on Real-life Romance Novels for Real People

I'm reading a hot, juicy romance novel by one of my all-time favorite authors, Nora Roberts. I simply love her for so many reasons. She routinely creates riveting plots; is a master at character development, building heroes and heroines you really give a darn about, and in fact wish you knew. And she writes hot sex scenes.
Yeah, she's a smut author, for readers 18 and over. But if you don't want to read that, skip those parts, and enjoy the superb story-telling for which she's justifiably famous.
My only complaint is that I'll never meet a gorgeous, 30-something hero who falls helplessly for me and takes me to Tuscany on board his private jet where he buys me a gorgeous, Italian shoes before we tour an ancient winery and toast our love under the Tuscan sun.
In fact, I'd settle for a decent-looking and mostly healthy 50-something who owns his own car and enjoys an occasional jaunt to Chicago or New York. Where he could buy me a knock-off purse from a squirrelly street vendor.
Maybe there should be romance novelists for people like me? So as not to give us unrealistic expectations of real life love.
A scene could go something like this:
The restaurant was dimly lit, which suited Renee as she sat across the table from Roy on their sixth date. Squinting across at him, she tried to determine what he'd spilled on his shirt earlier that day. Whatever it was, it was riding high on his beer belly; maybe grape juice, maybe jelly. She couldn't tell.
"What are you gonna have?" he grunted, his face buried in his own menu. "Anything you want, baby. You're worth it."
She sighed. Was this really the best she could do? 
"This is a spaghetti place. I'm thinking . . . spaghetti," she said. She studied him some more. He wasn't that bad. And she knew he meant well. He was a nice guy, if not too bright. He had a sweet face, and a nature to go with it. He was a bit overweight, but could still climb a couple hundred steps up into the nosebleed seats at a baseball game on a cool day without breaking a sweat.. 
And face it. She was 42 and divorced from a guy she'd thought was Mr. Oh, Yes!, who'd turned out to be Mr. Oh, NO!. If she wanted to pop out any babies before the clock wound down, this could be . . . it.
Roy lowered the menu and smiled at Renee. "Let's have the Disney Special, honey," he suggested, wagging his eyebrows up and down.
"The Disney Special?" Renee asked, almost afraid of the answer. 
"Yeah!" he grinned. "Two for one spaghetti, like in Lady and the Tramp! And we can go home and watch the movie when we're done. I'll even make popcorn." 
Reluctantly, she smiled. He really was very sweet.
"Sounds good," she said, putting her menu down and sipping her cheap Chianti. 
He reached across the table . . . and picked up his cell phone. 
"I'm just going to check the Indian's game," he said. 
She sighed, and thought about that internal clock.
Come to think of it, never mind. I'd rather read about some studly fellow I'll never meet. I guess everyone agrees, or Nora wouldn't sell so many books.
Let me know if you need a recommendation! I've read them all! About five times.