Prescription: Marry Her Immediately. Jacqueline Diamond

effort to reclaim the lead. He seemed content to match her pace as they traversed the funky neighborhood, whose narrow streets and pocket-sized dwellings belied its exorbitant real-estate prices.

      Living near the beach wasn’t cheap. Amy was grateful that she’d managed to find a condo that suited her budget.

      A quarter mile farther on, they arrived breathless at her complex. The condos were two stories high except for hers, at one end. Due to the lay of the land, if it had had more than one story, it would have blocked the view from an expensive home located behind it. Serene Beach had an ordinance protecting properties’ views.

      As the two of them hurried along the walkway, rain streamed into the unoccupied swimming pool and a couple of palm trees swayed in the stiffening wind. This was turning into a gale.

      Amy unlocked her door. “Coming in?”

      She wasn’t sure what she hoped he’d say. They usually met in neutral places, only entering her condo for a game of darts or to grab a beer from the fridge. Partly by choice, she hadn’t visited Quent’s apartment at all.

      There was no sense in tormenting yourself with what you couldn’t have. Or, more accurately, with what you doubted you could handle.

      “That’s the best invitation I’ve had all day.” With a grin, he waited for her to enter, then followed her in.

      There was no turning back now. Not that she expected anything much to happen.

      While Quent waited, dripping, in the tiled entryway, Amy retrieved a couple of towels from the bathroom and tossed him one.

      “Great,” Quent said, drying his face. “This will greatly lessen our risk of hypothermia.”

      “Spoken like a doctor.”

      “I’m not entirely kidding. I can hear your teeth chattering,” he said.

      Okay, so she was shivering in her running clothes. Big deal. “I’ll be fine as soon as I make coffee.” Amy pulled off her sodden shoes and dropped them in a corner. “No, wait. I’m out.”

      “You’re out of coffee?” Quent said. “That’s un-American.”

      “I think I’ve got a bag of microwave popcorn left.”

      “Just one?”

      “I didn’t make it to the supermarket this week.” Amy swiped the towel across her legs.

      When Amy was twelve, her mother had run off with another man, and she hadn’t wanted to become a substitute housekeeper for her brothers and her father, a chiropractor. As a result, she’d avoided cooking and shopping as much as possible.

      Unfortunately, her youthful habits had become in-grained. Amy had developed such a mental block that, even as an adult, she procrastinated about any kind of shopping. If her friends Natalie and Heather hadn’t pushed her to find furnishings for her condo, she might still be sleeping on a futon.

      “I’ll make the popcorn. You go change.” Quent caught her shoulders and steered her toward the bedrooms.

      Amy wasn’t sure which pleased her most, his touch or the fact that he was taking care of her. Not that it meant anything. He was her buddy, that was all.

      “Need a dry sweatshirt?” she asked. His thin running shorts looked like the type to dry quickly and, besides, she definitely didn’t have anything that would fit him there.

      “Sure,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t say 49ers on it.”

      “I hope you don’t think I would sully my house with a Chargers sweatshirt!” Amy retorted.

      They both claimed fierce allegiance to their home teams. She wasn’t sure either of them really meant it, and, since Serene Beach was located between the two teams’ territories, their rivalry never amounted to more than a little teasing.

      Come baseball season, no doubt they’d simply switch the names of the teams and continue their rivalry. Or, more likely, by then Quent would have found himself a girlfriend and wouldn’t have time to kid around with her. Amy’s throat tightened at the prospect.

      In a bedroom that featured sports posters above a light-oak bed and bureau, she stripped off her soaked garments. After a moment’s debate, she pulled on a forest-green sweater over a pair of jeans and brushed her long black hair out of its ponytail. She added a touch of lipstick, which was as much makeup as she usually wore.

      Amy regarded herself in the small mirror above the dresser. Darn, she couldn’t see the whole picture. Come to think of it, she didn’t own a full-length mirror, because she so rarely needed one.

      What was she fussing about anyway? she asked herself grumpily. It wasn’t as if Quent was going to suddenly notice she was a girl. Or as if she wanted him to, given that he’d made it clear when they’d first met that he was bent on sowing his wild oats after years of grinding away at his medical studies. The last thing Amy needed was to lose her heart to a man who was only looking for a good time.

      Remembering her promise to provide him with warm clothing, she prowled through the closet. From the back, she lifted out a bright-pink sweatshirt bearing the image of a black cat. Her friend Natalie Winford, who was soon to become the bride of the clinic’s administrator, had bought it for her at the nearby Black Cat Café as an impulsive gift.

      Pulling it off the hanger, Amy scooted past the second bedroom, which served as a home office, and the third one, which was empty. The combination living-dining room had the usual assortment of furniture, thanks to her friends’ supervision, but Amy had augmented the decor with a few touches of her own.

      There was, for instance, the electronic dartboard on one wall. Also, a video-game system dominated the dining table. To Amy, they made the place feel like home.

      There was no sign of Quent. Judging by the mouth-watering scent, he’d kept his promise to make popcorn.

      She found him in the kitchen, larger than life and twice as sexy, leaning against the counter. When Quent wasn’t working or otherwise active, he always seemed to be leaning on something, Amy mused.

      The first time she’d seen him, he’d been holding up one wall of the hallway between her counseling office and the Well-Baby Clinic. She had the same reaction now that she’d had then: a racing heartbeat and a melting sensation in her core.

      Now, as then, she did her best to ignore it.

      “I’m glad to see what a gourmet cook you are,” Quent joked, nodding toward the take-out sacks stuffed in the wastebasket.

      “Huh. Anybody can whip up a chicken cordon bleu.” Amy indicated a refrigerator magnet displaying the phone number of a local pizza parlor. “I’m famous for devising the most inventive combinations this side of Italy. Ever try pineapple, anchovies and onions?”

      “I think I treated a kid for eating one of those last week,” Quent said. “By the way, I made the mistake of opening your fridge and nearly got sucked into the void.”

      “You’re just mad because I’m out of beer.”

      “That, too.” He removed the bag of popcorn from the microwave and replaced it with two mugs of water. Judging by the box of hot chocolate mix sitting nearby, Amy guessed she was in for a treat.

      A thrumming noise drew her attention to the window. “What a torrent! It’s only rained this hard once or twice since I moved in.” She’d come to Serene Beach four years ago, after counseling patients at a low-cost clinic in Fresno.

      “We could light a fire in the fireplace,” Quent said.

      A crackling blaze, hot chocolate, the man of her dreams taking her in his arms…Abruptly, Amy’s idyll vanished and she came down to earth. Or, more accurately, down to hearth.

      “I don’t have a fireplace,” she said. “How about a portable heater?”

      “Does it glow when it gets hot?” Quent asked.

      She