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of the glorious view, she was already glad about her decision.
    A group of surfers was a few hundred yards to the left of the pier, and though the odds were stacked against her, she tried to pick out Phil. With everyone wearing wet suits, it proved to be an impossible task.
    “Here’s some coffee.”
    Jumping, Stephanie pivoted to find Phil decked out in a wet suit, holding his surfboard under one arm and a take-out cup of coffee in another. He handed it to her as she worked at closing her mouth.
    He was a vision in black neoprene. The suit left nothing of his sculpted body to her imagination—from neck to shoulders to thighs to calves, every part of him was pure perfection.
    “Thanks,” she said, taking the coffee, unable to think of a single thing to say.
    “I’m glad you showed up.”
    “Me, too.”
    “If you’re still around later, I’ll meet you on the beach in…” he glanced at a waterproof watch “…say an hour or so,” he said, throwing his board over the forty-foothigh rail.
    She watched in horror as he hopped onto the wood post and dived into the ocean. Was he crazy?
    “Hey, no jumping from the pier!” a gruff voice yelled from behind. The white-haired security guard didn’t stand a chance of catching him.
    Stephanie gulped and looked over the rail just as Phil surfaced. He swam to his board, straddled it like a horse, looked up and waved. Yee haw!
    She shook her head, waiting for the surge of adrenaline to wane. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” she yelled.
    He laughed. “This is the lazy man’s way of getting past the breakers,” he shouted with a huge grin. “Enjoy your coffee. I’ll see you on the beach later.”
    He paddled off, and like an expert he caught the first wave, dipping through the curl, zigzagging, riding it until it lost its momentum.
    As she sipped her coffee, she watched Phil surf wave after wave, never faltering. He looked like Adonis in a wet suit playing among the mere humans. Today the ocean was only moderately roiled up, offering him little challenge and nothing he couldn’t handle standing on one leg. But it was still exciting to see him in action. She remembered several pictures on his office wall with his surfboard planted in the sand like a fat and oddly shaped palm tree, and him receiving a trophy from someone, or a kiss from an equally gorgeous girl. What a charmed life he must lead. Doctor by day, surfer by weekend.
    She checked her watch after an hour or so and began walking back to the mouth of the pier. After removing her shoes, she strolled along the wet, gritty sand as she watched Phil ride the curl of a strong, high wave almost all the way to the shore.
    He stepped off his board as if off a magic carpet, bent to tuck it under his arm, and waded the remaining distance to where she stood.
    “You make it look so easy,” she said, waving and smiling.
    “I’ve been surfing since I was twelve.”
    All man—hair slicked back from his face curling just below his ears, sea water dripping down his temples, broad shoulders and narrow hips—the last thing she could envision was Phil as a prepubescent boy.
    “Second nature, huh?”
    “Something like that. Hey, I know a great little stand that sells the best hot dogs in Santa Barbara. If you like chili dogs, I’ll get out of this suit and we can walk over there.”
    She nodded as he pointed to the street and the amazingly lucky parking place he’d managed to snag. They walked in friendly conversation toward his car, a classic 1950s Woodie, the signature surfer wagon, complete with side wood paneling.
    “Oh, my gosh, this is fantastic!” she said.
    “My dad gave me this for my sixteenth birthday, when he realized surfing was my passion.”
    “It’s gorgeous.” So are you.
    For the first time that day, Phil made an obvious head-to-toe assessment of Stephanie. She’d worn shorts, a tank top and zipped hoodie sweatshirt. “You’re looking pretty damn great yourself.”
    A self-conscious thought