The three-story brick Colonial sat upon no less than two acres of land, and the open doors to the separate three-car garage off to the side gave Tim a perfect view of what was inside. He’d recognize that car anywhere. It was one every guy dreamed of driving: a 1969 Camaro. “Jesus,” Tim whispered as he pulled in front of the Sawyer home and took the keys out of the ignition. Quinn looked over the hood of Tim’s truck as she shut her door. “What?” “Huh?” “You just said ‘Jesus,’ and I know you aren’t religious.” Quinn tossed her hair in front of one of her shoulders and gave him a sweet smile. “Oh yeah, sorry.” Tim glanced over his shoulder at the garage one last time as he made his way up the stone walkway. “I think I’m in love.” “Isn’t that sweet?” said a voice that was much too deep to be Quinn’s. With a quick whip of his head, Tim locked eyes with Mr.
