Rekindling my first love

Ana reminisces about her first love, and how he became the template for her first hero

My first love was an Italian boy named Ronny. He lived in walking distance from my grandparents' northern New Jersey home. I went to an all-girls private high school; he went to public school. His family was warm and boisterous; mine did everything but forbid me to see him.
One of Ronny's close friends was African-American. Steve had a deep, mellifluous voice and exceedingly polite manners on the telephone. My grandmother swooned when he called on the phone. Soon, she and my grandfather were urging me to date him, not Ronnie.
I was so tempted--not because I was attracted to him (though I am pretty sure he had romantic feelings for me), but to teach my grandparents a lesson.
I never did it. I couldn't go that far.
In college, Ronny met someone else. I'm pretty sure my family's prejudice impacted his decision, but maybe I liked him more than he liked me.

How does this relate to writing?
I am up to chapter four in my rewrite of my very first WIP. When I wrote it, my mental image of the hero was Ronny, embellished.
I am deleting scenes that don't advance the plot (lots of them) and making the heroine more mature.
Ronny will remain immortalized in a place where he fought to be with me.