It was at an antique car show that I met Lynn, and I found myself liking her right away. Not only because she liked old cars, but because she was bright, witty, and fun to be with. This, of course, leaves out the fact that Lynn is a redhead, which was something that attracted me to her right away.

We’d met admiring a Packard (yes, a PACKARD!), whose hood was open to expose the massive straight-eight, gleaming in its factory-fresh paint scheme. We talked about the Packards, and just naturally moved over to bask alongside a 1941 Lincoln convertible, one of only about 300 made before the war stopped all auto production.

I suggested we sit in the shade near a concession stand, and to my surprise, Lynn agreed. She walked over to get a table while I ordered some munchies for us. “Nachos sound just right,” Lynn had said, so I stood in line watching her walk over to a table. She wore acid-washed jeans that looked painted on, and she had a fine shape, one that any man would look at with admiration. Her hair, carrot-colored, sparkled in the sun, radiant against the pale green of her blouse.

We talked about old cars, old movies, old furniture, and old houses. I had guessed her to be about 26 but was surprised when she told me her age.

“Seems strange, doesn’t it?” she asked. I asked her what seemed strange. “I’m only 21, and I’m infatuated with old movies, cars, houses, and stuff.”

Her age took me by surprise. She looked and acted much older. “Not really,” I said, covering my surprise. “Some of us just appreciate things that were made to last. We’re romantics, I guess.”

She smiled, her blue eyes looking at me intently. “I guess so. I do get kind of mushy over some movies.”

This talk went on for a while, and then we looked at more cars. After about an hour or so, I asked her if she was busy tonight.

“What’d you have in mind?” Lynn asked, leaning close to me.

“Dinner, some place quiet,” I said. “And getting to know you better.”

“Hmmm.” Lynn started, giving me a wry look. “The old wine-and-dine her ploy, huh?” She gave me a stern look, then laughed. “Sure. Italian?”

“Great!” I said, happy that she agreed. “I do happen to know a nice Italian place across town from here.”

“Sounds good.” She said. “When do you want to go?”

We left about thirty minutes later, since I’d just walked past an old Studebaker Avanti R2, with the supercharged engine. Lynn liked it too, until she found out how much it was worth. I laughed at her reaction, and she told me that she’d never thought a 1960s car could be so valuable. As we walked towards the parking lot, my arm slipped around her back, and hers seemed to naturally slide around my waist. It felt fabulous.

Dinner was pleasant, and we both talked for over two hours. At one point, Lynn said she had to make a phone call, and I kidded her about sneaking off to break another date. She laughed, then told me she was just calling her sister to let her know where she was. When she came back, I jokingly said, “There’s another one like you at home?” Much to my surprise, Lynn said, “Yes, my little twin sister.” It turned out that her sister was a redhead too, and they looked a lot alike.

We had driven separate cars to the restaurant, and now I followed her home. We had found ourselves attracted to each other, casually friendly, yet there was a nervous electricity between us, as if we were both afraid to say what we both wanted. I pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building and met her by her car. Thinking I might end it all right here, I pulled her to me and kissed her, just as softly and romantically as I could.

Lynn responded quickly, melting into my arms and opening her mouth for my tongue. In seconds, both of us felt the heated passions that had burned beneath that nervous electricity, the lusty desires for each other. When we parted, we looked into each other’s eyes, knowing that this would be good. Very good.

We rode up the elevator to the fifth floor. Walking down the hall, Lynn stopped short of her apartment and turned to me. She looked at me with a slight worried look, as if she needed to tell me something.

“What?” I asked, my hand sliding around her waist.

“I have to warn you about my sister.” She said.

“Does she bite?” I replied.

“No.” Lynn laughed, releasing the tension. “But she’s not what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” I asked.

“Well, she...” Lynn looked into my eyes. “Never mind. I want to see your reaction.”

Lynn opened the door, inviting me in. Inside, I could hear the music of a popular TV show playing and the sound of ice in a glass. As we entered the apartment, another redhead came around the corner, wearing a pair of scruffy cutoffs and an overly large T-shirt with a “New Kids” logo on the front.

Lynn introduced me to Leslie, her little sister. I caught myself and smiled, gracefully saying hello while trying to figure this out. For Leslie wasn’t more than a month past her sixteenth birthday. Yet, for all her youth, she was just as sexy, alluring, and just as beautiful as her older sister. The resemblance was pronounced, right down to a similar freckle pattern on their cheeks.