, Adam, this isn’t February, so what with this romance stuff?”

Well, for me, June and July are special. They are my two favorite months of the year.

For one, they are summer months — and I am a summer person. I love the warm air, sunny skies and thunderstorms. I dislike snow and ice and constantly debating adding a layer of clothing. Perhaps the only thing I dislike about the summer are the bugs. But that’s another story for another time.

Second, my birthday is in June. So is my youngest daughter’s. In July it’s my stepson’s birthday, as well as my mom’s and my wife’s. 

It’s sort of like a half-Christmas ordeal, and I love to give gifts. 

Not just any regular old gift, but things that I think will be appreciated. And sometimes when that’s not possible, well, then I go with the generic gift (think flowers on Mother’s Day).

Earlier this week, my wife, Courtney, was telling me how romantic I was. In my soul I try to be, but I also know that there are plenty of times I just can’t afford something (or the mail gets delayed).

She was telling about the things I’ve done for her that she appreciates the most, and that made me feel good.

She asked me what romantic things she does for me that I like, and after a brief moment, I told her that I simply cherish our semi-nightly “dates.”  Sometimes we drive around town and stop and get fast food after the kids are all in bed. Other times we light up the Tiki torches on the back deck, or simply re-watch Jay and Silent Bob movies until 1 a.m.

But the kicker was for my birthday this year, which is in a week. She’s been teasing me with my presents, all while letting me open them as soon as they arrive in the mail.

And here’s the best part: The gifts are incredibly romantic, and not because there are scents, or wine or lotions or anything like that — they are romantic because of what they mean to her, and in turn, that makes me happy. 

So here is what she got me so far — a novel written by her favorite professional wrestler about his time in New York City as a 4-year-old. 

That retired wrestler? Mick Foley, AKA Mankind, AKA Dude Love, AKA Cactus Jack.

I’m not a book reader, and she knows this. She also knows it takes place in 1964 and talks a lot about the Yankees and baseball, about Phil Rizzuto and Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle. She knows I love these things.

She also got me a replica mask of Mankind, one of Foley’s characters from his time with World Wrestling Entertainment.

The romantic part of this all is that her lone request was that I read her the book, because she loves my voice. 

So, that melted my heart.

I love reading to my little kids, and the babies love to lay with me on the floor as I read about a baby waking up for the day, or a rhyming story about letters climbing up a tree. As babies, they just stare and smile, but the books are quick and not very deep. 

By the time they start to reach school age, the books are a little more in depth. 

My eldest daughter’s favorite book series was the Magic Tree House. We began reading those when she was in kindergarten, and ended up buying the entire library of books from it. They were small chapter books, with the first few being 50-100 pages with large enough font that we could be done in 30 minutes. After the first dozen or so books, the reading levels (which are meant for children) became tougher and longer. Now we were spending an hour or even two hours on a book. Not long later, it was an hour for multiple nights to get through a chapter book with her.

My eldest daughter loves to read, and because of her affinity for books, it always made birthdays and Christmases really easy — books, books, books.

Getting the younger kids to enjoy reading is the next plan. 

I never liked reading when I was younger, and if it wasn’t for reading stories for my kids, my “adult reading” experiences would be less than a dozen in my lifetime.

But my wife wanted me to read to her because she loves my voice. And to me, that was an incredibly romantic thing to admit. 

She doesn’t need to “curry favor” or “flattery” from me, but the “emotional attraction” and “aura” made my heart melt. Of all the time we spend together (which I’ll admit can be just a lot of passive time while we’re caring for the kids or running errands), she wants to connect in a different way than normal, and I loved the thought of it.

So the other night I grabbed my new book and away we went — it was midnight with a strawberry moon, clear skies, torches lit and a black bear prowling somewhere within shouting distance and I began to read a novel aloud to my wife.

The only thing that could make it better is if instead of a black bear, gnats and mosquitoes lurking in the shadows is if we were sitting on a tropical beach. I suppose then I’d have to worry about a sharknado.

—Adam Krebs is a reporter for the Times and can be reached at akrebs@themonroetimes.net.