MEET OUR HERO!

Before we read our story, I had to show you this photo. Isn’t she cute?! She could be Felina, Goldie’s cat, although Felina doesn’t wear glasses! But how wonderful that this little cat likes to read.

The first chapter of Romance by Design began yesterday. If you haven’t read it, please go back and do so. And now, to continue our story.

Chapter Two

On Friday evening at 6:33, Ryan Collins drove his red Sunfire into the driveway at 321 Oak Street and turned off the ignition. He gazed at the small one-floor, two bedroom house, of which he was now the proud owner.

         Only thirty years to pay off the mortgage.

         He loosened his tie as he got out of the car, then stretched to his full six-foot-one height. Unlocking the side door of his house, he entered the tiny kitchen.

He wasn’t going to live here for thirty years. As an architect, he had plans—designing plans to build his own home. It certainly wouldn’t be a little cottage like this one, either.

         If only Stratton, Moss, and Klein of Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania would hire him as an architect in their company.

         Ryan strode across the kitchen, pushed aside some moving boxes on his table, and laid down his suit coat. Unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, he rolled up the sleeves as he strode across the living room. He lifted the metal plate of the inside mail slot beside the front door. Two envelopes lay inside.

He glanced at the return addresses. “Hey, Archie, look at this! A welcome letter from the electric company.” Taking a few steps back into the living room, he looked around. “Archie?”

         “Meow!” The big yellow tomcat padded out of Ryan’s bedroom and stopped to stretch.

         Ryan shook his head. “As lazy as ever, I see.” He looked at the other envelope. The return address was handwritten in a loopy, girlish scrawl. “Jessie Stepsons? No, Step—“ He squinted. “Oh! Stephens.” He glanced at Archie. “Who is Jessie Stephens?”

         But the letter was not addressed to him. He sank down on the lumpy sofa. “No wonder. This letter is for Miss Goldie Silversmith.”

Archie jumped up beside him.

“Silversmith. That wasn’t the name of the family who used to live in this house, was it?” Ryan looked more closely at the loopy handwriting. It was addressed to 371 Oak Street. “Oh! This woman lives down the street. But you can’t fault the postman—that seven in 371 looks just like a two.” He shoved the envelope in front of the cat’s face. “Don’t you think so?”

Ignoring the envelope, Archie primly licked his paw.

         Ryan walked into the kitchen. “Want a cup of coffee, Archie?”

The cat followed him. “Meow.”

         “Not your cup of tea, eh?” He laid the envelope on the counter, then picked it up again. “I could walk this down to Miss Goldie’s house and slip it in her mail slot.” He laughed to himself. Probably some old lady—with a name like Goldie.

         Exiting out the kitchen door, he didn’t bother to lock it since he would be back in a few minutes. Besides, this was Knotty Pine, Pennsylvania—a small, safe town nestled in the Pocono Mountains. He wouldn’t have to worry about crime here like he had in Cleveland.

         Taking a deep breath of warm air, he strode down his driveway, envelope in hand. Life was going to get better in this town—much better.

         “Yoo-hoo! Sir?”

         Ryan stopped and glanced at the white clapboard colonial house next door.

A white-haired woman in an old-fashioned gray dress stood in the driveway, holding something that looked like a pie tin. She waved a thick hand. “You must be my new neighbor, Ryan Collins. Ain’t so?”

         How did she know his name? But he had met another neighbor yesterday—a Mr. van Groot, and word must have spread.

He strode across the small lawn. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Ryan.”

          “I saw you move in the other day, and I said to my husband, ‘Arnold, we must welcome that young man.’”

That was what she said, but what Ryan heard was, “Ve must velcome that young man.”

         He grinned, realizing his neighbor was Pennsylvania Dutch. “Thank you, ma’am.”

         “I made you a shoo-fly pie.”

“Shoo-fly pie, huh? Now I know I’m in Pennsylvania Dutch country.”

         A merry laugh accompanied the wrinkles on her round face as she handed him the pie. “I am Ingrid Schuler, and my parents came from the old country. They settled here in Knotty Pine.” She motioned toward the small house behind her. “Arnold and I married over fifty years ago, and we live here yet.”

         “That’s staying power, Mrs. Schuler. I’ve lived all over the world.” A streak of jealousy zipped through him. Why couldn’t he have grown up in a town like this? “I just moved here from Cleveland, Ohio where I got my master’s degree in architecture.”

         “Oh, an architect! That’s wonderful good.” She stepped back toward her front door. “Would ya like a cup of coffee awhile? Arnold is out back.”

         “Maybe later, Mrs. Schuler.” Ryan held up the envelope. “I found this letter in my mailbox, and I guess the postman delivered it to the wrong address. It’s addressed to Miss Goldie Silversmith, so I’m on my way to give it to her.”

         Mrs. Schuler nodded. “Goldie lives down the street. She’s a sweet thing—moved here three years ago.” The woman turned toward her house. “I’ll let you go, then. Enjoy the pie.”

         “I will! Thanks so much.” Ryan walked back to his house and entered the kitchen. He took an appreciative sniff of molasses before he set the pie on the counter. The crumb topping looked perfect. Maybe Mrs. Schuler would give him the recipe. 

He strode to the side door. Archie sat there, meeting his eyes in a steady stare. Turning back, Ryan opened a cupboard and shoved the pie on an empty shelf, making sure the cupboard door was closed tight. His cat would not be the first to sample authentic shoo-fly pie.

         Outside, the sidewalk cut a straight line down the street between the tree lawn and the front yard of each home. A noble oak tree dominated each tree lawn.

Probably why the street was named Oak Street.

Ryan admired the vintage architecture of the houses as he walked past. Each one had a different design—the Schuler’s colonial at 331, a large Victorian with a brown timber façade at 341, a rambling one-story set back from the road at 351, and then a glass and brick design at 361. Miss Goldie Silversmith’s house was next at 371.

         He stopped as her house came into view. It was exactly like his—a tiny one-story house. He had no doubt the design was exactly the same on the inside with the living room and bedroom in the front of the house, the kitchen and second bedroom in the back.

         “Interesting,” he murmured.

         Rounding the corner of the driveway, he walked up to the house. The front door was opened, covered by a screen door. He lifted the mail slot to slip the letter inside when he heard a voice. It wasn’t an old lady’s voice, either.

         “Oh! Come on in. The screen door’s unlocked.”

         Ryan hesitated. The people in this town were certainly friendly.

          “It’s okay,” the feminine voice continued. “I just painted my nails and I can’t touch a thing.”

         With a shrug, he opened the door and stepped inside the house—which was designed exactly as his, although the interior decorating was far superior. Beside a maplewood end table, a pink-and-yellow-flowered Victorian sofa dominated the room. Lacy white curtains crisscrossed the front window.

In the middle of the room stood a young woman. She fanned her hands through the air with her fingers splayed. Dark red paint covered perfectly filed nails. Dressed in jeans and a burgundy T-shirt, she smiled at him, and her shiny blue eyes, pert nose, and straight teeth created a pretty picture. But her crowning glory was the golden blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves.

         Goldie.

         Ryan cleared his throat. “Are you Miss Goldie Silversmith?” He held up the envelope.

         “Of course, Brian. But I’m afraid I don’t know your last name.”

         “It’s Ryan.” Another neighbor who already knew his name. He thrust the letter toward her. “This came—”

         “Brian Ryan?” She gave a little laugh as she continued waving splayed fingers. “What a creative name! Mike has set me up with quite a few men, but he tells me so little about the guy I’m going to be dating.”

         He cocked an eyebrow. Dating? “No, you have it wrong. My first name is Ryan. I’m Ryan Collins. I live—”

         “Oh, Ryan! I have such a terrible memory with names, you’ll have to forgive me. Mike told me you attend his church. I think that’s wonderful. I attend the little white chapel down on McGrath Lane. Have you ever noticed it? It’s a small church with a tall spire. In fact, I’m the church secretary there.”

         “Uh, Goldie, I’m not—”

         “Oh!” She grabbed the letter and glanced at it. “Jessie. We’re the best of friends. The mailman must have dropped this outside.” Setting it on the end table, she barely took a breath. “Mike said you were planning to take me to the Kaffee Klatch. Isn’t that a quaint place? It’s Pennsylvania Dutch, you know. In fact, I’m good friends with the lady who owns it. She goes to my church.”

Ryan stared at her, mesmerized as golden highlights played in her golden hair. He had been planning to open a can of tuna to share with Archie, but dinner—and the company of a pretty woman—sounded much better. He hadn’t been on a date in a year.

But he’d have to tell her the truth. What if “Brian” showed up?

He opened his mouth to speak, but Goldie continued.

“I didn’t hear your car.” She took his arm possessively in both hands as she turned him toward the front door. “Is it okay if we take yours? I mean, I just assumed you would drive.”

         “I have a confession—”

         “Oh, look at my roses!” They stepped outside onto the small porch—a long slab of concrete with one step to the walkway, again exactly like his. She pointed to the red and pink flowers. “Aren’t they beautiful? I really don’t have much of a green thumb, but I can grow roses.” She closed the front door but didn’t lock it.

         “Listen, Goldie—”

         “Now where’s your car?” Walking to the driveway, she looked up and down the street, as if Ryan had hidden it behind an oak tree. “Did you come in a taxi? Did you take the bus?”

         “No, I walked.”

         Her pretty blue eyes widened as she looked up at him. “Do you live close by?”

         He nodded. “On this street at 321 Oak. My car’s parked on the driveway.” He pointed across four lawns. “That red Sunfire.”

         “Oh my goodness! Mike said nothing about that! Since you went to his church, I just assumed you lived in Stroudsburg.”

         “I moved to Knotty Pine two days ago. But—”

         “Two days! Oh! You moved into the Madisons’ house, didn’t you? The little house that’s just like mine.”

         “Yes, but—”

         “Isn’t that a coincidence? I hated to see the Madisons move, they were such good neighbors. But I’m glad you bought their house, Ryan. This is really exciting! To think that you go to Mike’s church and live on the very street where I live.” She grabbed his arm and turned him toward the sidewalk. “I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”

         This was ridiculous. Ryan took a deep breath. “Goldie, do you really want to go out with me tonight?”

         She stopped, dropping her hand from his arm. “Are you having second thoughts?”

         “No, these are first thoughts. The fact is—”

         “I’m talking too much, aren’t I? Mike always says I blab on about nothing when I’m nervous, and when I saw you standing at my door, so tall and handsome, well, it made me even more nervous.” She giggled. “Mike usually doesn’t find anyone tall and handsome, so I was kind of surprised. Stunned, actually. But I know I talk too much so I’ll stop. Right now. I promise.” She slapped her hand across her mouth and gazed up at him with big blue eyes.

         Something inside Ryan broke. For a moment he gazed back into those beautiful eyes, and then he smiled. “I’m looking forward to spending the evening with you, Goldie.” No use trying to explain this crazy mix-up—he might as well take the girl out. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Brian wasn’t pulling his car into her driveway. So far they were safe. 

         He started walking. “We’d better hurry.”

* * *

What a mix-up! Come back on Thursday to find out what happens.

Until tomorrow, God bless!